18 Mar 2013
When we first met I thought this rather romantic. I had visions of being the inspirational muse of a latter day Botticelli. Given that he is, in fact, an aging Fireman by trade this may have been a little whimsical, but a girl can be forgiven a daydream or two.
Of course he played on it a great deal, mostly to get me to take my top off. He is a rather good artist, it must be said, and is very good at life drawing, so his excuse would be that he needed to practice, and it would be very helpful if I would let him draw me. And in common with all (letches) artists, he insists that you can only draw a woman properly when she is without clothing.
Being a life model is not that big a deal, actually, especially when it’s only for one’s (at the time) boyfriend. It is mostly a chilly, unsexy affair in which you go stiff very quickly (me, not him, stop sniggering please) and get yelled at for a) moving and/or b) not “feeling it in your eyes” enough. It is so uncomfortable in fact that I am delighted when he decides to go to a class instead, and stare at some other stiff cold naked woman for the evening. (I try to overlook the fact that he comes home with a sketch book full of nipples and not much else).
And now, having worked hard and honed his skill, spouse is taking part in his first public art exhibition, with a group of other artists from his life class. He submitted seven paintings, all of which were accepted, and hung at the gallery only yesterday. And right at the top of his section is a large, naked picture of me.
I’m really not sure that this was part of the deal. I don’t mind whipping my top off for the sake of art now and again, but I was not quite ready to be pimped out on the wall of a gallery by the man I love.
And if I am going to be, I’d at least like to feel rare and beautiful. But apparently he doesn’t want to price me out of the market. So there they are.
