I had some friends in town and decided to check out a new restaurant in town. I picked it for the view more than the food. It has a Mexican-sounding name, so I figured everyone would find something they’d eat.

The hostess seated us and called the menu “eclectic” as she handed them out. One look, and I realized she had no idea what that word meant.

Of course there were tacos. But there were ribs, linguine and clams, fish and chips too. It read like two airport restaurants decided to save money on printing costs and combined their menus.

I wanted to talk to the chef and ask him how he came up with such a hodge hodge. I can only assume they are the last stop in town for the Sysco truck. Whatever is left in the back when they drop by is how they determine what’s on the menu that night.

I had a sketching teacher in college who was right out of central casting for an art professor. Here name was Joan Gassisi. Small, brassy Ivy-league educated and right out of the NY art scene. She was a ball buster and told us in the very beginning she could teach anyone to draw and become a better artist. 

She was a lot. 

In high school, I was the art guy. I was the only one in level 4 art. I was the go-to guy in my small 186 student Catholic high school. I did the stations of the cross in colored pencil. A statue of Mary for the chapel. I was even in the local paper for my work.

So when I got to college to study art, I figured what more could I possibly learn. Well Joan was right. I was a hack before her. Everyone in that class got better. Well, not quite. A few weeks into the class Joan went up to one of the students in the class, whispered something in her ear. She picked up her stuff, and left holding back tears. After she left, Joan told the class, “I know I told you I could teach anyone to draw. Well, at some point you have to let people know they can’t.” It was an act of mercy. She let that student go just before the deadline to drop a class.

One of the things I got asked a lot from my non-art major friends was, “do you guys ever get to draw nude models?” Despondently, I’d reply, “yes.” Nude models are a thing in art class. And like nude beaches, they’re a total bait and switch. 

Joan briefed us on having live nude people in our classroom. It was mostly directed at guys and something of an anti-pep talk. Models are recruited and paid by the Art Department. As far as gigs go, it’s right up there with selling plasma and holding a sign on the street corner for a mattress store’s inventory reduction sale. The message; don’t get your hopes up.

We had several models throughout the semester. The first, was a 30-something woman. For an 18 year old guy who’d never been in the presence of a naked woman – on purpose – I found her attractive. However, this functional presentation of a naked woman  was anything but erotic. Joan, on the other hand, was disappointed. The model didn’t have any curves, counters or shadows. She was too thin. How were we expected to learn anything? 

Throughout the semester we had different models in all shapes, sizes, and genders. Then one day, we got a guy who clearly didn’t read the job description past nudity. He showed up to class sans robe, like everyone else. He drove Joan nuts. Every time she’d ask him to change poses, he’d do basic stuff, like sit slouched on a stool or stand up stick straight arms to the side. Finally, she gave him a prop, a broomstick. He held it like a shepherd’s staff, put his hand to his forehead like a visor and stared straight out to nothing. “Oh well, that’ll do,” said Joan as we filled our pads with sketches of the world’s most uninteresting man.