by Marty Coleman | Jan 16, 2015 | Labels - 2015, W. C. Fields |
Man Labels
A few days ago I drew the first of my labels series. After I posted it on Facebook my sister took me to task for it only being about women, not men. I explained that 75% of my audience is women, that the person depicted was a woman and that 3 out of the 7 words used were gender neutral. I also said it was just a sample of what people might say, not a thorough compendium.
After thinking about what would be next in the label series this morning I started thinking about what a man might be called compared to a woman. I had the words ‘ugly whore’, ‘slut’, ‘goddess’, and ‘pretty’ as the four gender specific words in the first drawing. What might be the equivalent, or would there be an equivalent, for a man? I ended up using 2 of the same words exactly as before; ‘smart’ and ‘stupid’. I used ‘handsome’ instead of ‘pretty’ and I used ‘God’ instead of ‘Goddess’.
Asshole
I then added 3 words I think are directed in a derogatory way towards men most of the time. ‘Asshole’ can of course be used with any gender. I even have a female blogger friend who just this morning posted a photo of her foray to the fancy pizza restaurant with her young kids last night. She said the kids didn’t like the pizza because it had basil on it, thus she was an ‘asshole’. But that sort of proves the rule to me. It’s a greater rarity to call a woman an asshole than it is a man. It’s changing though, I admit. Not sure that is a good thing or not.
Faggot
The words ‘Womanizer’ and ‘faggot’ are safe bets to be used primarily towards men. I’ve been called both in my life. Being called ‘faggot’ as a teen really had no meaning for me and didn’t really affect me one way or the other. Primarily this was because I didn’t really know what it meant beyond someone being effeminate. I never worried about me being effeminate and I wasn’t really thinking about the sexual acts that would lead one to be called that when I was growing up. It wasn’t some sort of ‘oh, they know my secret’ type worry. It was just something guys said in putting each other down.
I feel for those among my friends who suffered through being called that and actually were questioning their sexuality and attraction, or who did know they were gay from an early age but weren’t at all sure it was right or ok. I know now, when gay rights and gay relationships are much more out in the open, it still is a hurtful word to have thrown at you. But back then, in the 60s and 70s, I can only imagine that to have that word and accusation thrown at you then had to be very hard to take. I am happy that it’s easier for so many now. I hope it becomes easier for more and more around the globe soon.
Womanizer
‘Womanizer’, on the other hand, I didn’t like being called, probably because it hit too close to home. There were times I did feel like a womanizer and so when I was called that word it hit a nerve.
I’ve had many people over the years ask why I primarily draw, photograph and befriend women more than men. I don’t have a problem being asked that and I am confident in my answer. My answer is: I like women more than men. Yes, because of the physical attraction. But also yes, because of the emotional availability. And yes, because of the communication. And yes, because of the mutual interests. Yes, for a lot of reasons.
But being a ‘womanizer’ is not the same as being a person who likes and loves women. Being a womanizer is being manipulative. It’s being predatory. It’s having an agenda. I have been all those things in the past and it took me way too long to see the damage it did to myself and others. Being called that, and worse, being that, wasn’t a good thing.
Your Nerve Point
What about you. What were you called that you never thought about answering because it wasn’t close to who you were? What were you called that actually did hit close to home and you have had to deal with inside yourself?
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Drawing and commentary by Marty Coleman
Quote adapted from one by W. C. Fields, American comedian and actor, 1880 – 1946
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by Marty Coleman | Jan 14, 2015 | Labels - 2015, Marty Coleman |
Question
What labels have you been given and how did that affect you?
Self-Esteem
I wrote a short story yesterday about a homeless woman and her daughter. The mother was confronted by a woman who judged her negatively without really knowing her. The daughter was upset about the judgment and her mother used the opportunity to explain that the judgment wasn’t based on the lady knowing them. She explained that she judged because she had some hurt in her that she was trying to get out and judging others was her way of doing that. And the mother was right, the judgment occurred because the woman was raised being judgmental. It was how she tried to be like her own mother. It was a convoluted attempt to get her approval, which she never really had as a child. The child was lucky to have a mother to help explain that their self-esteem came from them, not from some random person who did not know them. The link to that story is below.
Their Story
I am guessing those of you reading this have been called one of the words in the drawing above. Some are negative and some are positive, but all of them are fables, or stories. That doesn’t mean they may not have some truth in them. Maybe they do, maybe they don’t. But at the most they are incomplete statements of who you are and at the least they are outright lies. Wherever they are in the arch of truth, the reason they are spoken has more to do with the person speaking than it has to do with you.
In other words, they are making up a story about you that fits their needs. It’s not a story about truth, it’s a story their need. Within that story may be some truths about you that you agree with. Maybe you think you are smart just like they do. Maybe you do think you are a slut just like they do. But that is just two stories having a similar character. It doesn’t make their story your story.
Your Story
When I do a photo shoot with a model for one of my art projects I will often ask the following question: What is your favorite facial feature on yourself? Many will answer in the following way: “Well, most people say it’s my… ‘type in facial feature here’. I, in response, will say, “I am not asking what others think is your best feature, I am asking you what feature is YOUR favorite.” That gets them thinking and they often, but not always, will change their answer. They might say, “I know no one else really pays any attention to it, but I love my forehead best because it reminds me of my dad.” or something like that. That, to me, illustrates the difference between the story you would tell about yourself and the story others may tell about you.
Question
What labels have you been given and how did that affect you?
Story Link:
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Drawing, quote and commentary by Marty Coleman
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by Marty Coleman | Jan 13, 2015 | 'In The Gallery', Marty Coleman |
Prologue
Beatrice was raised by a very judgmental mother who didn’t like her much.
Chapter One
Beatrice saw the mother and daughter on the street outside of gallery as she went up the steps. As she juggled her keys and coffee to unlock the door she hoped they would move along soon.
It wasn’t that cold out but it had been cold overnight and they were both barefoot. Their shoes had been stolen at the homeless shelter the night before. The mother, named Emily, was hoping the shelter would have extra shoes, but they did not. She had come downtown hoping the church caring center would have some and was waiting for it to open. She stopped in front of the gallery because there was a ledge just the right height for her daughter to sit on with her doll. Her daughter, named Cerise, had to go to the bathroom very badly. The mother was hoping she could wait until the caring center was open but it looked like she might not be able to. She finally decided she had to go into the gallery to see if they had a bathroom.
Beatrice heard the door open while she was in the back turning on the computer in the office. When she went out and saw it was the mother and daughter she rolled her eyes, sighed heavily and went up front to confront them. “Yes, may I help you?” She asked.
Emily said, “We are waiting for the church caring center to open down the street but my daughter really has to go to the bathroom. Would you mind if she used yours, please?”
Beatrice said, “Yes, she may, but make it quick.” She walked towards the back, sweeping her arm behind her indicating for them to follow. She pointed to a small door and said, “There, please be quick and clean up after.”
Cerise was quick and did clean up after. Emily thanked Beatrice and started to walk back to the front to go out. Beatrice stopped her with a hand on her shoulder and said, “Hold on a minute. I really have to say I am bothered by you allowing your daughter being barefoot in the city like that, not to mention yourself. It’s dangerous on the sidewalks with trash and glass and all sorts of things. Why are you barefoot?”
Emily explained about the shoes being stolen. Beatrice said, “But why did you allow them to be stolen? Why weren’t they on your feet? Why were you at a homeless shelter in the first place? Your child is very young, you should take better care of her.”
Emily by this time was holding Cerise close. Cerise in turn was holding her doll even closer. Emily said, “Yes, you are right. I wish I had taken better care of her. Thank you for letting us use the bathroom. We won’t bother you again.”
Beatrice said, “I hope you don’t and I hope you get your act together. It’s not good for her.”
Chapter Two
Emily and Cerise went outside and down the street to the Church Caring Center. It had opened and it turned out they did have shoes they could have, along with socks and sweaters for both of them. Cerise had been crying about the lady in the gallery. She asked her mom, “Why was that lady so mean? She really scared me. You should have told her the whole story, then maybe she wouldn’t have been so mean.”
Emily responded, “You know Cerise, sometimes it really doesn’t matter if someone knows the whole story. They need to judge and so they will judge, no matter what. You and I know the story and we both know why we were at the homeless shelter. We know what we are doing and why. That is what matters.”
Beatrice told the story of the homeless mother and daughter to five different friends over the course of the day. Four of the friends agreed that the homeless mother was bad and that the daughter should be taken from her and put in protective custody. The fifth friend, a wealthy gallery patron named Jill, told Beatrice she thought she had treated them badly. She said what they needed was kindness, not judgment.
Beatrice was rather taken aback by this and asked why she was making such a big deal about it. Jill said, “I once was homeless when I was quite young and people treated me the same way. I already knew all the negative things about myself and how I had ended up homeless, I didn’t need other people telling me the same thing. What I needed was help and understanding. Luckily for me I got that help, and ironically it was actually from a gallery dealer in Los Angeles. Without his understanding and help I never would have gotten out of the jam I was in.”
Chapter Three
A few weeks later Emily and Cerise were in the same gallery neighborhood again. This time they had shoes on. Emily had gotten a part-time job at a coffee shop about a block from the gallery. The coffee shop owner had said Cerise could stay there as long as she didn’t bother her mother too much while she was on duty. It would only be for a few more weeks then school would start again for the fall and Cerise wouldn’t have to be there during the day. Cerise sat at a little table near the window and drew in the sketchbook they had given her at the Church Caring Center a few weeks before.
Beatrice usually came to the coffee shop around 9:30 am, right before she went to open the gallery. This day she saw a little girl through the window as she approached. As she walked past she bent down, pointed at the drawing and said, “You are a very good artist. Keep at it and one day you might be famous, who knows!” Cerise looked up and recognized the woman as the mean person from a few weeks prior, but Beatrice did not recognize Cerise. But when she came to the counter she most definitely did recognize Cerise’s mother, Emily. She remembered the green eyes, the strong eyeliner and the red hair up in a bun. Emily recognized Beatrice as well. They stared at each other for a moment. Beatrice could feel her cheeks flushing with blood.
Emily asked, “Hello, what may I get for you today?”
Beatrice answered, “Um…I will have…um….I will have a large Cafe Mocha please.”
Emily said, “Will that be all?”
Beatrice answered, “Yes. Um….you were in my gallery last week, right?”
Emily responded, “Yes. My daughter used the bathroom. Thank you for allowing that.”
Beatrice said, “Um….yes. No problem. Anytime.” She felt particularly stupid after saying that.
Emily said. “Your drink will be ready over to the left. It should be just a minute.”
Beatrice moved over to the counter at the left. She picked up her drink and was on her way out when she returned to Emily. She said, “I am sorry for the attitude I had that day. It was mean and judgmental and I regret it.”
Beatrice looked up from ringing something up in the cash register. “I appreciate that. We are used to that attitude, you aren’t alone. But you are the only person who’s ever apologized to me for it. That means a lot. Thank you.”
Beatrice asked, “Where is your daughter?”
Emily pointed to the front and said, “You already talked to her, she is the little girl at the window over there.”
Beatrice Asked Emily her name and the name of her daughter. She shook Emily’s hand, said her apology again and walked over the Cerise. She kneeled down to Cerise’s level, forgetting that her skirt was short and was probably exposing too much, and said, “Cerise, my name is Beatrice. I own the gallery that you came into last week to go to the bathroom. I remember being mean to your mother and you and I should not have been like that. I wanted to come over and apologize to you. Will you forgive me?”
Cerise said, “Yes, I will. Mom says when someone treats us mean it usually means something is hurting inside them and that we should hope that hurt goes away for them instead of us feeling hurt about what they said.”
Beatrice stared at Cerise. She couldn’t talk for a moment. Finally, as tears started to gather in her eyes, said, “Yes, your mother is a very wise woman. She is right. It is much more about my hurt than anything about you. Once again, I am sorry and I hope you won’t hold it against me.”
Cerise said, “I won’t, I promise. By the way, thank you for saying you liked my drawing when you came in. That made me happy. I am not very good yet but I like drawing so I do it anyway.”
Beatrice said, “You are better than you think you are, I can tell you that much.”
Beatrice left, crying.
Chapter Four
Two days later Beatrice went back in the coffee shop and saw Cerise and Emily again. She asked Emily if it would be ok if some days Cerise spent her time at the gallery instead of the coffee shop. Emily said it was ok with her if it was ok with Cerise. Beatrice went over to Cerise and asked, “Cerise, I had an idea last night. Would you be willing to spend a bit of your time during the day at my gallery instead of here? You can still draw of course. But you can do other things there too, maybe even help me with some stuff. And we do have a cool cat that needs some company.”
Cerise looked over at her mother who nodded her ok. Cerise smiled and said, “Yes, that might be fun.”
Cerise spent an hour or so each day at the gallery for the remainder of the summer. She drew a lot, often drawing the cat sleeping in the sun. She also learned how to hammer a nail, cut a mat, wire a frame and paint pedestals. As the end of summer approached Beatrice’s assistant announced she was pregnant and going to be moving the the suburbs with her husband, who was taking a job in Greenwich.
Beatrice offered the assistant job to Emily, who accepted.
Epilogue
That was five years ago. Beatrice has since opened a second gallery uptown. Emily is in charge of the downtown gallery and is making quite a name for herself as an astute judge of talent and an excellent curator. Cerise is just entering high school and has decided to major in art when she goes to college.
Beatrice keeps in contact with her friend Jill, who is also great friends with Emily and Cerise. Beatrice has no idea what ever happened to her other four friends.
The End
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by Marty Coleman | Jan 9, 2015 | Art Smith, Museum Compositions, Photographic Sunday |
Yesterday I posted a drawing and 2 photos from my foray into the Dallas Museum of Art’s ‘Bouquet’ exhibition over the Thanksgiving weekend, 2014.
There were other temporary exhibitions as well. One was a retrospective of Modernist Jewelry created by Art Smith. I honestly was more interested in the photographs of the models wearing the jewelry, most seeming to be from the 50s and 60s. The photographers were listed as ‘Unknown Photographer’ in all the photos, though one actually did have a last name written on it. It’s a relatively rare occurrence when something on a museum wall from the last 100 years is attributed to ‘Anonymous’ . The names of models in old paintings are often lost in time, but that is usually not the case with more contemporary portrait muses. But these were photos focused on the jewelry, not the photographer or model, and at least the Jewelry designer was known, right? Still, I felt bad for the photographer and models lost in time. I did however like the word play that immediately appeared in my head; I was taking photographs of photographs taken by unknown photographers of anonymous models.
I took a few pics with my regular camera then decided to take one with my cell phone so I could post it if I later wanted to. When I did that I happened to catch a reflected light in the eye of one of the model photos. That led me on a search for more reflected lights in the eyes. I spent minutes at a time trying to get the reflection to be just right. It was a fun and exacting effort. The other people in the gallery definitely were wondering why I was holding up a little old cell phone so long in one position, that was obvious!
Here are a few of my favorites from my effort.
Museum Composition – Anonymous Eyes #1
Museum Composition – Anonymous Eyes #2
Museum Composition – Anonymous Eyes #3
Museum Composition – Anonymous Eyes #4
After I took the pics I wandered around looking at the actual jewelry in the cases and, as you can see from the photos, they were incredible.
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Here are more ‘Museum Compositions’ posts
Museum Compositions – June 2013
Museum as Muse – Dallas Museum of Art – July 2013
Bouquets in Dallas – Dallas Museum of Art – November 2014
Anonymous Eyes – Dallas Museum of Art – November 2014
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Photographs and writing by Marty Coleman © 2015
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by Marty Coleman | Jan 8, 2015 | Dallas, Museum Compositions, Photographic Sunday |
Dallas Museum of Art
Over the Thanksgiving weekend we were down in Dallas visiting our daughter, Caitlin. We went to see the Dallas Cowboys play on Thursday, had Thanksgiving dinner after that and then spent the rest of the weekend just enjoying ourselves. On Friday Linda and Caitlin went shopping and I went to one of my favorite museums, the Dallas Museum of Art. I’ve been there 3 times now I think. It’s a large museum with an extensive permanent collection in all the major areas of art. It also has rotating exhibitions, usually at least 3-4 at a time. This time the major show was ‘Bouquets’. That means it was paintings of flowers. Not my favorite genre. It could even be my least favorite genre actually.
I knew this in advance and was thinking of going to the outdoor Sculpture Museum across the street instead but for some reason I forget now, maybe it was cold or rainy, I opted to go to the Museum anyway. I had my camera with me and figured at least I would be able to work on my ongoing ‘Museum Compositions’ series. I also knew that the exhibition had at least one Matisse painting in it so it couldn’t be all bad.
One of the good things about the DMA is they allow photography (without flash) everywhere, even special exhibitions. Most museums allow photography but not in the temporary exhibitions. Some, like the Gilcrease Museum in Tulsa, don’t allow any photography at all. So, I went traipsing around the museum and took some photos.
Drawing
I also did a drawing while I was there. It wasn’t in my sketchbook but rather in a gallery in the Bouquet’ exhibition where they had an actual bouquet of flowers for people to draw. They had paper and pencils and places to sit. I had a pen with me, the type I use in my sketchbook, so I used that on one of their pieces of paper to capture the scene. There was a place to put up your art work once you were finished but I didn’t want to let go of mine. I rolled it up and brought it home thinking I might color it later on. It got hidden in a bag I brought home and I didn’t find it again until last week right before my road trip to Virginia.
One of my goals for 2015 is to follow through on more of my artwork so I figured I needed to scan the drawing and put it out there before it got forgotten.
A drawing of someone drawing flowers in an exhibition of paintings of flowers at the Dallas Museum of Art.
Photographs
I didn’t capture many shots I liked but here are two I think stood out.
Museum Composition – Bouquet #1
This is one of the favorite ‘Museum Compositions’ images I’ve taken. The pose this woman unconsciously struck as she looked at the painting was exquisite and I quickly got off 3-4 photos of her standing there. I later went up to her and asked her if she was a dancer since the pose looks so much like one a dancer would strike. She said she wasn’t and I told her she sure had the posture of one. She took it as a very nice compliment and I was happy about that.
Museum Composition – Bouquet #2
I like the color combinations in this one and I especially like the interaction between the two people.
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Here are more ‘Museum Compositions’ posts
Museum Compositions – June 2013
Museum as Muse – Dallas Museum of Art – July 2013
Bouquets in Dallas – Dallas Museum of Art – November 2014
Anonymous Eyes – Dallas Museum of Art – November 2014
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Photographs and drawings © 2017 Marty Coleman | napkindad.com
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by Marty Coleman | Jan 6, 2015 | 'In The Gallery', Marty Coleman |
Prologue
Millicent had never been the subject of a short story before. She had been mentioned in a weird poem her 10th grade boyfriend had written for her when he was high on pot, but never a short story.
Chapter One
Millicent had never been in an art gallery before. She did go into one with her father in Sausalito when she was 11 and stole a pair of earrings, but never as an adult.
Chapter Two
Millicent was hired at the last minute to sub for Berthe, who had come down with Shingles and couldn’t work. She had subbed last minute plenty of times for Sid the alcoholic, but never for Berthe.
Chapter Three
Millicent had never seen a painting of a naked person in person before. She had seen pictures years ago in some dirty magazines her brother had, but never a painting.
Chapter Four
Millicent had never worn stripes and polka dots together to work before. She had worn stripes and paisley together once to her husband’s Christmas office party where she drank too much Vodka, but never stripes and polka dots.
Chapter Five
Millicent had never taken the N Judah trolley to the end of the line before. She had taken the M Owl all the way to the end before, when she was depressed about her oldest son being caught putting on her makeup, but never the N Judah.
Chapter Six
Millicent had never had to actually interpret the word ‘breast’ in public before. She had to sign ‘butt’ plenty of times, but never the word ‘breast’.
Chapter Seven
Millicent had never eaten Sushi before but that is where the class went after the gallery. She had eaten raw chicken once and got sick, but never fish.
Chapter Eight
Millicent had never worn salmon colored eyeshadow before but got some for Christmas and decided to try it. She had worn peach colored eyeshadow before, but never salmon.
Chapter Nine
Millicent had never contemplated divorce before but she saw her husband with a big busted blonde in a Starbucks across the street from the gallery as they walked in. She had contemplated killing him before, but never divorce.
Epilogue
Millicent divorced her husband, wore salmon colored eyeshadow every day, gave her peach colored eyeshadow to her son, got a fish tank, wore stripes and polka dots together often and started painting for fun. Her best friend Geraldo even posed for her naked once.
The End
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by Marty Coleman | Dec 22, 2014 | 'In The Gallery', Marty Coleman |
Chapter One
Rita got the invitation the same day her date stood her up (she hadn’t had a successful second date in 2 years) so she decided to go to the opening alone. She knew the show would have nudes in it, but didn’t realize every single painting was of a blue, slack-shouldered loser with a big dick. This depressed her until she finally broke out laughing and said to the young woman standing next to her, “This show is ‘truth’ – men are just big dicks.” The both laughed and became friends. They left the gallery disillusioned and went to see a movie about a female army ranger who was stuck in the mountains and had to eat her fellow male army ranger who died to survive. That made them feel better.
The End
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by Marty Coleman | Dec 19, 2014 | Anonymous, The Senses - 2014/15 |
Eye Believer
What is the most compelling thing in a murder trial? The eyewitness testimony. It’s graphic, emotional, and compelling. Why? Because the person saw it happen. That’s strong. It’s also often wrong. Eyewitnesses are known to actually be notoriously unreliable in many cases.
Ear Believer
Have you seen the Christmas movie ‘White Christmas’? The housekeeper is an eavesdropping busy body who overhears a partial conversation over the phone and makes assumptions, and shares them, about the whole nature of the conversation. It leads to a big huge mess.
Smart Believer
So, what is the solution to this dilemma of having something seen or heard that seems to be rock solid? Withholding judgment is how I deal with it. I say to myself, What’s the rush? Why do I have to go on social media or to my friends and say something RIGHT NOW about this event that I have heard or seen just a fragment of? Why not be patient and wait to find out more about what is happening? Why not investigate and look deeper?
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Drawing and commentary by Marty Coleman
Quote by Anonymous
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by Marty Coleman | Dec 18, 2014 | Sketchbook History Tour |
I got up early on the day after the Dallas Marathon that Caitlin and I ran in. Caitlin and Linda were sleeping in so I went off to Starbucks to draw and have some coffee.
The sun rose as I started to draw, hitting this woman who was studying intently. The pale yellow glow was focused directly on her and I quickly started getting her down on paper. After I had drawn her top half she got up, picked up her backpack and laptop and looked like she was getting ready to leave. Luckily she was just going to the bathroom. When she returned she crossed her legs as you see here and I was able to finish drawing her without it looking disconnected from the top.
She kept her head down for a good portion of the time but I had to draw her facial features from memory since I hadn’t drawn them while she was sitting the first time and now her face was turned at an angle. I kept waiting for her to turn back to the right side of her page so I could see her face straight on again but she didn’t.
I showed her the drawing after I was done. I try to gauge the reaction from the people I draw and I definitely felt that while she was impressed to some degree, she was also perhaps a bit freaked out by it. I introduced myself, gave her my card and told her to contact me if she was interested in seeing the drawing after I had finished it. I asked her name and I thought she said ‘Alton’ but when I repeated it back to her she said what I thought was ‘Alta’. So, until I hear otherwise, she is Alta!
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Drawing and story by Marty Coleman
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by Marty Coleman | Dec 17, 2014 | 'In The Gallery', Marty Coleman |
Prologue
She didn’t realize today would be the most important day of her life.
Chapter One
The Waitress was waiting tables, depressed and annoyed at having been in the city for months and still not having made any friends or making any progress in her hoped for career as an actress. Her first table wasn’t making her feel any better. The man at the table had stopped her the moment she set down his coffee. He took hold of her hand and stared at it. He said, “You have a beautiful hand” then let go of it and thanked her for the coffee. She rolled her eyes as she walked away. “What a loser.” she mumbled.
For the rest of the breakfast he was deep in conversation with his breakfast companion, an elderly woman. The Waitress guessed she was at least 50 years older than he was. At first she thought it was probably his Grandmother, but as she heard snippets of the conversation she got the impression it was a business meeting. They talked a lot about costs, delivery dates and clients.
When she took the check from the artist at the end of the meal one of the dollar bills fell on the table. He picked it up and gave it to her. When she took it he said loudly, “WAIT!” Once again he took hold of her hand, this time with the dollar bill still in it. He looked up at her and said, “Would you consider modeling for me?”
She gave a deep sigh, rolled her eyes and looked at him with a smirk. “I am a legit artist, really!” he said with a laugh.
The elderly woman nodded her head and said, “He is right, you know. I am his art dealer, have been for 10 years. You can bring a friend or escort to his studio if that would make you comfortable. And don’t worry, he will pay you very well.”
The waitress looked at him and said. “Do I have to be naked?”
He laughed again. “No. Well, your hand does. I want to do a sculpture using your hand holding a dollar bill.”
She popped out her hip, put her hand on it and smirked again as she said, “My hand? Really? Not my surpassing feminine beauty? I am not sure what to think of that.”
Everyone laughed. He said, “Well, how about this. I will do a drawing of your surpassing beauty AND pay you if you will model your hand for me.”
She stared at him a moment then looked over at the elderly lady. The lady said, “You really should do it, you know. He’s a great guy and artist, plays good music in the studio and always has good coffee brewing.”
“OK. Done deal. I’ve always wanted to be a hand model!” Sara said.
The artist brought out an old-fashioned appointment book, flipped the pages and landed on a Saturday about 2 weeks away. He asked, pointing to the page, “Would this be ok? That Saturday, maybe at about 10 am?
She brought out her iPhone, checked the date and said, “Looks good to me. See you then.”
He got up to leave with his dining companion and the waitress said. “Do you want to know my name? And maybe we should exchange phone numbers? And I will need the address of your studio as well”
He looked at her with a silly grin and said. “Sorry, I always forget that part. Thanks for reminding me. My name is Art Mann and this is my dealer, Vivian DeWhite. What is yours?”
She raised one eyebrow. “Your name is Art Mann? Really? Come on.”
He looked at her, put up two fingers side by side and said, “Scouts honor. That’s my given name.”
She shook her head with a slight grin. “This is just too strange.” she said under her breath. “My name is Sara. Sara Montgomery. Nice to meet you Mr. Mann!”
She got his number and the address and said her goodbyes. As he went out the door he turned around and said with a laugh, “Be careful with that hand for the next two weeks. No ditch digging or other manual labor, ok?”
She gave him the thumbs up with her soon to be immortalized hand and went on to finish her shift, chuckling about the encounter for most of the rest of the day.
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Chapter Two
Sara spent the morning of her modeling debut trying to figure out what and how she should prepare. She hadn’t dug any ditches and she had moisturized each day. She did do her nails the night before. And since it was winter she did have warm gloves for the trip to the studio. Her hands were set.
He said he was going to draw her ‘surpassing beauty’ so she had also done her hair up nice, plucked her eyebrows and bought new mascara that didn’t clump. She wore a simple green leotard type top, not too much cleavage but enough to maybe impress just a little. She tried it with and without her bra and even though she thought of herself as still being pretty uplifting in that category, she was worried the studio might be cold and her perky girls would be way too obvious. She erred on the side of caution and wore a bra. She wore her go-to jeans and ankle high boots. He didn’t seem like a perfume type guy so she didn’t put any on.
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Chapter Three
Just as she was about to ring the buzzer at the apartment building when she was startled by the door opening and a very good looking man burstimg out. He smiled at her as he bounded down the stoop and said in what sounded like a German accent, “You must be the hand model. You can go right up, he’s expecting you. It’s on the 3rd floor.” He was 10 steps down the street by the time she got out a “Thanks.” and turned back towards the door. She was pretty sure he hadn’t heard her.
She could have gone without the bra. He had a wood-fired stove in the middle and, in spite of the 2 story wall of windows on 2 sides bringing in incredible winter light, the place was toasty warm. She was very nervous coming in but he welcomed her in with a big smile and a quick hug and that put her at ease. He offered her coffee or tea and had orange scones on a red plate waiting for her. She chose the supposedly great coffee and took a scone.
They made small talk for a few minutes, mostly about the cold front that had just moved in and if there would be more snow. He then jumped up, took her hand and said, “Come on, let me show you my space!”
He had a large array of canvases leaning up against the walls to the left, facing away from her. She was dying to know what they were of but he didn’t offer to turn them around. There were some drawings tacked up on the partition on the right, between the studio and what she figured was the kitchen and living area; portraits, body parts and full nudes in what she thought was probably charcoal. Among the drawings was a drawing of an ear with a big gaudy earring hanging from it, a portrait of a woman with a patch over one eye and a fully body nude of a man who she thought looked like the guy she saw bound out of the building. The drawing was complete except for his genitals. There was just a blank space where they would have been.
There were also three stands with clay sculptures on them against the windows. There was a nose with a clothes pin holding the nostrils closed, a foot in a high heel standing on an unbroken light bulb and a set of very round butt cheeks with a smoking pipe sticking out of it. Each one was about 2 feet tall.
He said that each piece started the same way the one he was going to do of her started. He met them as strangers, liked something about them and asked if they would model for him. She couldn’t help but wonder about the circumstances behind them all, and finally had to say something when they got to the sculpture of the butt cheeks.
She could feel a flush coming to her cheeks as she asked, “So, how exactly did you approach this woman to ask her to model her butt for you?”
He laughed, “I was wondering if you were going to ask! So many people see these pieces and know that they are all of strangers and never ask. I would certainly ask if I heard that story!” He pointed to the butt cheeks and said, “This is actually one of the simplest of explanations. She works out at the gym I go to. She is pretty much a superstar there and loves being the center of attention. I did exactly what I did with you, minus the ‘touching the body part’ part of course. I just told her she had amazing glutes and asked if she would model them for me. She did look at me a bit funny but I explained myself and she agreed. That is all there is too it.”
“Did she know you were going to stick a pipe up her butt?” she asked with a smile on face.
He bowed his head a bit and responded, “uh…No, she didn’t know that. I didn’t even know that until I was pretty much done. But, she’s seen it since and thinks it ‘gnarly cool’ to quote her.”
She looked at him and said, “Now I am nervous! What are you going to do or add to my hand after you are done sculpting it? Should I be worried.”
He laughed, “No, I already know what is going in your hand. It’s going to be the one dollar bill you had in your hand at the restaurant when I asked you.”
“Really?” she asked. “Promise? You promise nothing perverse or x-rated will be in my hand? I don’t want to bring my mom and dad to some opening and find my hand has a dildo or something in it!”
“No, sorry.” he said. “Just a boring old dollar bill, I promise.”
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Chapter Four
The actual modeling session went by quickly and without much excitement. He posed her arm so her elbow was on a table and her hand was facing straight up. At first her hand was empty but with her fingers together as if she was holding a dollar bill in them. He took photos from every conceivable angle, with and without a flash. He had her hold a dollar bill and he did the same set of photos all over again. He then sat very close in front of her and drew her hand a number of times. He did quick 30 second drawings that looked like scribbles to her and then worked his way up to a drawing that took almost an hour. She got a break after the short drawings and that was a very good thing because the coffee (which was very good) had gone through her and she was about to pee in her pants if he hadn’t stopped drawing right then.
She pretty much ran to the bathroom, barely getting her pants down before she let go. She hung her head down while she went, eyes closed in relief. It wasn’t until she looked up to find the toilet paper that she realized there was a huge drawing of a orangutan’s face staring right at her from the back of the bathroom door. She almost screamed when she saw it. She muttered to herself as she washed her hands, “At least it wasn’t butt cheeks”
The hour long pose was much harder than she imagined. Her fingers got tired and cramped and then seemed to fall asleep. She had to take a break and shake out her hand to get blood flowing back to it. But soon enough it was over. He exclaimed, “Finito! at least for now.” She got up, stretched a bit and asked if she could take a look at his drawing. He gestured to it sitting on his drawing bench and said, “Feel free. I will use it, along with the photos, as a basis for the sculpture. I expect it will take me a few months to finish it. I am going to have a show in the fall at Vivian’s Gallery and I am hopeful it will be in the show. I will let you know. “
After a break for more coffee and one last scone he said, “Ok, I promised you a drawing of your surpassing beauty so let’s get to it.” He brought her over to his drawing table and had her sit across from her. He told her to just look right over his head out the windows behind him. He said her eyes could go wherever she wanted as long as her head stayed in the same position. As he drew she scanned the apartment building across the street. There was one window with the curtains open where a woman was pacing back and forth talking on the phone. She imagined what that conversation was all about, creating a story in her head about the woman and her lover having an argument about how badly he behaved at her company Christmas party the night before. Before the drawing was over she had decided the woman really needed to break up with the guy and see a shrink.
Right as she came to that conclusion Art said, “Ok, all done.” He picked up the drawing and turned it around to show her. She had to admit, he had made her look beautiful. Probably the most beautiful she had ever seen herself. And it wasn’t that it was unrealistic, it actually did look just like her and it was beautiful. She really didn’t know what to say but she managed to eek out a “Wow, that is amazing, thank you!”
Art went over to a drawer, slipped the drawing in. Sara looked at him and said, “What, I don’t get the drawing?”
He said, “I said I would draw you, not that I would give you the drawing.”
She stared at him. “Sheesh, what a rip off. I was brought here under false pretenses!” She said with a laugh.
Art said, “I didn’t say I would NEVER give it to you, just not now.”
Sara harrumphed, “Alrighty then. I’ll expect it for Christmas or my birthday.”
And with that, it was time to go. She had about 2 hours to get home, maybe take a nap and get ready for her dinner shift at the restaurant. He led her to the door of his studio and handed her a check as he bid her farewell. It was for $250.00. Not a bad haul for a few hours of sitting around with her hand in the air, she thought.
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Chapter Five
Sara didn’t see Art again until the opening of his show 8 months later. However, In the intervening months Sara’s life changed dramatically. In spite of the hand cramp she loved doing the modeling. She found out from a friend that agencies around the city didn’t just look for face and body models but also for body part models, like hands and feet. She got up her nerve and contacted an agency after seeing photos of hands on their site. Sara had a photographer friend take some photos of her hands in Black and White and submitted them to the agency to be considered.
Within a week she got a call asking her to come in and within a week after that she had her first job hand modeling. It was for a brand of rubber gloves and she was photographed putting the gloves on and off. It wasn’t glamorous and it paid poorly but amazingly within 4 months she was getting enough work as a model to go down to about 3 dinner shifts a week waiting tables. After 3 months she had a premium shoot for jewelry that paid really good money. She got to wear bracelets and rings all day long as they photographed and videotaped her lounging around in a very ritzy apartment on the 76th floor of some building on the upper east side of Manhattan. They had put a very sexy party dress on her and even did her makeup and hair. It wasn’t scripted or rehearsed but at the last minute they asked her say something while looking directly into the camera while slipping a bracelet over her wrist. It was just one line, “It’s not jewelry, it’s art.” and she nailed it the first time around. They had her do it twice more just in case, once smiling as she said it and another time looking off camera.
She had to give the dress and jewelry back of course but her makeup and hair were still done. Even back in her day-to-day clothes she felt like a glamorous movie star. When she went back out onto 5th Avenue pretending to be a movie star. She put her sunglasses on with one deliberate arch of her arm and hand to her face. She pulled her gloves on with an elegant tug. She stopped to look in the windows of the boutiques, striking a deliberately casual pose each time. She went into one of the stores and bought a Burberry scarf. She threw it over her shoulder with a flourish as she left the store. When stopping for coffee she kept her sunglasses on inside the coffee shop. She said, “Thank you, dear” to the barista.
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Chapter Six
On the evening of Art’s opening Sara was ecstatic. She had the date circled on her calendar for over a month. She had even rejected a modeling gig that afternoon because she knew the photographer was notoriously flaky and would take about 3 hours longer than he said he would to get the project done. He also had tried to hit on her last time they worked together and she wasn’t the least bit interested. She had her hair and makeup done in that same glamorous style she had at her first big jewelry shoot. She bought a low cut green dress that she felt showed off her new, thinner figure, to best advantage. This time she wore perfume.
She went to the opening alone. She knew her mother would freak out if there were any ‘naked’ pieces so she thought it would be better to bring her to the gallery when it was empty instead of on opening night. She could have brought her younger brother but once again he would have giggled and made fun of anything remotely skin oriented. She had one friend, a model she had met recently, who was going to go with her but she had come down with Bronchitis and was coughing incessantly. It was better to just enjoy a solo night out and see who she might meet at the show than force some friend who wasn’t going to be into it to go with her.
When she arrived the gallery was filled with people who she did not know. She immediately started to think it might have been a bad idea to come alone when Vivian DeWight approached her with arms outstretched and a big smile. She greeted Sara and gave her a double kiss, not air kisses but actual kisses, on both cheeks. Sara liked that, her lips were warm and she could smell a great perfume on her.
Vivian quickly turned away and pulled a young man over. “Sara, this is Hans. He’s from Germany, just moved to New York about a year ago. He is also one of Art’s models. As a matter of fact, he is in a painting very close to the sculpture of your hand!”
Hans shook her hand politely. She could tell he didn’t recognize her. But she recognized him as the guy leaving Art’s studio as she was arriving that day. She remembered his height and his very cool floppy knit cap. He gave her a bit of a thrill as he pulled his hand away from her, dragging his fingers ever so slightly across her palm as he did so. She was a terrible guesser of height and age but she thought he was at least 6 feet tall and maybe 30 years old. She really had no idea but she guessed in her head all the same.
Sara said, “He doesn’t remember, but we met that day at the studio. Well, almost met. He came out in a rush as I went in. He let me in and yelled, “Third floor!” as he ran down the steps.”
Hans looked at her intently and said, “You know, now that I look at you, I do remember. You had on green that day as well, right?”
Sara was impressed. To remember what color she was wearing 8 months later? That showed some serious attention to detail she thought. She said, “Yes, I was. Some sort of brownie points are due for remembering that!”
“I have a thing about color, I pay way too much attention to it!” he said with a smile.
Sara responded, “Well, it worked on your behalf tonight, that is for sure.”
Vivian said, “Well, you two seem to be getting along famously. I am going to go check if the wine has run out yet. You two enjoy!” and off she went.
There was a bit of an awkward silence after Vivian left. Then Hans leaned forward and said, “By the way, your hand looks and feels more beautiful than the sculpture of it.”
Sara felt her neck warm up, a sign she was about to blush. “Thank you. Wait, how do you know my hand feels better than the sculpture?” she said with a laugh.
“Well, don’t tell anyone but I always find a way to touch sculptures, even if there is a sign saying ‘Don’t Touch’.”
Sara raised an eyebrow and said in mock indignation, “So you went and fondled my hand before you even knew me? Aren’t you the rude sort!”
Hans laughed, “Yes, I am afraid I am a bit of a rule breaker that way. So sorry, but I couldn’t resist. It really is a beautiful sculpture of a beautiful hand!”
Sara responded, “Well, I just arrived and haven’t even seen my allegedly beautiful immortalized hand yet. Are you going to show me where it is or do I have to search it out myself?”
Hans grabbed her hand and said, “Let’s go, it’s in the back gallery. It’s where all the best pieces are!”
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Chapter 7
Twice, as they moved through the crowd, they were stopped by people greeting Hans and telling him they loved the painting he was in. One slightly tipsy woman in a blue beret said, “That painting has me wanting to see more!” Sara was puzzled, and after they moved away from the woman, said to Hans, “She wants to see more? There’s like 25 more paintings within 100 feet of her, what is she talking about?”
Hans laughed and said, “Oh, yea that. I’ve already gotten a comment like that 3 times tonight. You’ll see what she is talking about when you see the painting. But just remember, the artist is a master of hyperbole and symbolism, not realism.” She had no clue what he meant by that.
They both collected a champagne flute and plate of hors d’oeuvres by the time they got to the back gallery. Sara was putting a brownie shaped like a starfish in her mouth when she finally saw her piece. It was what she expected and then again it was nothing like she expected. It did look like her hand, the shape of the fingers, the size of the fingernails, even the longer than usual life line on her palm, were all exact. Her hand also had a dollar bill in it, just like Art said it would have. But she didn’t expect her hand to be green nor the dollar bill to be purple. But not expecting that didn’t mean she didn’t like it. She thought it was very cool. She liked the colors being different. It made the piece familiar and new at the same time. She put down her plate and glass and brought out the price list they had at the gallery door. There was a photo of her piece on the front and a list of all the pieces in the show inside. She looked up her piece and the brownie almost fell out of her mouth. It was listed for $25,000.00!
She leaned over to Hans and whispered, “If I knew the piece would be that expensive I would have asked for more money to model!”
Hans responded, “Tell me about it! The painting I am in is priced at $60,000.00!”
She looked at him with her mouth open. “Really? Wow, I want to see it, where is it?”
He chuckled, “You are standing right in front of it. It’s right behind your piece, over there, on the left.”
She looked up and saw a painting at least 8 feet tall. It was of a sparse landscape with a nude man standing in the middle of it. There was a road leading from the man’s feet back to a volcano in the distance. He was looking down with sloped shoulders. He had on his cool knitted hat. His eyes were sad and he looked depressed. He also had a very large penis hanging straight down.
Sara pointed to the penis and laughed, “Don’t tell me that is what Art saw on you that he wanted to paint!”
Hans responded dead pan with a straight face, “Yep.”
Sara stiffened and stopped breathing. Nobody has a penis that big she thought. She was trying to figure out what to do next when Hans slapped her on the back.
“JUST JOKING! He actually liked my cap and that is what got his attention. He asked to paint me when we met at a coffee shop one morning.” Hans said through his laughter.
Sara breathed again and laughed as well. “Ah, so that’s not realistic?”
Hans said, “Well I didn’t say that.”
Sara was trying to figure out how to change the topic when Hans said, “But sorry to disappoint, it’s not. I didn’t even pose nude for him. I had on underwear on. He told me the painting would eventually be a nude and I told him I was cool with it but he said I didn’t need to pose nude, which was a relief. I am a bit too modest for that. Ironically, now everyone thinks I did pose nude and that I have this gigantic appendage. It’s really pretty funny to me.”
Sara laughed and said, “This has got to be the strangest conversation and evening I have had in a long, long time!”
Hans laughed as well as he responded, “You and me both.”
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Chapter Eight
After that funny episode Hans and Sara walked around the gallery together. They had a hilarious time talking about the art, wondering if they would ever buy any of the pieces if they had the money. They decided they would. Hans said he would buy her hand sculpture and put it on his dresser to hold his watch. After explaining her mother would disown her if she had a big painting of a naked guy in her apartment, Sara said she the most she could get away with would be to buy the sculpture of the big butt with the pipe coming out of it so she would have something to hang her scarves on. Her mom would likely have a heart attack when she saw it, she said. They decided Art would never let them buy the pieces if they knew what they would be used for. They also came to the conclusion that they should form an artist’s model union and demand more money.
After about an hour of walking around the show Hans asked Sara if she would like to go get a bite to eat. They said their goodbyes to Art and Vivian, thanking them for including them in the show. It was a warm evening and they walked across town a few blocks to the West Village where Hans said he knew of a great place that served killer Pho noodles. Sara had never had Pho noodles but was game for it.
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Epilogue
Sara and Hans dated for 2 years before Hans asked her to marry him. They were married in Vivian’s gallery and Art was in attendance. His wedding gift was two drawings, the portrait of Sara he had done and the drawing of Hans that had been on his studio wall when Sara modeled. Art had never finished the drawing, the genitals were still missing. Hans and Sara had both pieces up in their living room and loved to tell the story of how they met when people would ask about the drawings.
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The End
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