In the midst of drawing group last night, I ran home and watched half an hour of the Republican debate--how’s that for masochism?--and what a half hour it was. The topic was immigration, and the dialog ran like this:
Candidate #1 (doesn’t really matter who): “I’ll build a big fence across our border!”
Candidate #2: “I’ll build TWO fences!”
Candidate #3: “I’ll build a fence and ELECTRIFY it!”
Candidate #4: “ “I’ll build a fence, electrify it, and patrol it with PREDATOR DRONES!”
Candidate #5: “I will personally patrol the border with a semi-automatic weapon and shoot any Mexican I see!”
Okay, the last one was made up, but the others should be equally disturbing. It’s as if the candidates are nervously casting glances at the Tea Partiers in the audience, and are one-upping each other in the Loony Fervor department. Which is Obama’s best hope at this point.
But I did actually attend drawing group this week. Sadly, once again, my actual drawings of the model weren’t up to snuff, and the ones of other drawers turned out better. For me, once a model sheds his or her clothing and assumes one of a limited repertoire of poses, he or she (and this week’s was emphatically a he) loses much of his or her personality. For me, how a person wears his or her clothing and, more importantly, how he or she moves in space when unaware of being observed, is much more revealing. I say “for me” because differently-talented artists--Crazy Mike comes to mind--are able to infer personality from nude models, and more power to them.
Plus Doug started off the session with his usually astute musical choices replaced by some infernal jazz selections, typified by Chuck Fucking Mangione. It nearly drove me to Shucks three hours early. Fortunately, spurred by my howling, he recovered with some classic REM.