Free The Art School Dance by Maria Blanca Alonso Page A

shoulder blades and she was slumped a little, one
knee bent, her head lowered towards her chest and her elbows hooked
over the top of the screen; her hands and lower arms hung loose and
I thought of the martyrdom of Saint Sebastian.
    ‘ I hope
you’re not going to make me look like your crucified lump of meat,
Ginny,’ Paula joked, when she heard my remark on the resemblance to
the martyrdom.
    ‘ I’ll do
my best not to,’ I promised her, and walked around for a while,
looking for a good angle.
    Everyone else
was quickly settled and just about the only place I could squeeze
in also happened to provide me with the view I found easiest to
draw; from where I positioned myself Paula’s face was turned away,
I could see neither of her eyes, very little of her mouth, just the
flicker of an eyelash and the swell of a cheekbone; one upper arm
came almost straight at me, a tricky foreshortening, while the
other was hidden from view, just the hand seen, fingers curling and
seeming to be reaching towards the silhouette of her breast. It was
a view more discovered than chosen, but I liked it and set to
work.
    There were
weeks when I struggled with a single piece of work and there were
days when everything came together with no effort at all. This day
was one of those rare ones, I had the pose outlined, the figure
hanging as it should and not simply standing; all the tension was
in the left elbow, which rested on the screen, and in the left leg
which added more support; the hanging of the head was so forlorn.
The perspective of the upper arm was a bit tricky but I scribbled
away, feverishly but with a light touch, using a soft rubber here
and there to change the angle of a line or two. The tone I applied
is delicate, almost hesitantly added, and I thought of Ingres’
drawings as I worked, suggesting the form of the body economically,
just a touch of darkness fading quickly from each line.
    Suddenly I was
aware of Ben behind me, I felt his breath on the back of my neck
and tensed; for a long while he said nothing, which was a bad
sign.
    Finally, with
great emphasis, he said, ‘Very wan, very much the agony of the
young romantic. I’m reminded of the death of Chatterton.’
    ‘ Chatterton died prone, on his back,’ I said, noting the
sarcasm in his tone.
    ‘ On a
couch, yes, with one hand trailing ever so effeminately to the
floor. I’m glad you’ve been paying attention to my art history
lectures, Ginny; I always thought you just sat there with your eyes
closed while the slides flashed across the screen.’
    ‘ I’m
always riveted by your lectures, Ben,’ I said, returning the
sarcasm.
    ‘ And so
you bloody well should be after all the effort I put into them!’ he
boomed, for the benefit of the others and not just me. ‘And now,
this drawing of yours.’
    He reached
forward, to take the pencil from me, but my hand clenched into a
fist around it. ‘Oh no you don’t!’ I said.
    ‘ What?’
    ‘ This is
one drawing you’re not going to scribble over!’ I threw my arms
across the board and shielded the drawing with my body; there was a
delicacy in the drawing that I liked and I was not going to let him
deface it with any brash clumsy strokes. ‘You’re not going to touch
this one!’ I repeated.
    ‘ Come
on. Just-’
    ‘ Just
nothing! Get away!’
    ‘ You
think you know better than me?’ he challenged.
    ‘ No,’ I
said, and tried to sound threatening myself. ‘I know what I like,
though, and I like this drawing just the way it is.’
    ‘ Well
bloody hell!’ Ben laughed, but moved on all the same, to threaten
others who might be less brave, a little less protective about
their drawings.
    My behaviour
was remarked upon later by the others, who said it was rash of me
to antagonise Ben like that. After all, it was only a drawing.
    Wasn’t it?
    *
    I packed away
my things early that afternoon, deciding to meet Stephen when he
finished work. I hadn’t seen much of him of late, and for the next
fortnight I’d be