skin//skinned



I have two cats and a dog napping in my room. Kitten is on my laundry bag, on my bed. Winston is on my bed too, chewing sleepily on a mutilated E.T. doll. Leviathan has decided that my 'zine box of newspapers from the forties is his new favourite place to be. I can't say I blame him.

Today I was modelling for a life-drawing session, and it was going great. All the artists were crowing about what good energy the poses had, and I was working my ass off for them (pardon the joke). I use whatever is around to do interesting poses. Today there was a stool, among other things. I was setting up for a fifteen minute pose, (they're my favourite). Where I would sit on the stool with my feet on the platform that I pose from.

The stool was too close, I fell backwards onto the floor with the stool beneath me. Oh dear.

I wasn't hurt. I wasn't even embarrassed (let's be honest, I fall a lot) but everyone was so freaked out that they suggested we take a break.
I protested, said I was great and we should do the fifteen minute pose. But then this little old European woman in the back, with crazy frizzy short hair (who'd said nothing thusfar) pointed at me in horror and screamed:

"AAIEEE! BUT LOOOK!!! SHE EEEZ BLEEDINK!"

Sigh. I couldn't argue with that. I was bleeding from three places. Two scratches on my back and one on my side were trickling blood. By this point one of the older artists goes wide eyed and says "I need a cigarette!" and we took the break early, so that I could clean my wounds.

So this other artist puts down her brushes and says "I'm getting you a coffee!" and runs to the nearest shop for it. So five minutes later I'm wrapped in a bedsheet sipping coffee and telling a bunch of overexcited artists that I'm really feeling super and can do a fifteen minute pose any time now.

So we did, and I was more energetic than ever just to prove that a scrape or three wouldn't slow me down. And at the end all the artists were stoked to show me their work. I was commenting and chatting when I got to the little european woman, who peered at me from owl glasses. I looked at her sketch, and there I was in black and white, with three little red scratches drawn in pastel.

I should get danger pay. really.