Every decade or so I decide it’s time to go to life drawing classes. People are what I do – faces are fascinating – and I fill sketchbooks with drawn people I know or are just glimpsed on my travels. I have an extensive collection of people on trains – heads down reading a book/phone/tablet.
But life drawing is another discipline all on its own. I have only just started again on this steep learning curve and I am right at the very bottom. Every Tuesday morning I go to a converted chapel in a nearby village and try to draw this week’s figure. It is not always a success. Torsos are stretched and limbs are disfunctional. My tutor gets excited about the marks I make on the paper while remaining surprisingly unfazed that many of the marks are in completely the wrong place.