all part of the process. Every not so good piece was a step towards my kind of good pieces. And those kind of good pieces will hopefully get me to some great pieces. Someday.”
His eyes stared somberly into the darkness, not looking at anything in particular. It was almost like he was looking off into the future, trying to see the artist he one day hoped to become. At that moment, I caught a glimpse of the tortured artist inside him.
I took a big sip of wine and groped around for something to say to wake him from his brooding contemplation. I noticed another screened in corner of the studio. Behind the screen appeared to be a bed covered in rumpled sheets with clothes strewn about it. A thought occurred to me.
“Do you live here?” I asked, gesturing towards the bed.
He blinked a couple of times, as if awakening from a trance. His eyes looked at the unkempt bed, and he smiled. It was good to see him smile. It lit up the whole studio and the mood lightened considerably.
“Technically, no. But I spend most of my time here. When I’m working, time sort of slips away from me so I just end up sleeping here most nights.”
In the very center of the loft, a ring of lights of various heights and sizes stood around an empty space. A lone easel sat on the edge of that space, facing in. I had a feeling that was where I was going to be posing.
“So, should we get started?” I asked.
He looked at me and shook his head. “All business, huh? There’s no rush. Tell me about yourself.”
I shrugged. “There’s not much to tell. I grew up in a small, boring town. Left as soon as I could and came here to go to school.”
“What are you studying?”
“Business,” I said.
He rolled his eyes.
“What?” I asked defensively. “What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing,” he said. “It just seems so boring and safe. It doesn’t seem like something you’d be passionate about.”
“Well, we all can’t be starving artists,” I said, the heat rising in my voice. For some reason, his eyes twinkled with amusement when I said it. “Some of us want to earn a decent living. Some of us want security in our lives.”
“Security is important, yes, but I think choosing a career just because it’s safe is a bad idea. You should do something that interests you. Something you’re passionate about. Sure, it might be risky, but sometimes in life you have to take some risks.”
“I take risks. I took a risk posing the other day. I took a big risk coming here.”
“Yes, and I’m glad you did,” he said. “Look, I wasn’t trying to offend you. You just don’t strike me as the business type.”
“Oh yeah? What type do I look like?”
He looked me up and down. I felt small under that gaze.
“Sexy teacher. Maybe sexy lawyer. Possibly a sexy doctor.”
“Do all my jobs have to be sexy?”
“No, the jobs are all normal. You bring the sexy part with you.” He winked at me.
Before I could say anything, he continued.
“You said you’d never modeled before?”
“Yeah. This is all new to me.”
“So what made you do it?”
“I wish I could tell you it was for the love of art or to try out new things, but the truth is I lost my job and I need work. I need a lot of work if I want to afford school next year.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Actually, no, I’m not sorry.”
“Oh?” I asked, bristling again.
“If you still had that job, you’d have never walked into that studio the other day, and I would have never had the chance to draw you.”
“Oh, stop,” I said, but I couldn’t hold back a grin. “I bet you say that to all the naked girls.”
He smiled. “Not all of them. But sometimes, yes, there’s a connection. An unspoken dialogue between model and artist. Call it a muse, call it inspiration, call it whatever. But when it happens, I can’t ignore it. I go after
His eyes stared somberly into the darkness, not looking at anything in particular. It was almost like he was looking off into the future, trying to see the artist he one day hoped to become. At that moment, I caught a glimpse of the tortured artist inside him.
I took a big sip of wine and groped around for something to say to wake him from his brooding contemplation. I noticed another screened in corner of the studio. Behind the screen appeared to be a bed covered in rumpled sheets with clothes strewn about it. A thought occurred to me.
“Do you live here?” I asked, gesturing towards the bed.
He blinked a couple of times, as if awakening from a trance. His eyes looked at the unkempt bed, and he smiled. It was good to see him smile. It lit up the whole studio and the mood lightened considerably.
“Technically, no. But I spend most of my time here. When I’m working, time sort of slips away from me so I just end up sleeping here most nights.”
In the very center of the loft, a ring of lights of various heights and sizes stood around an empty space. A lone easel sat on the edge of that space, facing in. I had a feeling that was where I was going to be posing.
“So, should we get started?” I asked.
He looked at me and shook his head. “All business, huh? There’s no rush. Tell me about yourself.”
I shrugged. “There’s not much to tell. I grew up in a small, boring town. Left as soon as I could and came here to go to school.”
“What are you studying?”
“Business,” I said.
He rolled his eyes.
“What?” I asked defensively. “What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing,” he said. “It just seems so boring and safe. It doesn’t seem like something you’d be passionate about.”
“Well, we all can’t be starving artists,” I said, the heat rising in my voice. For some reason, his eyes twinkled with amusement when I said it. “Some of us want to earn a decent living. Some of us want security in our lives.”
“Security is important, yes, but I think choosing a career just because it’s safe is a bad idea. You should do something that interests you. Something you’re passionate about. Sure, it might be risky, but sometimes in life you have to take some risks.”
“I take risks. I took a risk posing the other day. I took a big risk coming here.”
“Yes, and I’m glad you did,” he said. “Look, I wasn’t trying to offend you. You just don’t strike me as the business type.”
“Oh yeah? What type do I look like?”
He looked me up and down. I felt small under that gaze.
“Sexy teacher. Maybe sexy lawyer. Possibly a sexy doctor.”
“Do all my jobs have to be sexy?”
“No, the jobs are all normal. You bring the sexy part with you.” He winked at me.
Before I could say anything, he continued.
“You said you’d never modeled before?”
“Yeah. This is all new to me.”
“So what made you do it?”
“I wish I could tell you it was for the love of art or to try out new things, but the truth is I lost my job and I need work. I need a lot of work if I want to afford school next year.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Actually, no, I’m not sorry.”
“Oh?” I asked, bristling again.
“If you still had that job, you’d have never walked into that studio the other day, and I would have never had the chance to draw you.”
“Oh, stop,” I said, but I couldn’t hold back a grin. “I bet you say that to all the naked girls.”
He smiled. “Not all of them. But sometimes, yes, there’s a connection. An unspoken dialogue between model and artist. Call it a muse, call it inspiration, call it whatever. But when it happens, I can’t ignore it. I go after
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