The notion of life drawing has long fascinated me. I’m intrigued by the idea of a group of people coming together with the sole purpose of studying someone else’s nude body for a couple of hours. Who, I wondered, would be sufficiently confident to pose for strangers in all their unclothed glory? I knew it wasn’t something I could ever do, not if my life depended on it—thanks, I suspect, to my Irish Catholic upbringing.
And what about the students in such a class? How could anyone sit there and not feel like some kind of a voyeur? I wasn’t at all sure I could even do that, shy and retiring little creature that I am, but the longer I spent pondering it all, the more curious I became.
An evening class in itself was such fruitful ground for a writer—strangers meeting up, colliding regularly for a few weeks. Things had to happen. And I suppose I could have chosen to write about an evening class in, say, car maintenance or flower arranging, but life drawing, by its very nature, seemed more open to all sorts of delicious possibilities. (I hasten to add that no offense is intended to car mechanics or florists, whose lives may well be full of scandals!)
So in the end I decided I had to investigate. I hunted down a life drawing class and went along to enrollment night. On meeting Paul, the teacher, I told him what I was up to. I had decided to come clean, as I thought my cover would be blown anyway when the book eventually got published. Paul seemed amused at the idea of his class being used for research purposes but was happy to go along with it, so I duly presented myself on the first night, armed with my pencils and putty rubber. (Paul generously provided the paper, unlike Audrey, but let’s forgive her as she was such a novice in the whole area of evening classes.)
My fellow students, about a dozen, were a mixed bunch, ranging in age from eighteen to about seventy, and the gender split was around half and half. I discovered from chatting to them before the class progressed that when it came to life drawing, I was actually the only total beginner, which made me feel slightly more like an imposter.
I probably should mention at this stage that I hadn’t exactly been blessed with artistic ability. I’d studied art in secondary school (high school to you), and I could copy someone else’s cartoon drawing fairly well, but that was about the extent of my talent. I had no idea how my attempts to reproduce a real person would go, but I wasn’t hopeful. I reminded myself why I was there—to see how a class operated and to pick up a few tricks of the trade for Audrey to pass on—and I set out my tools, trying to look as if I knew what I was doing.
In due course our model entered the room, wearing a dressing gown. She looked about nineteen or twenty, and was tall and attractive. I glanced around at my partners in crime—sorry, I mean fellow students—but none of them looked in the slightest bit embarrassed as she undid the belt of the dressing gown, quite nonchalantly, and bundled it onto a chair. Paul indicated the pose he wanted her to take up, in exactly the same tone of voice he would use, I imagined, if he was giving her the weather forecast, or telling her when the next bus was due. And off we went.
Needless to say, my efforts were disastrous. The poor girl on my page looked as if she was in dire need of immediate surgery to correct her crooked spine, misshapen legs, and distorted hips—not to mention breasts that were separated from each other by at least two sizes. My initial self-consciousness at being less than four feet from a naked female paled in comparison to the mortification I felt every time Paul passed my way and glanced at the fruits of my labor.
But he was kindness itself, bless him. His murmured comments were beautifully judged, his praise not so fulsome as to sound insincere, his criticism constructive and helpful. When he used the word “energy” at one stage, it sounded like such a positive way of looking at my offerings that I immediately filed it away and gave it to Audrey to use for James, whose artistic endeavors mirrored my own, God help him.
At break I cornered the model and interrogated her, and discovered that she was a student in the local art college, and well used to posing for life drawing groups. She admitted, when I probed, that the first time was a challenge, but she quickly became accustomed to it, and now it didn’t bother her in the slightest. I made a mental note not to use an art student as the model in my story—I needed poor Jackie to be on the verge of a nervous breakdown on her first night.
I stayed the course, despite my obvious lack of talent, and I thoroughly enjoyed the classes, thanks to a combination of Paul’s tact, his music choice (Neil Young, Willie Nelson, Diana Krall) and the nicely laid-back atmosphere in the room. Everyone seemed intent on the task in hand, but in a lovely, casual, non-pressurized way. This was an evening class, after all.
I can’t say I progressed very much in terms of being able to reproduce a human body in 2-D form, but when it came to plotting the book, Paul and the classes were invaluable. I loved writing this one—I know I say that about all my books, but I grew very fond of Audrey, with her bright colors, enormous heart, and enduring certainty that love will find her—and I’m thrilled that Life Drawing for Beginners is joining Semi-Sweet on U.S. bookshelves.
I really hope you enjoy reading it; do visit my website and let me know if you do. Even if my artistic skills are sadly lacking, it’s always lovely to hear that my literary efforts are going down well somewhere!