Day One Writing - You Know You Got (No) Soul
As soon as Kevin strode out into the classroom and disrobed himself, he saw the same expressions of bafflement cross the faces of the art students, one by one. Not bafflement as in 'what a horrible looking creature; his elbows are positively vile!' - he hoped - but more one of genuine confusion. These looks said 'why is he there?', 'why are we here?' and 'I wonder what I'll make for tea tonight?'.
“This is Kevin; he'll be our subject for today,” said the tutor, a moustached man in a turtleneck who hovered near his own easel. “Let's get painting!”
With that a new silence took over; the silence of concentration and a gentle sonic landscape of brushes scratching canvas. But the old, uneasy quiet was still there, and it was weird. Kevin pondered on it to distract from the draught threatening his nethers. He couldn't help but think sometimes that maybe people couldn't quite place him in the world - like there was something missing or odd that set him apart from some bizarre cosmic balance. But most of his thought went on to the fact that he was unemployed and his life was awful beyond belief.
And here he stood, starkers, in front of people who peered at him long and hard, with furrowed brows, trying to decode the less than gainly slopes of his body. Having no previous experience of other people nude modelling he wasn't sure if everyone got stared at quite as intensely as this; he rather suspected they didn't. He dared to look down himself as motionlessly as possible to see if maybe there was a marmot dangling from his balls or if he had a sweet wrapper stuck to his chest but no, normal. As normal as he could get, anyway. So he remained still, his legs developing a gradual ache.
Soon, the tutor announced break time. Kevin put on his dressing gown while the students all drifted to a table full of refreshments that had been set out, and the tutor came over.
“How do you do it?” he asked.
“Do what?” said Kevin.
“You know... model like you do,” the tutor explained. “I've seen plenty of models in my time and you shouldn't be all that difficult to paint, but for some reason...”
Kevin frowned. “I'm just - getting naked and standing there,” he said. “I can stand differently if you'd like -”
“No no, don't worry about that!” the tutor assured him. “Everyone's started their paintings of you in your first pose anyway.” He lowered his voice, leaned closer. “If they weren't all over there I'd invite you to go have a look at the works in progress, but some people are -”
“Are we okay to go out for a cig break?” one of the students called. They all had fags in their hand. One of the girls was already smoking.
The tutor nodded and dismissed them with a hand. “Yes, yes, of course.”
Kevin watched them file out of the room. When they were alone, he said, “Would I be okay to look at the paintings then?”
The tutor smiled. “Be my guest!”
Even though he'd nude modelled about five times before, this was actually the first opportunity Kevin had had to see the work people had done based on him. He approached the half finished works with some apprehension, and then glanced at the first one.
God, did he really look like that?! The first painter had achieved a thick, rough outline, with blotches of colour - darker red-browns under the arms and on the dark sides of his legs - and their interpretation was of a balding, faceless man with an unattractive pot belly and uneven skin. He glanced down at himself, ashamed and offended, then back up at the painting.
The next one was a bit more detailed. The outline was finer and there were even individual strands painted onto his head, but the gleaming bald patch inamongst his long, brown mess of hair was still painfully obvious. He vowed to wear a paper bag over his head in future. Something about the knees struck him immediately as being curious. They had a weird, indescribable vagueness to them; one he couldn't figure out. A glance back at the first painting showed the same. He parted the robes briefly to study his own knees but could see nothing odd about them.
The tutor peered at him. “Is something wrong?”
“Er - no - just thought I had a splotch of paint on my knee.”
“However would you manage that?”
This had him stumped. He merely shrugged and continued looking through the paintings. The images as a whole no longer interested him - just the knees. Why were these people painting his knees so strangely? Even in the most detailed of works the knees were just appearing as smooth lumps of flesh even though he knew his knees were a bit more - you know -
Kevin stopped himself. Stood by the tutor's painting, one of the best ones there, and wished that for one second his mind would go blank. He hadn't been thinking straight for some weeks, and the last thing he needed was an obsession with the supposed vagueness of his knees. But then he saw his tutor's artwork...
“What the hell is wrong with my knees?!” he cried, before he could think. The tutor was immediately by his side.
“Well that's what they look like,” he said.
“No - that's two pink blobs on my legs! These are my knees!” He pulled the robe off to flash the knobbly joints. The tutor's face became one of confusion as soon as he laid eyes on them.
“Alright, I'll admit that you have strange knees,” he sighed, then indicated the shapeless blobs. “When I look at them, this is what I see.”
“This is Kevin; he'll be our subject for today,” said the tutor, a moustached man in a turtleneck who hovered near his own easel. “Let's get painting!”
With that a new silence took over; the silence of concentration and a gentle sonic landscape of brushes scratching canvas. But the old, uneasy quiet was still there, and it was weird. Kevin pondered on it to distract from the draught threatening his nethers. He couldn't help but think sometimes that maybe people couldn't quite place him in the world - like there was something missing or odd that set him apart from some bizarre cosmic balance. But most of his thought went on to the fact that he was unemployed and his life was awful beyond belief.
And here he stood, starkers, in front of people who peered at him long and hard, with furrowed brows, trying to decode the less than gainly slopes of his body. Having no previous experience of other people nude modelling he wasn't sure if everyone got stared at quite as intensely as this; he rather suspected they didn't. He dared to look down himself as motionlessly as possible to see if maybe there was a marmot dangling from his balls or if he had a sweet wrapper stuck to his chest but no, normal. As normal as he could get, anyway. So he remained still, his legs developing a gradual ache.
Soon, the tutor announced break time. Kevin put on his dressing gown while the students all drifted to a table full of refreshments that had been set out, and the tutor came over.
“How do you do it?” he asked.
“Do what?” said Kevin.
“You know... model like you do,” the tutor explained. “I've seen plenty of models in my time and you shouldn't be all that difficult to paint, but for some reason...”
Kevin frowned. “I'm just - getting naked and standing there,” he said. “I can stand differently if you'd like -”
“No no, don't worry about that!” the tutor assured him. “Everyone's started their paintings of you in your first pose anyway.” He lowered his voice, leaned closer. “If they weren't all over there I'd invite you to go have a look at the works in progress, but some people are -”
“Are we okay to go out for a cig break?” one of the students called. They all had fags in their hand. One of the girls was already smoking.
The tutor nodded and dismissed them with a hand. “Yes, yes, of course.”
Kevin watched them file out of the room. When they were alone, he said, “Would I be okay to look at the paintings then?”
The tutor smiled. “Be my guest!”
Even though he'd nude modelled about five times before, this was actually the first opportunity Kevin had had to see the work people had done based on him. He approached the half finished works with some apprehension, and then glanced at the first one.
God, did he really look like that?! The first painter had achieved a thick, rough outline, with blotches of colour - darker red-browns under the arms and on the dark sides of his legs - and their interpretation was of a balding, faceless man with an unattractive pot belly and uneven skin. He glanced down at himself, ashamed and offended, then back up at the painting.
The next one was a bit more detailed. The outline was finer and there were even individual strands painted onto his head, but the gleaming bald patch inamongst his long, brown mess of hair was still painfully obvious. He vowed to wear a paper bag over his head in future. Something about the knees struck him immediately as being curious. They had a weird, indescribable vagueness to them; one he couldn't figure out. A glance back at the first painting showed the same. He parted the robes briefly to study his own knees but could see nothing odd about them.
The tutor peered at him. “Is something wrong?”
“Er - no - just thought I had a splotch of paint on my knee.”
“However would you manage that?”
This had him stumped. He merely shrugged and continued looking through the paintings. The images as a whole no longer interested him - just the knees. Why were these people painting his knees so strangely? Even in the most detailed of works the knees were just appearing as smooth lumps of flesh even though he knew his knees were a bit more - you know -
Kevin stopped himself. Stood by the tutor's painting, one of the best ones there, and wished that for one second his mind would go blank. He hadn't been thinking straight for some weeks, and the last thing he needed was an obsession with the supposed vagueness of his knees. But then he saw his tutor's artwork...
“What the hell is wrong with my knees?!” he cried, before he could think. The tutor was immediately by his side.
“Well that's what they look like,” he said.
“No - that's two pink blobs on my legs! These are my knees!” He pulled the robe off to flash the knobbly joints. The tutor's face became one of confusion as soon as he laid eyes on them.
“Alright, I'll admit that you have strange knees,” he sighed, then indicated the shapeless blobs. “When I look at them, this is what I see.”