Where Have I Been All My Life?

Had my first life drawing class last night.

I was ridiculously nervous. It being a small group, and tutored, and it having been a while and all. And I was a bit worried I might blush.

I learned something. As much as knitting, spinning, crochet is meditative, therapeutic and I couldn't imagine living without making -something- with my hands; this drawing thing feeds my soul. In a poetical justice kind of way I feel so raw and naked telling you this, and scared, and teary.

I have done life drawing before, 14 years ago I did one year of a graphic design degree, it wasn't for me. I hated it, and I was very bad at it. However I did enjoy the illustration class, part of which was life drawing. Since then I have done casual un-tutored classes here and there, but nothing since having children.

The class finished at 9.30pm. It took me until midnight to wind down enough to go sleep, I was wired.

Now for the funny parts.

When I showed my husband he said, "You drew his doodle."

Which is funny for lots of reasons, but also because I was -this- close to leaving the poor man with a gaping blank space, and whilst most of the time apart from the initial two seconds, you just don't think about it, I still don't like to stare at that particular bit*, but you kind of have to, to get it right.

I think because of the way men 'work' my husband assumes that the sight of doodles excite me. He is SO wrong.

He mentioned it again this morning, trying to think of something funny to say to his work mates about how his wife was off drawing penises last night. I mean, really!

I suppose I am fortunate that he is not the jealous, over protective type. Which brings me to a question, is it safe for me to walk home at 9.30pm at night, even though it is only just around the corner? Husband thinks I'm a lunatic to even consider taking the car, but then he also expected me to walk 20 minutes in the middle of the night through a park, when there were reports of a serial rapist in the area. I point blank refused to walk on that occasion, but he makes me feel as though I'm being a silly scaredy cat when this thing is just around the corner. What do you think?


*I had a very sheltered good christian upbringing. Church every Sunday. Hardly ever allowed to go to parties. Not allowed to listen to secular music. Not allowed to have boyfriends. So, I had reached the ripe old age of 18, without so much as kissing a boy, I was a good obedient child, unwilling to rock the boat. (Once I left home I made up for lost time fairly quickly, I might add.)

So, when confronted with a naked man, in my first year of university, I looked every which way, except the direction I was supposed to look, and for the first pose he was standing full frontal in my direction, he had 360 degrees to choose from, the class was in a circle, and he faced me, dear God!. I think I spent the entire first life drawing class as red as a beetroot. I favoured drawing their faces, neck and shoulders. Suffice to say, I much preferred the female models, which I didn't find so confronting. I am not so concerned now, but I still feel a little self conscious about drawing doodles. Silly.