Zero by Tom Leveen

not messing around.
    That I’m an artist. That if I took some more time to work, learned new things from a good teacher, maybe I really could apply to SAIC again.
    The look in Dr. Salinger’s eyes says otherwise.
    “Now, let’s dive right in, shall we? Paper and pencils, please.”
    We all dig through our various bags. Okay, this is better; once I have something in my hand, I’ll show her.
    “Whatever your favorite paper, whatever your favorite pencil. Charcoal, graphite, whatever you prefer.”
    I pull out my sketchbook and a charcoal pencil. The lady bugs me, but I can’t stop my pulse from picking up. I’m back where I’m supposed to be, in a studio, getting ready to create.
    “Let’s begin with some gestural drawing,” Dr. Salingersays, conjuring an oversized drawing pad and clipping it to an easel. She scans the room, zeroes in on me, and before I can react, snatches my hat off my head and flings it onto her desk.
    “Voila!” she proclaims. “Still life!”
    No one seems to notice I’m totally naked now; they just look at my hat and watch Dr. Salinger set to work drawing.
My
hat.
    “Gesture drawing is about movement,” Doc S says as her pencil sketches in long, graceful strokes. “About form and weight. You want the least amount of line with the most amount of information. Start in the middle and work outward. Use a brisk but fluid stroke….”
    The class is following along; I am trying like hell to. I’ve done gesture drawing before, but not the way she’s doing it.
    “Oh, this
is
one of my favorite techniques,” Dr. Salinger says as she draws. “I had my first great success with charcoal. It was such a sheer delight to take my lovers and friends to the Paper Heart, the New York, the Fuller….”
    I stop sketching. Those are big-time galleries. She’s got, like, background. I go back to my sketch pad but can’t make my hands do what she’s doing. She’s going so
fast
.
    “Those were my glory days!” she says as my hat starts taking form on her paper. “Now, you need not make your drawing look like something you’d hang in a gallery, people. But this is one way to prepare for another drawing or painting you’ll take a traditional approach to later. For now, your purpose is to be bold. Expressive. Instinctive!”
    My pencil snaps.
    Dr. Salinger, while still sketching, regales us with a story about a summer tryst with Robert Nanci, thisspectacular artist whose work I’ve seen in a number of books and magazines. What that has to do with how she’s drawing, I have no idea. Maybe summer trysts are how you find your muse. And hey, wouldn’t I like to have one myself with a certain percussionist? We’ll see.
    So I sit and stare at my half-assed, half-completed gestural drawing and consider asking for a refund. From
life
.
    “And there it is!” Dr. Salinger says, stepping away from her easel. “It’s that simple! Now let’s see what you’ve accomplished!”
    I bite back a sigh as she swishes around the room, inspecting everyone’s work. Her drawing (of
my
hat) is fucking gorgeous. And it’s just a
sketch
.
    Damn
, she’s good.
Here’s the thing.
    As much as her personality gives me cramps, if she’s exhibited in those galleries, then she knows what she’s doing, and I need to know more if I’m going to have any chance of putting together a solid new portfolio this fall. Or next spring. Or ever …
    Dr. Salinger appears at my side, looking down at my lap. I’m still clutching the broken pencil. My sketchbook shows only a collection of smeared charcoal lines.
    “Oh,” she says softly. “Well, that doesn’t look like very much, now, does it?”
    I shake my head. My hair flies around my face. “Can I have my hat back?”
    Dr. Salinger gives me a look I can’t quite interpret. “Of course,” she says, and retrieves it for me. She hands it back without a word and glides over to Frank.
    Oh, well, it’s not like anything else exciting is happening this summer. Right?
    Except