Arty farty pants

Having been mates with Jack and his brother Peter for a couple of years now I have been able to hang around some artistically talented people. Besides music, I also draw. Much like my nephew Andre, who draws when he's not playing video games I too drew all the time when I was a child.

The last time I picked up something to draw, and I'm not talking doodling some cartoon-like elephant riding a skateboard to make kids laugh. I'm talking serious art was when I was in High School. No, I didn't do art in school. I was encouraged to choose it for my last couple of years in hell school.... err, high school. But chose against it for the simple fact that I wanted to draw what I wanted to draw, not a bowl of fruit, a flower or something.

Stupidly at that age, I knew best. I certainly knew better than the pseudo-gothic teacher we had for art who's looks reminded me of a dead Olive Oyl. So I declined the offer to "do" art and went about my merry way doing my own thing.

The last drawing I did was a portrait of an ex-girlfriend. While it was nice, I only used a pencil. Thanks to my ignorance against studying art I didn't know about charcoal, crayon (not the Crayola stuff either), and the different paints, not only that, but the different paper and textures that would provide you with different feel and finish.

So, getting back to Jack and Peter. Peter is what I call an accomplished artist. He's not known, is always broke and appreciates things that people have designed with some thought other than the bottom line. Much like my appreciation for a good musician, I can't call someone an artist just because they can draw in the same sense as to why I can't call myself a singer. Sure I can sing. But I'm not a singer. To me, a singer can get through a song, can sing to anything within or out their comfort zone. As a bass guitarist, I am proud to say I can play along to any style of music. As a person who can draw, well, I don't know what I can do. Besides a couple of portraits I did in high school I had not picked up anything since to try again. The first stroke has always stopped me from carrying on, or starting even.

A couple of months ago, Peter told me about The Arthouse Hotel on Pitt Street. The thought of going was both exciting and daunting.

I lied when I said I had not picked up paper and pencil since high school. I have been secretly working on my tattoo for a couple of years now and to be honest, have lost motivation to carry on with it. Peter inviting me to the Arthouse Hotel was an exercise to provoke the artist in me again and get the fire burning.

I'll be honest at this point and say that while I've already mentioned I was both excited and afraid at the same time. I was keen to go, but apprehensive to enter the building as I stood in front of it to watch these arty farty uni students walking in with their giant portfolios and cases full of tools. I brought along my backpack I take camping and a pencil.

After a drink to settle in at the bar, Peter rocked up and sat down with me. He thankfully brought along some extra charcoal and some charcoal pencils he already sharpened. He gave them to me and said "Here ya go. Ever tried drawing with these?"

I looked at them thinking "How hard can it be?"

Peter said, "It's liberating the first time you break free from the restrictions on a lead pencil", as if to know what I was thinking.

After our drinks, we toddled off upstairs to find that all the seats were already taken. We stood at the back and casually slumped into a comfy position against the wall. I sat on the window sill and started to think about things. I was totally flustered and had no starting point, with charcoal in hand, I had no idea what to do or where to start.

BOOM! the first stroke.... I hope that works out later. It was a bit like a crossword. You write down your answer in hope that it'll help find the other words it crosses later on.

There I was, on my way to drawing a nude girl standing meters away from me.

This was Monday night at the Arthouse Hotel. Monday night is Life Drawing night and every thought previous to going upstairs about cracking a hardon was not even present as I stood there concentrating on a lovely specimen of a woman.

The poses changed quickly. I couldn't keep up, I looked over at Peter to see that it looked like he had drawn at least 5 different pictures already. I hadn't even done an outline. Crap! I though. I gotta work faster and I haven't really done this in 16 or so years.

Damn! She changed poses again. And they weren't subtle changes. One minute she was standing up facing us, the next she was looking away, or on her back. then crouching down. An hour into it, I got the swing of things. When she changed position, I changed pages and started on a new pose. When she moved into a different position, I'd refresh the old picture because I could still see some of the same angle with the same light. Then 5 minutes later she'd move again, "Oh" I thought. "I can go back to the other one I started on". Once I go the hang of this erratic drawing method I was all good.

Then her clothes went on and it had been an hour already. Break time. I went and got a beer for Peter and me as well as some munchies.... spring rolls from the bar bistro.

We talked, commented on the speed of position changes and compared each others sketches. Peter's style totally differed to mine and funnily enough I liked all his work and he loved some of mine with comments filled with surprise that I was "good" in his own words. Peter is understated, so "good" meant awesome to me. At least that's how I took it. While Peter went to the toilet, I took a break to actually look at my sketches. I was staring down at these pages in disbelief. I was sure that whoever drew those drawings wasn't me. In fact I was sure of it. Peter returned and we talked and drank some more.

We knew there were two models on that night. The second name was a bit dubious and we thought it may be a guy. Turned out it wasn't. Peter and I aren't gay, nor homophobic. But we both appreciate the feminine form a great deal more than that of a man. We both like smooth lines and round bits. Not sharp corners and muscles. So there was a bit of relief to see the other model on the other side of the bar which we couldn't see from where we stood was also a woman. We sat over there once we realised that people were starting to leave. I think we were there all of 5 minutes when we beth agreed that the second girl had zero to offer. She posed there, totally disinterested in what she was doing. This was a total contrast to the first girl who it was obvious loved doing her afternoon job. She was proud of herself. She emitted this energy that basically allowed me to sit there, hold my charcoal to the paper and the rest happened on its own as if it was her communicating across to the tools in my hand. I obviously had nothing to do with it and staring at my work earlier proved that it wasn't really me anyway.

So Peter and I both agreed to go back to the other side and continue drawing the first girl who was back from her break. Instantly, the quality of my work improved to the point where you could differentiate my drawings from that of a three year old. A few more sketches and poses and the night was over.

It was about 9:30 by then and Peter and I finished off the evening at the pub with a nightcap and headed off to the train station.

What a brilliant evening. We will be returning to try out some other models next Monday.

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