My First Nude

I sketched my first nude in third grade. Ours was a progressive school. Especially for Idaho.

When the model dropped her robe, some of the girls started laughing. Me and the other boys went straight to work drawing the lines of her thighs with our charcoal.

Most of my focus, even then, was on her joints.

I liked the elbows and knees.

I left her breasts alone and did a quick smudge where her legs came together.

Eventually, the model put her robe back on and the class went outside for some kickball.

When my father came home from work I was waiting with my sketch, my hands still shiny and black.

He took the paper and held it up to the light. “What about her tits?”

I shrugged.

“First things first,” he said, and with a pencil from his pocket started drawing the nipples himself. Two giant circles, each larger than her hands.

“There,” he said, “you can’t forget the tits.”

And then he patted me on the head as if he’d given me some bit of wisdom he’d been saving for such an occasion. He seemed pleased with himself, almost proud, and over a dinner of fish sticks he beamed for the first time in weeks.

Later while he was sleeping, I sketched all ten of his knuckles.

Tagged as: charcoal, elbows, father, nudes