Sunshine on the horizon
Today was, in my mind, the first real day of spring.
It was gorgeous here all day Sunday, warm and sunny and pure blue skies. Yesterday started off cloudy, then became beautiful. But today seemed to me the first real day of spring because when the wind blew, I could smell it in the air - that mystical scent of warmer weather on the way. Unlike some of my more naive counterparts in the Cleveland area, I know that this shall not be immediate - there will be one final snowfall in April, heavy and wet. But I know spring when I smell it on the breeze - it's coming.
I had forgotten what my skin feels like when I model. Today was my second day at the CIA, and it was incredible. The professor, Professor Watson, was amazing - I know that I'm not an artist, but I learned more from him about art, dimension, and perspective than I ever have before. He put things into such plain language for the class, and I could see the students really responding. Plus, he was comfortable working with me. I gave me lots of good direction in the beginning, then let me take over. During the warm-up poses (really quick gesture drawing for the students to get started), he kept telling me who I should point my feet at so that they would be forced to include them in their sketches. At one point, I did a really twisty pose, basically twisting my legs together, then twisting my hips, then twisting my arms up above my head in what he called "A personified strand of DNA" - I love doing that pose, and I love that I now have a name for it! For the longer poses, he always checked in to see how I was feeling. He was actually impressed with one of the poses that I picked, a long, seated pose where I basically turned myself into a pretzel (which I find incredibly comfortable) and was happy that I had created such a challenge for the students. He's taken this class over from the professor who had an aneurysm, and our discussion led me to believe that he'd like me to return.
When I model, one of the most intense things I experience is the feeling of my own skin. I like to try modeling without having any heaters pointed at me - when the studio isn't too cold, that is. It makes me more aware of what my body is doing, and having heat blown right at you can have such a soporific effect. When the air is perfectly cool, I'm aware of every inch of skin on my body, of the texture of it and how it lies. It was a memory that I had forgotten. It always reminds me of kissing someone...kissing until you can barely catch your breath and them unexpectedly putting out a hand to touch your neck, your shoulder, your back. That's what my skin feels like - it's that unexpected touch on your skin that makes you more aware of what your skin feels like under their hand than what their hand feels like upon your skin. As if this simple movement has made you connect more with yourself than with this other person...how it seems to close off the connection and make your two bodies become linked into one.
"Susannah resumed her watch, but soon felt a queer tingling all over her body, as if she were the one being watched...Patrick was drawing her...That tingling sensation was so queer, almost not a mental thing at all but something physical." ~The Dark Tower, Stephen King
Sitting still in the class today, I also remembered the feeling of being drawn. How when you focus on just one artist and watch them watching you, you can feel certain parts of your body tingling, glowing as they draw those parts. I can always tell you exactly which part of my body a person is working on, even if they aren't looking at me, even if I can't see their sketch. It's just a certain type of knowing, I suppose.
I love this job.
It was gorgeous here all day Sunday, warm and sunny and pure blue skies. Yesterday started off cloudy, then became beautiful. But today seemed to me the first real day of spring because when the wind blew, I could smell it in the air - that mystical scent of warmer weather on the way. Unlike some of my more naive counterparts in the Cleveland area, I know that this shall not be immediate - there will be one final snowfall in April, heavy and wet. But I know spring when I smell it on the breeze - it's coming.
I had forgotten what my skin feels like when I model. Today was my second day at the CIA, and it was incredible. The professor, Professor Watson, was amazing - I know that I'm not an artist, but I learned more from him about art, dimension, and perspective than I ever have before. He put things into such plain language for the class, and I could see the students really responding. Plus, he was comfortable working with me. I gave me lots of good direction in the beginning, then let me take over. During the warm-up poses (really quick gesture drawing for the students to get started), he kept telling me who I should point my feet at so that they would be forced to include them in their sketches. At one point, I did a really twisty pose, basically twisting my legs together, then twisting my hips, then twisting my arms up above my head in what he called "A personified strand of DNA" - I love doing that pose, and I love that I now have a name for it! For the longer poses, he always checked in to see how I was feeling. He was actually impressed with one of the poses that I picked, a long, seated pose where I basically turned myself into a pretzel (which I find incredibly comfortable) and was happy that I had created such a challenge for the students. He's taken this class over from the professor who had an aneurysm, and our discussion led me to believe that he'd like me to return.
When I model, one of the most intense things I experience is the feeling of my own skin. I like to try modeling without having any heaters pointed at me - when the studio isn't too cold, that is. It makes me more aware of what my body is doing, and having heat blown right at you can have such a soporific effect. When the air is perfectly cool, I'm aware of every inch of skin on my body, of the texture of it and how it lies. It was a memory that I had forgotten. It always reminds me of kissing someone...kissing until you can barely catch your breath and them unexpectedly putting out a hand to touch your neck, your shoulder, your back. That's what my skin feels like - it's that unexpected touch on your skin that makes you more aware of what your skin feels like under their hand than what their hand feels like upon your skin. As if this simple movement has made you connect more with yourself than with this other person...how it seems to close off the connection and make your two bodies become linked into one.
"Susannah resumed her watch, but soon felt a queer tingling all over her body, as if she were the one being watched...Patrick was drawing her...That tingling sensation was so queer, almost not a mental thing at all but something physical." ~The Dark Tower, Stephen King
Sitting still in the class today, I also remembered the feeling of being drawn. How when you focus on just one artist and watch them watching you, you can feel certain parts of your body tingling, glowing as they draw those parts. I can always tell you exactly which part of my body a person is working on, even if they aren't looking at me, even if I can't see their sketch. It's just a certain type of knowing, I suppose.
I love this job.