ten thousand mistakes
028-Monday Updates: Sitting as a figure drawing model, my last full week in New York
At this point, I cannot tell what is salt and what is snow. For the past few weeks, the roads have been covered in a layer of white dust. It leaves trails and reveals a history of movement. It is brought into the subways and collects in small piles on the sidewalks. I taste it on my tongue.
This is the New York I am currently saying goodbye to.
Prior to any departure, there is a natural anxiety that overcomes the traveler-to-be. I am no exception. I am doing my very best to keep my schedule minimal, prioritize what needs to be prioritized, see the friends I need to see, and buy enough sunscreen and film to last me two months.
These past few months, I have taken up some light work at an art atelier in Brooklyn as a figure model for paintings and sketches. The time passes strikingly quickly, and I find myself shocked at the timer’s final ring, the teacher announcing, “Last pose!”
This environment has been fascinating—a world so dedicated to technique, form, and the classical arts. I often wish I were one of the students. During the 5-minute breaks, I look through their works and watch them. I observe how they move their wrists, how they breathe, how they stand up straight, their eyes fixed on the canvas. I listen to how they criticize themselves.
I also listen to the teachers. Their comments are striking, and I often find myself incredibly curious about how they think. Being restricted to the pose, I am unable to reach for a pen and paper. So, as I sit, I commit their conversations to memory.
The teacher, in his strong voice, spoke to the class, demonstrating his process as he worked with live models.
I stood still.
His wrist moved upwards with his pencil, dark graphite running over the page. “Art is the process of correcting 10,000 mistakes,” he said.
I stood still.
He walked around to each student, one by one, critiquing their work. “Try to tell the story of what the light is doing,” he encouraged. “It is our responsibility as artists.”
I stood still.
A student asked him how to improve his technique. The teacher didn’t hesitate—he had an answer for everything. “This is my recommendation: look at the old masters. Don’t look at anyone alive. We’re not that good.”
I stood still.
Five hours passed. There wasn’t much time left. A few students let out frustrated sighs. “I don’t think I’m going to finish in time,” they muttered under their breath. Because they only draw from life or memory at this school, once the model leaves, the drawing cannot continue.
During a 5-minute break, a student asked him about his teaching philosophy.
“Honestly,” the teacher said, “the hardest part about teaching drawing is getting people to slow down.”
My spine is still giving me trouble. Pins and needles run constantly up and down my leg. A pinch remains in my back. All I want is to escape the fearful landscape where my imagination roams so wildly. I wonder if I am making things worse. I imagine myself sitting for this long to be drawn. I imagine myself sitting this long on an airplane.
This is my last full week in New York, and I am excited to leave for sunnier weather. Because I am leaving so soon, each moment feels heightened. I often feel dizzy under the weight of it all. There is so much to remember now, so many things that should not be left unnoticed.
I sat on the train today and opened the book I am reading, The Unbearable Lightness of Being. I alternated between the words on the pages and the faces around me on the subway.
A thin man with a scraggly beard and a baseball hat got on the train as the doors flung open. He carried an old music box and some cardboard signs, which he immediately began taping to the poles. He pressed a few buttons, and a beat for a rap song started to play.
He raised the microphone to his mouth, “Hello everyone,” he announced to the car of disinterested passengers, “ I just want to let you know: Always follow your passion. We all make mistakes. I was a drug dealer for many years, and a construction worker, and now I’m here performing for you in the beautiful city of New York. I’m turning my life around now. And finally starting to do what I love.”
He looked around, everyone’s face pointed down. No one looked up.
“Please enjoy.”
FIND ME ON
Monday Updates is a section of this blog where I’m letting my hair down, figuratively. I am often preoccupied with getting things perfect, rather than simply sharing and enjoying the process while talking about life. Instead of the tradition of hating Mondays, I’m going to try to associate them with creative freedom and allow myself to speak my mind without the worry that a perfectionist usually has. Things here may be a bit disjointed, incomplete, and occasionally nonsensical, but they may also be playful, curious, and whimsical. I will do my best to make it more of the latter.
omg i love this oneeee! so much resonated with me in terms of your thoughts at the atelier. i too marveled at the discipline and distinct energy of the room. thanks for sharing (:
I so beg to differ with the instructor you quoted. Taking cues from Old Masters is a great thing to do, but there are plenty of 20/21st century artists who took those ideas and ran with them. Cold, clinical academic art is the result of too much reverence for the past. I think it’s much better for each artist to find their own solutions/strategies. Kudos for modeling. It takes bravery!