Life Drawing – RA Villanueva
I want to draw you like my french girls.
How she is quiet before his robe falls
each week to his ankles.
This man who sits,
nude for my wife,
whom she draws with Conté sticks
and pastel pencils.
Each page in her notebook
is a parade of his torsos,
galley proofs of
breastbonesand chests.
She explains
because these lines are my favorite
and shows me, traces with her knuckle tip
chin to sternum, jaw to shoulder,
clavicle to cusp of the arm.
How in three passes
an artist makes a place
for a
head
to rest.
Later, in blue and organge
Pigments mixed at
the edge of a knife,
Thinned with linseed oil
and mineral spirits,
my wife will paint him on a canvas
primed black. again his body will
end just above the pelvis,
will fade into a fog
of armrest or shadow,
cushion or hip as if rendered
in some fugitive dye,
Becasue he is only the second man
i have seen naked, in person.
His, just he third I have seen in my life
When I tell my wife want to
write about her naked,
sketch her back's faint taper
as a class might
check perspective, describe
the moles I notice on the
underside of a breast
as we make love, she says
I can. And in return,
she will paint the whole of me, bare
from the neck down
as I pose
in our living room.
No one will even know this is you.
The light will blank out your face.
I determine this morning I will read pages in a book of poetry assembled and commented upon by an irish poet, Pádraig Ó Tuama.
The first is:
What You Missed That Day You Were Absent from Fourth Grade by Brad Aaron Modlin.
It is a good poem. it makes me think of her, that teacher with whom I fell in love unexpectedly and powerfully. The one that even though Jesus may come, I won't let go. And I think about how draining her job must have been to a class of young people who are mostly absent even though they sit physically in class. Did she come home drained and needing a cup of hot tea and a hug? Or a stiff drink and other attentions? In any case, the hope and warmth of her own family no doubt carried her through those inspired but difficult years to form the robust woman she is now. Even if the afternoon bell no longer dictates her moods.
The second I read is copied above.
'Life Drawing' by R. A. Villanueva
If poem number one struck an heart-chord, number two lights a fire. It carries me back to life-drawing and the weird shadowy place it takes you as an artist. On one hand you're making a work of art like the great artists of history, studying the human form, that most difficult and challenging of subjects to draw and paint. Foreshortening, perspective, ratio, arc, texture... oh, GOD! It's all so complex... and beautiful. On the other, you're in a room with a naked human that, usually, you aren't married too or even in a relationship.
It's very weird to be in such an intimate place with a person, sometimes a complete stranger, who is absolutely vulnerable. Not just physically, but emotionally. That which we hold so precious and dear, our nudity, is shared with a stranger, or strangers in a classroom setting.
This is why I wanted to become an artist; to draw naked people. Women in particular.
When I was 12, my mother who had been mostly absent in my life up until this point, decided to send me to proper art lessons with a proper artist. I still remember standing in his reference closet on a Tuesday late morning as he recommended books for her to purchase for me to study for his class. There were about a dozen in all, but the moment I knew art was for me was when he pulled out Andrew Loomis' Figure Drawing For All It's Worth.
In my short life, sex and nudity was all but a mystery. No, it was a complete mystery. I'd had some unwanted sexual encounters thanks to molesting neighbors and relatives, but all that did was confuse me more. In this moment, I thought I would finally begin to understand the mysteries of this thing known as the human body and even begin to understand my budding sexuality. And here was a way to do that like a clean, responsible human being. I was going to be an artist.
I would study the human form in all of it's forms and wield it to make great works. Tame my ability and confusion to great effect. I would use this power to move the hearts and minds of others.
This is is a lot for a 12 year old to process, you understand. But in hindsight, i can see this was the foundational thinking that my nascent mind was building on. No doubt at the time it was probably a much cruder, 'Haha! I am going to get to draw naked ladies!'
So, this poem by Villanueva was very moving. not just because of that young experience, but because of who I have become. Now a husband of many years for whom sex is no longer a great mystery of the universe (though still an activity that never loses its thrill in spite of visiting the place many times... maybe there is mystery there after all), I find it exciting to be reminded of the titillating nature of life drawing.
Especially when you're sharing the work. The culture of nakedness in our world today is not one of beauty and intimacy. It is commercial. A commodity used to sell. Which is such a bastardization of what it truly is: art. We are given these forms that we mold and shape through our life choices into their own works of art. And we frame them in clothing to present them in the best possible light to the viewer, or perhaps protect them. Some things are happy accidents, like a mole below a breast. Others are deliberate choices, like an octopus tattoo on the lower back.
Studying and enjoying that form without it being a commodity (the commerce of art notwithstanding) is the essence of beauty.
I think a nice additional commentary can be found in my essay: 'Nudity of The Soul' where I discuss the need to know an artist to truly enjoy the work, but that we also don't want to know them too well.
I don't have a conclusion for this. I loved the poem. It excited me and makes me want to draw nudes again. God, it makes me want to pose for other artists. It makes me want to draw an paint my own wife... but of all things she is — lovely, beautiful, kind, happy — free enough to pose for me is not one of them.
Discuss...
#essay #confession #sketchbook
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