I'm holding the first class in the gallery, at Anthony Blunt's leave. The room is airy and more than large enough for the number of students who signed up. Some of the faces are more familiar than others, though I'm starting to recognize most of the island's inhabitants on sight, even if we haven't been introduced. There are chairs set out with
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He sits near Billy in the classroom, slightly hunched over his notepad and staring at the few outlines of people he's tried to draw. He likes painting better so far. It feels looser, fluid, less precise. It doesn't matter there if his lines aren't straight so long as they're bold. Dragging the paintbrush across a page almost makes him happy.
Drawing people? Not so much. Jason looks up and stares hard at Steve's jaw. Maybe he can get by with scribbling eyes on a square...
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"You have an extremely steady hand," I comment.
"Can I recommend an exercise here?"
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"Okay," he says, looking up with as open an expression he can muster. Steve doesn't seem like he's about to kick him out, but he doesn't want to press his luck. "I was trying to do you," he offers, in case Steve can't tell.
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Jason looks right up at Steve still standing there, half because his face is almost perfectly symmetrical, and half because he likes the attention, and Steve can't move if he's the subject. Jason does try, though, producing a few sketches, each slightly less mangled than the last. "You used to be an illustrator?" he asks after a bit, mostly to distract from his own sadbastard efforts. "Did you go to school for it?"
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"I drew the covers and insets of pulp books for a while, as well as comic books. I actually drew a few Captain America comics, back in the early years. That was fun, if it all felt a little... strangely self-serving."
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