The Woman Who Became My Muse
She hasn’t noticed me staring because she is so engrossed in her sculpting. I can’t help wondering, what is she thinking? I see her, directly in front of me, a warm smile on her face, looking as if she is rising above the mundanity of our day to day life. Sitting motionless in the nude, I am perched on a tall, rotating plank just five feet away from her. I’m so close to her that I can feel her warmth, and her passion for her work draws me in.
I envy her calm satisfaction as the pain from my pose makes me sweat. During the classes I am regularly asked whether I am an artist and I reply “no, not yet” but I have never felt so eager to start; to get my hands dirty and to lose myself in the process. Generally artists arrive at the class with enthusiasm and even excitement for the class. Then throughout the class their grunts and four letter clues tell me that their frustrations are getting the better of them. I have been posing for this sculpting class for the last three weeks and each time Sax walks in it is the same; she finds her place, she locates her piece, she ties her apron and then she is gone, ethereal. Not a single word, not a single gasp of frustration, not a moment of frowns. I found myself reflecting on memories of previous classes in which the artists have already become upset with themselves and each other before we had even begun. They would disagree about my pose or the layout of the easels. I recalled instances in which I heard altercations between the artists. I will never forget the disappearing lady who tried and tried so hard to learn how to draw and kept beating herself up over it and eventually left half way through a class.
As the lecture rotates me I stop recalling memories and as I return to the class my eyes fall back on to Sax who is a picture of serenity. Whilst others become frustrated with themselves and their limitations, Sax is content. Her disposition reminds me that the beautiful things in life must remain beautiful, what we do for leisure should bring us happiness. I slightly turn my head to get a clear vision of her hand moulding the clay. She is still smiling and she still doesn’t notice me staring.