I scramble my drawing pad out and flip past all the Teddys to get to all the Vins. Daniel takes them from me and leans in close.
“So,” he says, straightening back up. “You want to know how I guessed you were close to this model? Well, look, here. The lines. Nothing sketchy or unsure. They’re the longest, truest lines I’ve seen you use. You were comfortable. There’s a confidence here. And see, here, the key point. See how he extends off the edge of the page?”
I wince. Daniel is probably a very laid-back teacher, all things considered, but he’s a stickler for two things: 1. Don’t draw pieces of the model (we’re drawing Mel today, Roz, not just legs), and 2. Use just enough forethought to get the entire model onto the page.
“Right. I didn’t start in the right place on the page. I didn’t plan it well enough to be able to fit him all in one place.” I try to admit my mistakes before he can point them out to me in detail.
“Sure, sure.” He waves off my words. “Next time try to think in planes, how to position each drawing so that they’re all in conversation with one another, not just slapped on the page, et cetera. These are the considerations of an artist who wants to continue to improve. But…I have to say that I quite like the effect you’ve gotten here.” He playfully wags his finger at me. “You’re hitting on your finest quality as an artist again.”
I screw up my face. “Penis nose?”
He laughs. “I think that needs a rebrand, but yes. What I really mean is that it’s not always accurate but it is alwayshonest.”
I’m blushing with pleasure at the compliments but for some reason I’m also determined to point out the flaws in the drawings that irritated me so much yesterday. “Well, one hundred percent to thenot accuratepart. Not only does he fly off the page. He gets too big, here, the scale is all off.”
Daniel seems equally determined to argue the merits. “Too big? That’s one perspective. For me, I think you’ve made this modelexpansive.He’s…opening. You couldn’t fit him all on one page because, maybe, hedoesn’tfit on one page. For you.”
“Oh.” I feel a little socked.
“Yes, you didn’t consider the framework of the sixteen-by-twenty piece of paper, and as a general rule, you should, it’s part of composition. But the beauty of the fact that you didn’t consider it, the beauty of these drawings, is that you never once minded the edge, the lines just kept going. I love this. Once you realized he wouldn’t fit on the page—which you must have, mid-line—you continued to extend on, preferring to keep drawing instead of bailing out. Look here. The lines are strong and constant straight through the edge. This gives the viewer the feeling that the story is not over.”
The story is not over.“Oh,” I whisper.
“The chemistry here…you drawingthismodel…it makes me think of infinity.”
“Oh,” I say one more time, because it’s not socially appropriate to pull your head into your T-shirt like a turtle.
Daniel is handing the drawings back to me carefully. I think he’s sensing that he’s just tap-danced on my insecurities. “This…seems like it might be…bad news?”
He’s got a look on his face likePlease don’t let this lady weep in the classroom right now.I laugh at his expression and don’tanswer his question. Instead, I ask one that I know is childish. But I ask it anyhow.
“Do you think I’ll ever be capable of making art like Em’s?”
His eyebrows jump up. I’ve surprised him. His head cocks to one side as he considers. “Well…no. And I mean that as a compliment! There are plenty of artists out there with heaps of technical talent. They’re the copycats of the world. They can look at Em’s work, find the points of interest, and probably do a fairly good job of imitating them. But I really don’t think that’s you, Roz. Look, when I said before that I was excited for you…Some people take my class to fill time in their week. To socialize. Or to practice, maybe. They have an idea of what they want their drawings to look like and so they spend time getting closer and closer to that vision. All of these are wonderful students and I wouldn’t trade a single one of them or ask them to be different. But I’m excited for you because, sure, you have a long way to go with the technical skills, but you come to this class and let the drawings be what they’re gonna be. You let the drawings showyouwhat’s there, instead of the other way around. One of my favorite artists, an NYC legend, Jim McMullan, he once said something like ‘Drawing leads the artist out to the edge of what she sees and understands.’ And I look at your drawings and…I just think you’re open to that. You are willing to learn from your own drawings. I love that! This is exciting for me as a teacher! This is how I know you’ll continue to improve. Because there are clearly moments, ideas, concepts, memories in your head that are dying to be drawn. And you’ll understand them differently once you do. You won’t make art like Em because you’ll make art like Roz.”
There’s a knock-knock and I jump. A man wearing a blazer and a smile is leaning up against the doorway of the classroom. “Interrupting?”
“Oh! Elias! I forgot.”
Daniel has plans. “Oh, go, go,” I say to them, shooing them off. “Have fun. Thank you for chatting with me, Daniel.”
Daniel shows me how to lock up after myself and seems to sense I’d like a moment alone with my drawings. I wave them off and do just that. First I look over all the Teddys. Everything I drew tonight, trying to see it through Daniel’s eyes. And…I take the compliment. Things are wobbly and off, no one could say that these are anything but the drawings of a beginner. But there is learning here, there is allowance, I am not forcing these drawings to be something they, simply, can’t yetbe.
With a lump in my throat and a flutter in my chest, I flip back to all the Vins from last night.
I take one look, through this new and terrifying lens, and a sob bites me in the throat. I cover my eyes with one hand.
Expansive.
Not over.
Infinity. Infinity. Infinity.
There, drawn by my own hand, the terrible, undisputable truth:
Even if he’s leaving, I still love Vin desperately.
Seventeen
