self-portrait wednesday

I went to a catholic all-girls school.

When I was about 15, my art teacher suggested to my parents that I might enjoy attending life-drawing classes after school.  I had no idea this meant drawing naked people.

I suppose my parents knew what I was in for, but it was a source of most incredible embarassment to find myself amongst strangers, paper and charcoal in hand and to meet the lovely model, who promtly disrobed.

Completely.

I had no idea where to look, and there was the expectation that sketching would begin immediately.   We were instructed to break down the figure into positive and negative spaces, to look for lines that would give a suggestion of the figure as a whole, not get caught up on the detail.  I remember being in complete shock that my Catholic teacher would suggest this was a wholesome activity for a young schoolgirl, and how was I going to look anyone in the face again, having been in the company of a naked lady.  Surely everyone would be able to tell.  Surely my parents would ground me for this when they found out what I was doing.

I drew feverishly to distract myself from the strangeness of the situation.  The classes continued constantly throughout the rest of my schooling.  I have continued them sporadically over the years, and I am certain that the initial mystery, shock and tuition is responsible for my fascination with the human form on canvas today.

When I look at you (I can’t help it), I will be breaking your face down into shapes and lines, studying the curl of your eyebrow, the fold of your ear, how your shirt meets your neck, the spaces between your teeth.  I am certain this must be disconcerting to some people, seeing my eyes dart around their faces, and I sometimes worry that it may be misinterpreted as interest of a different sort.

So please excuse my wandering eye, old habits die hard, and we are such a fascinating bunch arn’t we.