Life drawing continued. This and all of the stories I share are mostly true, seasoned with a little spice and served up by my best recollection of events from my personal experiences. Any name or location mentioned has been altered, and almost described as recalled.
Most days in the studio we worked with nude models. Sometimes it would be an older woman, close to the age I am now, who would insist on leaving her short boots on and nothing else. Other days it would be a male model, usually the same guy, a 30 year old male with pale skin and dark curly hair everywhere, and I mean everywhere. I can remember his penis emerging from a rather thick tangle of dark pubic hair, though it was hard to see his groin, where his hips curved to the flat area of his lower abdomen. Somehow the studio lights could not show the muscular detail with all the hair cover on most of his body. Then there was the rather tall and well defined black male model. I remember loving the days he would pose.
The clamp lights would easily highlight every turn and twist of his musculature. It was beautiful to see his form and appreciate how taught his skin was over his muscles and bones..and then there was his cock, so large in it's flaccid state that drawing it would make it appear that he was having an erection, but not, at least not too often. He was my favorite to draw, and honestly the first black man I had ever seen naked, and proving to me the urban myth that black cocks tend to be larger than most others. And then there were a couple of young women, who cycled through the days, all slightly older than me and who were well formed from their dancing. They were, in fact, ballet dancers. It seemed as though Trip, our hot drawing instructor, knew them outside of their modeling gig. I imagined that he had several women he entertained. He had that kind of draw, pardon the pun..
I was always excited to spend as much time in this class as I could. I had worked through the fear of being watched by Trip as I drew. In fact imagining him now, almost 50 years later, still arouses me as it did then, when he was observing me at the easel. Yep. His magic still works to this day. My confidence had blossomed and so had my sexual self-awareness. It was very different from the hit and miss sexual experiences after my virginity was lost.
Something significantly clicked for me one day in that studio. It was something that Trip said when he described the effect of light on a form. It creates shapes with shadows and lines for edges. That was when I realized that I was overthinking how to draw. I was coming at it as a complete object instead of parts relating to other parts in a flat plane to make a complete image. I clearly recall that moment of revelation. It was as if my intellectual light ignited, and lit a series of small fires through my body. I felt aroused and glowing, almost orgasmic, at this revelation. I can still recall the incredible reaction of my understanding. Call it aural expansion, or a vibration that included my sexual/sensual self in the mix. I could almost see and feel the power of it - much like a great orgasm - when your body is tuned in perfect pitch. It lasted for days as I drew, almost in a frenzy. I wanted more of that feeling. Just like the wanting for more touch of your clit to drive you further into a climax. For those of you who don't have one, it can be over the top most times. Can it be done without losing your mind in the process? TBD. Apparently I was not the only one who felt my expanded energies.
Trip would make the rounds to all the easels and stop to give suggestions or a demo here and there to show how to capture a part of the human form, like the hand or the breast and nipple. He was calmly passionate about it and that was like a drug for me. I wanted to work to a level that when he stopped by my easel, he would stay longer as he watched me capture the shapes of the forms - the curves, the hips, the breasts, and the genitals. I got it now. I understood the language. That's why it's called Life Drawing - the human form exposed in a moment in time, as I was at that time, sensing that he was grooming me now as his protégé. My goal was met. I was glowing with my newly discovered ability to "see", and often when he made the easel rounds, I could feel him standing behind me for quite a while, or it seemed so at least, but really only as long as the 5 minute pose lasted. He was watching me draw, or I assumed so. He would comment positively - "nice hand", "you've captured the light and shadow nicely." I was golden.
In the weeks that followed, I could tell I was being closely observed and singled out by Trip. One day he started up a conversation with me as everyone was packing up their supplies and stuffing their drawings into their portfolios. We were his last class of the day. Sometimes we would leave in a group, or walk out with another student to split ways to our cars in the parking lot. This afternoon was different. Most everyone had trickled out of the studio but me. Places to go with things to do. I was still engaged in an art process conversation about Trip's artwork on the side. He was a printmaker - lithography, and sometimes he shared what he was working on with our class. I had never printed in lithography and was curious about the laborious process. After the room had cleared, he asked if I would like to see his studio sometime. Ha...fool. Only, who was the fool? "Of course, I would love that!" were the words that had no consideration before I impulsively spoke them. We agreed that I would follow him to his studio after next Thursday's class. As you might have guessed, Thursday couldn't come fast enough for me.
Thursday afternoon had indeed arrived. Studio time was over and the room was nearly empty. The model packed up and left, my favorite one I might mention, so I was primed. A female classmate/friend looked over her shoulder at me as she left to see if I was going to catch up, and realizing then that I wasn't. There was an envious double-take as she turned the corner of the doorway. Though we never talked about Trip, our pulchritudinous (seeing if you're paying attention) instructor, we each sensed that we both had a deep lusting for the same man. We also did not want to reveal our hand, just to play it before the other did. I might have some explaining to do before the next class. Eh. Who cares.
We arrived at his studio, which was an old storefront space on a side street off of a busy urban road. It was near the campus of the university that he had graduated from with his degree in Fine Art - painting and printmaking concentration. When I walked through the studio door he held open for me, I was immediately piqued by the details of the space. Warm, late afternoon light filtered through the large frosted storefront window. As he moved into his studio, he began turning on a few studio lights, and an old, well-lived bronze art nouveau lamp. He went on to light a few candles that were clustered near a sort of altar collection of objects gathered from his travels and arranged on top of a very large and worn wood flat drawer file. He also lit a small piece of "cleansing wood" that I later find out was a smudge stick of Palo Santo. The essence from the smoke was earthy and intoxicating.
Nude drawings from various studio times and models were pinned on the walls and joined with a few large, beautifully designed, original psychedelic concert posters from the underground music scene of the 60's. There was a stunning nude photo of a dancer by Alfonso Maria Mucha, a favorite of his, surrounded by Polaroids of places and of females wearing little to no clothes. There were oddly funny, dated commercial advertisements that seemed quirky when viewed out of context.They filled the spaces in between all the nudes. A wooden chair and two stools were by a drafting table that was covered with sketches of erotic poses of females, all scattered across the table top. It was surrounded by a few small tables holding various art supplies in assorted containers. Stacked against the wall and beside a long metal counter with an industrial sink were slabs of limestone, some with ghosts of images on them. And most importantly In the middle of the space was a huge lithography press. It was a beast. Honestly, it looked like one of those implements of torture that you see barely clothed virgins tied to. This equipment was not going anywhere anytime soon without an army of strong arms to move it.
He looked over at me after lighting the wood and was casually taking me in, as I in turn was slowly taking in the space. It felt like this whole scene was created just to tantalize me, because now I was aware of his focused stare.
"Would you like a beer?" He asked as he moved to a small fridge by a door in the back of the space. I heard a bottle open and then another. He walked toward me and handed me one of the bottles. I had not replied, but had no problem accepting it from his hand. He stood close enough that I could feel the heat from his body and the scent of his clothes as they warmed from his skin. I began to stroll around the space, trying to take in all of the creative details.
"That door leads into my apartment. I've lived here since my last year in school. Isn't it a great space? It'll be hard to leave it someday," he commented as I passed the closed wooden door at the back of the room.
