I signed up for this beginning drawing class at the Minneapolis College of Art and Design. It’s on Wednesday nights from 6:30 to 9:30. I’m usually in bed with David Copperfield by 9 (the book, the book) so this is not exactly my high-energy time of day. I want to develop a regular practice of drawing and sketching, much like I do with writing. They compliment each other nicely. Besides, expanding my journaling practice means I get to buy more journals. I love paper. I also love pens and pencils. And those gummy erasers you can play with like Silly Putty. Basically, I really dig art supplies. So anyhoo, I found this class, I registered, and we had our first class last Wednesday.
There are at least 20 people in the class of all ages and backgrounds. I didn’t have time to stereotype them all on the first night so here’s just a sampling of who is in the class:
Mr. Yogi Toes. A 30-ish yoga instructor. He busted out a stretch move within the first hour of class.
The PIA. She’s a middle-aged, high maintenance Pain in The Ass who freely discusses her extensive knowledge of drawing and was quite demanding of our instructor. She was dressed entirely in shapeless beige clothes, from her hat down to her boots, all except for her handbag. It was black patent leather with tons of metal chains and baubles and dangly jingly things.
The Tiger Babies. Two young Asian women who totally nailed our first assignment of drawing negative space but were wailing because their lines weren’t straight.
The Guy in the Twins Hat. Also middle-aged. Cannot draw to save his life. Demonstrated this for the class. Doesn’t care. He took the class to learn to draw.
Tiny Dancer. She’s a young slip of a girl with long straight hair the color of a black Sharpie and lots of black eye makeup. She’s so petite she can sit cross-legged on the drawing horse. She struggled with our negative space exercise. She had a big butterfly barrette in her hair. I kinda wanted to give her a hug. I refrained.
Sasquatch. Our instructor for the next 8 weeks. His name is actually Josh and he has a lot of his work displayed gallery-style on his scary website. Go ahead. Click on the phrase scary website. I only thought to Google him and check out his work last Wednesday — like a few hours before our first class. Once I discovered his body of work, I became slightly concerned for my general well-being. Naturally, I sent the link to to several of my friends thinking they would offer wise and caring advice. I was so wrong. Laura put down 5 bucks that Josh was a bearded Yeti-worshipper. Heather was thinking Yeti-worshipper-in-a-sweater-vest. Claudia said serial killer. None of them said “BAIL.” All of them said “BLOG MATERIAL!!” I have good friends. No really, I do. Here’s a photo of Josh.
Kidding. Here’s Josh for real.
Notice: no obvious signs of sociopathy. No dodgy sweater vest, no beard, no blood stains, no big furry feet. Josh was an attentive and enthusiastic teacher and managed the diverse class really well. I told him after class that I had visited his website and was mildly horrified by his subject matter. He laughed (most serial killers will do that) and got all excited about where he gets all his ideas. I think it’s going to be a fun 8 weeks. If I live.