Naked, Part I

I started figure modeling in graduate school. One of the other actors in the program had been doing it for a while, and she recommended it to some of us as a good way to make some money. When I left the administrator's office at the art school, I felt giddy. It seemed so bold and daring, maybe even rebellious. Not that I had anything in particular to rebel against. Maybe just the constrained version of myself.

I was nervous as I drove to my first class. A newly purchased robe lay on the seat next to me, and in a moment of panic, my mind raced over the idea that I would fail. That I would get there and freeze up, unable to remove my clothes.

I spoke with the instructor and she pointed me towards the bathroom, where I undressed and put on my robe. She didn't ask if I had ever done a class before, and I didn't offer up the information, hoping that portraying the image of an old pro would calm my nerves.

Thirteen artists busied themselves in front of their canvases, pulling out paints and erasers and rolls of paper towels, repositioning their paper while chatting with each other about their weekends. The instructor asked me about my temperature preferences and set up a small heater at the base of a small platform.

A reclining pose please.