Male and Female Models

I think the last time I drew for real was in college. It was a class in drawing nudes. I remember how the female models were so fluid and relaxed. The male models were uncomfortable and boxy. (Actually there was only one regular male model, but every now and then the art professor would try to coerce others.) One week when we were drawing moving models--when they were going from pose to pose (so we sketched quickly), the woman moved moved gracefully and happily as if she were so at home in her body. But the man (who modeled the next class) struck this one pose as if he were serving us dinner and forgot to change positions for a long time. It stuck in my memory, the imaginary server . . . He seemed to be saying, I am here, offering you everything I have on a platter.

I guess I can't generalize from the class too much. I can't say women are more at home in their bodies than men, though it's tempting. But then again, the college I attended was actually a merger of 2 colleges, an arty women's college and a conservative men's college. The latter swallowed the former. Creativity died, more or less, in the process. Or so I am told.

There's a little glass case now at the college (Hamilton College) with memorabilia of the women who once were there. It's creepy. Like a large casket. In it is a white peasant dress that some girl wore to graduation. A photograph of ballerinas leaping across the grass. And a few other relics of our once upon a time . . . way back then, when artsy folks imagined an artsy college catering to women's needs and dreams and ideas . . .

Yes, it seems to say, this is all that is left . . .