My Drawing Class

   I'm branching out into classical drawing because I do not yet see three-dimensionally. The class I am taking here in my community is challenging. My shame resilient tools have come in so handy. If I wanted validation and coddling I chose the wrong teacher.

 S. is more a performer than teacher. He is an artist and has ability to demonstrate but his style of teaching leaves me clueless on many assignments. He knows we don't always catch on and tries to catch our mistakes. The class mates have allowed him to be the critic and we offer the moral support to each other to soften the confusing truth the once again we have not "pledged allegiance to the vanishing lines."

Meet E., our Aussie mate who brings humor to all the blunders we make trying to shade and cross-hatch our lovely creations. She made me feel like a million bucks when she told me how much progress she sees in my work,

   Here we are standing around each table looking at our drawings. I love the rationalizations we give for why we did what we did. "My room is crooked. That is why my lines are crooked." D. in the back is quiet until we start drawing bones. She is a doctor and knows her anatomy.

    The concentration in class is intense. B. takes her efforts very seriously and we laugh as we drive to class together because we both know our precious drawing will be flawed.

  M., a performer and producer, loves to laugh and can put S. in his place when he gets pompous. She saved my room corner drawing when she bragged about my hats hanging on a hook. "But, look at her hats. They are just wonderful."

   This week we are drawing hands. Did I differentiate the top of the hand from the side of the hand with shading?

 

       Please hands, let me draw what my eyes see and what my heart feels.