Yesterday was one of drawing challenges when my class went to the National Gallery. We were set the task of drawing nudes from different periods, but using all the mark-making techniques we’ve learnt so far this term. I found it a tremendous struggle and felt cack handed all day.
Sitting on my little green canvas collapsible stool I was at eye level with the many groups of colour co-ordinated small children who populated the galleries first thing in the morning.
‘Did you draw that?’ the little girls in head to toe red pointed at the Renaissance painting on the wall.
‘No. I drew this,’ I said showing them my terrible sketch.
‘It’s good,’ the excessively polite child said.
‘Thank you. Do you like the paining?
‘What do you think of the flying baby?’
‘It looks like Jesus with wings.’
‘I think he’s called Cupid.’
‘No, it’s Jesus at Christmas.’
One of my efforts was of nudes wearing clothes, but I’m not going to embarrass myself by owning up to which painting I was attempting.