On the first day of drawing class in college we had the nude model. Baptism of fire was how our professors handled it.
The room was big enough for two classes with a temporary wall dividing us. My class had the female model and the other class had the male model. For some students this was the first naked adult of the opposite sex that they had seen this up-close for this long (it was a three hour class, by junior year it was a six hour class).
For the first few minutes there was some giggling and red faces. Not long after that all you could hear was charcoal on paper with the occasional sound of furious erasing. There was no time for ogling, too much concentration was need. Suddenly, being named "Most Artistic" in your high school year book didn't mean much.
After what seemed like an eternity the professor would call a break. We'd all come up for air (or cigarettes) and then get right back to our intense focus of drawing the human figure. In the meantime the professor would walk around and point out what we were all doing wrong by drawing right on our pad or even crumpling up our masterpiece and telling us to start over.
I remember my friends who weren't art majors would think we had it easy coloring all day.
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