Free Form
I can always tell when I haven't modeled for a few weeks; I'm awkward with my timing and I feel unfocused and out of tune with my body. I twist just a bit too much, bend just a hair far...It always takes a few rough poses to get back into the swing of things. I push myself hard, exhaling frustration and inhaling strength. I work for the burn, crunching up my irritation, stress, and worry with each shaking scream of my muscles. Rusty though I am, I know which poses work and which I will pay for. Tomorrow I'll stretch through the pain.
When I signed up to model for this workshop I knew the timing would be tight. I do have a day job, albeit a part-time one, and two of the four workshop classes butt right up against it. I am never one to turn down an opportunity to pick up some cash and meet new people; I vowed to find a way -- sneakers and speed walking. So it happened that after a day of racing around from place to place in a determined effort to be on time, the entire class was late.
They gradually trickle in, growing from a small group to a class of over a dozen. Throughout the night I discover they're not a local bunch. They're art teachers from all over- Michigan, Vermont, Massachusetts, even two young girls flown all the way from Ecuador (the first to arrive that evening). They crack a few jokes, admire each others' work, and ultimately come and go as they please.
There is no instructor for this class. The entire week is done in an open-workshop format. It's either a gratifying immersion in self-betterment, or a brilliant money-making scheme on the part of the college. The students decide which direction the night will take, with some guidance and suggestion from me as necessary.
I peek at their art between poses, and I'm fascinated by the difference of their styles. They each practice the techniques I hear from professors at colleges all over Philly: one woman takes a step back to get better perspective while the man next to her holds his pencil up to measure proportion.
Gradually my ire at being kept waiting fades into forgotten territory. It seems the period scheduling was a bit unclear, overlapping the first half hour of class with a tight dinner slot...and a long line for food.
In a beautiful and generous gesture they tip me, something which has gone largely out of fashion in this industry, and which I appreciate to no end. It is the sincerity with which they thank me that really makes me look forward to the rest of the week. And as we bid each other goodnight and they file back to the dorms, we vow to see each other tomorrow.
When I signed up to model for this workshop I knew the timing would be tight. I do have a day job, albeit a part-time one, and two of the four workshop classes butt right up against it. I am never one to turn down an opportunity to pick up some cash and meet new people; I vowed to find a way -- sneakers and speed walking. So it happened that after a day of racing around from place to place in a determined effort to be on time, the entire class was late.
They gradually trickle in, growing from a small group to a class of over a dozen. Throughout the night I discover they're not a local bunch. They're art teachers from all over- Michigan, Vermont, Massachusetts, even two young girls flown all the way from Ecuador (the first to arrive that evening). They crack a few jokes, admire each others' work, and ultimately come and go as they please.
There is no instructor for this class. The entire week is done in an open-workshop format. It's either a gratifying immersion in self-betterment, or a brilliant money-making scheme on the part of the college. The students decide which direction the night will take, with some guidance and suggestion from me as necessary.
I peek at their art between poses, and I'm fascinated by the difference of their styles. They each practice the techniques I hear from professors at colleges all over Philly: one woman takes a step back to get better perspective while the man next to her holds his pencil up to measure proportion.
Gradually my ire at being kept waiting fades into forgotten territory. It seems the period scheduling was a bit unclear, overlapping the first half hour of class with a tight dinner slot...and a long line for food.
In a beautiful and generous gesture they tip me, something which has gone largely out of fashion in this industry, and which I appreciate to no end. It is the sincerity with which they thank me that really makes me look forward to the rest of the week. And as we bid each other goodnight and they file back to the dorms, we vow to see each other tomorrow.
Do you know about Epson salts? My belly dance teacher told me of the cool use :) I have to say - a 2 cup salt soak, for no more than 20 minutes (you want the toxins OUT, not seeping back in), did me WONDERS!
ReplyDeleteThis was a good reminder - practice! :) Loved the post.