I guess after my thrilling account of the life-drawing exploits at school, you are absolutely DYING to have a look at some of the sketches I created in those traumatic after-school sessions. It was quite hard to photograph sketches so this was the best I could do.
Now all my artwork has stories attached, so these are no exception. I thought that I would describe what it was like to be in one of the life-drawing sessions. Now, you already know that Andy would disappear into the art cupboard and emerge in his loin-cloth and flipflops, and as you can imagine, during winter this was no mean feat. This meant that in every session it would get oppressively hot as heaters blasted hot air around the room to keep poor Andy warm. One of our art teachers, who I shall call Lord G for the purposes of this blog (Ellie, remember the grapes?) always got extremely giggly whenever Andy was around, and used to offer him several cups of tea and biscuits in the brief breaks we had between sketching. If we were doing a long pose, then another art teacher would enter the kind of 'pen' we created with our desks and draw around Andy's feet or his staff with chalk, so he knew what position to get back into later.
I used to wonder whether the few boys we had in our art class felt more uncomfortable than the girls did, but I think it was the opposite. We had two other models during the series of sessions, an old man (a session I missed) and an overweight and eccentric middle-aged woman with long red hair. They didn't last long though, because for us, Andy really was the one. Haha :)
I guess after my thrilling account of the life-drawing exploits at school, you are absolutely DYING to have a look at some of the sketches I created in those traumatic after-school sessions. It was quite hard to photograph sketches so this was the best I could do.
Now all my artwork has stories attached, so these are no exception. I thought that I would describe what it was like to be in one of the life-drawing sessions. Now, you already know that Andy would disappear into the art cupboard and emerge in his loin-cloth and flipflops, and as you can imagine, during winter this was no mean feat. This meant that in every session it would get oppressively hot as heaters blasted hot air around the room to keep poor Andy warm. One of our art teachers, who I shall call Lord G for the purposes of this blog (Ellie, remember the grapes?) always got extremely giggly whenever Andy was around, and used to offer him several cups of tea and biscuits in the brief breaks we had between sketching. If we were doing a long pose, then another art teacher would enter the kind of 'pen' we created with our desks and draw around Andy's feet or his staff with chalk, so he knew what position to get back into later.
