I knew this going in. Still, it can’t be denied, conceptual dick is very different from literal dick.
I glance around and, as I’m the only one with eyes wide enough to show the perfect globes of my eyeballs, I take it that everyone else is completely comfortable with this reality.
And it’s not that I’m not comfortable.
It’s just I’m married. So the only dick I ever see in person is Vin’s and—stop thinking about Vin’s dick!—that hasn’t actually happened in almost a year, so I’m just, you know, scrambling to put everything in its right place, if you will!
“We’ll start with five two-minute poses. Thank you, Pavel!” Daniel calls to the model, who, still completely naked, does some beepy beeps on a stopwatch, sets it down, then spreads his feet wide and puts both hands on his head, eyes tipped to the ceiling.
I take quick stock and see that every other member of the class has busily begun to draw. I gape and turn to look at Daniel, who is slowly circumnavigating the classroom, arms crossed, eyes bouncing from easel to easel as he passes.
I’d assumed the class would come with some instruction. Where Daniel might tell us, you know,how to draw.
Or maybe a lecture? One where I’d be spared for a week from the burning humiliation of drawing something stupid in front of other people?
I never imagined—ah! He’s getting closer! I’m sweating.
The stopwatch beeps. I’ve already completely missed the first pose. Pavel bends down, resets the watch and then drops to a sit, legs crossed at the ankle, hands planted, face tipped, again, to the ceiling.
And now Daniel is beside me. He smiles.
“Stand,” he whispers to me.
I immediately comply. Half the class are sitting and half are standing, so I don’t think I was doing anything wrong, but I take the suggestion like the lifeline it is.
He quicky adjusts my easel about a foot higher than I would have thought it needed to be. He leans forward again.
“Now, draw.”
Again, with the gaping.
That’s it?
He laughs at my expression, then leans toward my squeaky-clean drawing pad. He pulls a colored pencil the rich rose of sun-baked terra-cotta from behind his ear and makes a fierce, elegant slash across the top of the paper. And then, for good measure, some nonthreatening curlicues down the side.
“Seriously,” he says in a low voice. “Just draw.”
He moves on to the next student and I eye the marks he’s made. No longer blank white and staring at me, the paper is affected, altered. Anything I add will now be just that:addingto what he’s already laid down.
I release a breath.
The timer beeps. Instead of drawing the model’s new pose, I just make some squiggles, like Daniel did. Then some big lines. Then some coloring book shading. As the two-minute poses pass, I just doodle, getting used to putting marks down. I try all my different kinds of pencils.
I glance at Pavel.Just draw, just draw.He’s got a towel laid out and he’s lounging belly down, his chin on his hands. I involuntarily time-travel back to a very memorable time when Vin lay, naked, face down on our bedroom floor. We’d been quarreling in the shower about water temperature and he’d finally acquiesced to letting me boil him alive with my desired setting. He’d overheated and basically crawled out, collapsingin a heap. I’d collapsed in a heap, too. With laughter. Over the top of him. He’d refused to get up until I brought him ice wrapped in a dish towel. See…that…that I could picture drawing. I know the exact curve of Vin’s lower spine. The exact angle of armpit to elbow.
I wish I had a photo of that moment.
The thought comes out of nowhere and my heart puckers like it’s been sucking on a lemon. I don’t mean a nude photo of Vin…I mean a photo of…how it felt to live that moment.
Of course, no such photo exists, or could ever exist. But still, the memory trembles, crystal clear in my brain, like a Technicolor pearl of dew at the end of a blade of grass. My hand moves of its own accord, the pencil touches the paper and it jolts me.
“Last pose,” Daniel calls. “All good, Pavel?”
Pavel nods, sets the timer, and we’re gifted with a new pose. Right! Class! I’m here for a reason. It’s time. I need to attempt to draw the model. No more faking it.
Pavel is sitting down and facing me, leaning back on one hand, resting one elbow on his other bent knee. He’s looking out the window over my head, at the top of the classroom.
Okay.
