It's been on my mind lately that one of the finest, old traditions in art is getting people to take off their clothes and sit for you render their form in whatever your media of choice is.
I got a swell little book, maybe a month ago, of 108 drawings by various contemporary artists represented by Allen Spiegel Fine Arts. Cats I dig, like Scott Morse, Dave McKean, and Jon J. Muth got me to pick up the little treasure. Kent Williams kinda stole the show, and keeps me flipping through the book again. He does some loose, open drawings so loaded with sex, they make me want to be an artist just to capture that.
I have a mini portfolio of serigraphs Craig Thompson did of one of his exes that has the same frisson.
There is a snotty, avant-garde, little voice that I don't remember inviting to the party in my head, who still won't shut up with: "Figure study is sketchbook, masturbation stuff/ It's so been done/ It has nothing to say to the modern era of ART." Whatever. It's not actually hard to grok why in thousands of years of art history, humankind hasn't finished drawing each other naked.
Makes me regret that of the few young ladies I've talked out of their clothes, not to a one did I then say; "Hold still while I draw you." You'd think I got distracted by something.
Now I've had to resort to drawing models out of porn magazines and Suicide Girls.
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