October 6th, 2004

Flying Ace

It's BACK! Naked Tuesday

Yes, after a 4 month hiatus, the Tuesday night open session is back on.  I know, gentle reader, that you have been waiting with baited breath and much anticipation and all that sort of thing.  I too have greatly missed my Tuesday sessions but have managed to keep myself artistically busy.  I still need to post the 2 oil paintings I did as well as the drawing I did for the last workshop.

Anyway, it's back!  First of all,  not the best night in the world last night but I promised myself I would post good, bad or ugly.

These were both drawn in one of  my new "ghetto books."  Click for full images.

The ever lovely April: Five minutes

The ever lovely April's backside: 10 minutes.


What do you think sirs?
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Flying Ace

A memory

Jeffrey Allison  was by far the best looking kid in the third grade.  Jeffrey (never Jeff!)  had brown hair, brown eyes and the teachers commented on his "especially neat handwriting for a boy." He was taller than the other boys and seemed a great deal more muscular than Mark Sinclair (in retrospect an interesting name for a black kid,) or Grant Holder.    It was the start of the school year, when new students were noted by the other students  but not fussed over by the teachers. 

Jeffrey and I shared the same initials and he had taken my place of first seat on the left in the classroom by virtue of alphabet.  I was convinced he and I should be friends, our common bond of initials providing enough certitiude for an 8 year old.  We had a geographical friendship, our seating arrangment providing plenty of opportunity for conversation.  He quickly gained a reputation of a good person to be friends with on the playground.  He was by far the best spinner on the tire swing and was known for making more than one third grader sick.

Christy Dixon and Mary Anne Thompson would often look at him and giggle and then talk  to each other behind books.  They annoyed me as all girls my own age did.  I felt incredibly smug when Jeffrey  told me one day that he liked me more than the other girls because I wasn't always giggling.  I did feel irritated however when I heard him telling Hugh White that he thought Christy and MaryAnne were the prettiest girls in the class.

I wasn't nearly as hurt as I should have been.  I had never thought of myself as pretty and I would rather a boy think of me as fun to talk to rather than dumb and pretty.  I was also the best artist in the class which in retrospect wasn't relative at all, but seemed to at the time.  Besides,  I had nursed a crush on Carl Cartee for years.