Naked Man!

     You just clicked on this because it had the promise of nudity in the title, didn’t you.
      If you’re like me, and your life drawing professor tells you to go to CVS and pick up some make-up-applicator-fluffy-pad-things, you smile and nod your head, happy for the advice. If you’re like me, while you’re smiling and nodding you’re internally screeching because that means you’ll have to go in the cosmetic section of a store. If you’re like me, you despise wearing make-up and know little to nothing about it.
     If you’re like me, you proceed to internally screech all the way to your local drug store, through the doors, and into the cosmetic aisles. The screeching is temporarily replaced by confusion as you encounter a display of glue-on eyelashes and little gold and silver torture devices that they label “lash curlers,” which you assume are the main source for the market of glue-on eye lashes. They look like they’ll rip your eye lids off, or hold them permanently open while you’re being brain washed by an enemy corporation like Hydra. Or whomever decided that a purple and green dinosaur would make an appropriate television show for children.
     Moving on from the severed eye hairs, you immediately become frustrated because you can’t find make-up applicators because “make-up” is an incredibly vague term, and because you don’t wear make-up you assume that everything is lipstick (because that’s really the only cosmetic you for sure know) and why in the world would you need an applicator for lipstick when lipstick is an applicator in and of itself.
     Then you get distracted by the Halloween aisle for ten minutes, and find drool over plastic dead doggies that you can’t buy.
Nothing is more important that Halloween shopping. She doesn’t know me at all.
     Then you really need to get home so you go back to looking for make-up applicators.
     Then you see them and realize that you’ve walked past them three times, and simply haven’t acknowledged what they were.
     Then you start to leave but you pass another display of them and you have to go and compare which is cheaper because you’re a “starving artist” but the pack you have in your hand has no price tag and no label on the rack, so you give up and just grab the generic one which you probably should have done in the first place and just saved yourself a lot of self-induced grief.
     Then you go down the Halloween aisle again just for the hell of it.
     No kidding, this is what it’s like to be in my head.
That round to the right used to be bright white. Just sayin’.

When you finally get home and finally get to work, you discover that your professor may know something after all because holy crap it was so easy to tone the background of your giant drawing with these things.

He knows he’s hot.
     I’ve actually discovered that I really enjoy drawing with a live model in class. It’s not the super awkward, dreaded thing I thought it would be. I’m kind of sad that I put off taking the class for so long. I’ve never seen bodies as inherently sexual things, and this was no different. It was like drawing anything else, looking for shapes and lines.     This understanding came to me as quickly as my disappointment when non of our models posed like Barney and Ted in that episode of How I Met Your Mother.

So far there’s only been one experience in class that I could have done without, but that has left me with a pretty good story.

First off, a few clarifications:

  • Our models have a large closet at the entrance of the class that contains a chair, a fan, and some privacy for their breaks. This model decided to forgo the use of it and strip in front of us in class.
  • This was my first time drawing a live male model.
  • He was a REALLY grumpy man.
  • We hadn’t had a model with props yet, so the three luggage cases of STUFF that he brought in with him threw us off a bit.
  • We had a homework project that required us to do 50 life size drawings of our own hands. It should have taken approximately 5 18×24″ pages or more.
  • My mother is not an emoji fanatic. It’s an inside joke after watching this on the show The Comment Section.
  • I swear this is all kept internal and I’m not externally this rude to a stranger brave enough to have this as his job. I’m a bitch, but not a super bitch.


     Also, I’ve discovered that in using charcoal, I totally accomplished this pinterest post without even trying. Who even does that and walks around? That would be painful as hell to get as a tattoo, so it must be done with that make-up stuff.
     Seems like a waste of lipstick.
It’s called an aesthetic, thank you very much.
      The reference photo for my drawing was found on this website: Michael Stokes Photography.
      Click the link, ladies (and/or gentlemen).
      You’re welcome.

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