There are days in art school that stay with you — not just because of what you can draw, but because of how you felt while drawing it. One of those days for me was our recent life drawing class. It was unlike anything I’ve experienced in a long time — honest, humbling, and surprisingly emotional.
The class started with all of us, my classmates and I, gathering in the studio. There was a kind of silence that felt heavy, not awkward — more like anticipation. You could tell we all felt it — that quiet pressure of wanting to do justice to the model in front of us, and our own growth as artists.
When the model stepped in and took her pose, everything shifted. The room became focused. I looked around and saw my classmates — heads tilted, eyes sharp, pencils poised — each of us trying to capture something beyond just lines and shadows. We weren’t competing. We were together in that moment, each of us facing the same challenge, learning from the same subject, and growing in our own way.
Some of us sighed at our first attempts. Others giggled at how off the proportions were. I remember catching glances from friends across the class room — that “this is harder than it looks” kind of smile. And honestly, it was. My early sketches were awkward. My lines felt unsure. But it didn’t matter. What mattered was that we were all showing up, trying, failing, erasing and trying again.
We did a range of poses — quick one-minute gestures, five-minute drawings, and eventually a 20-minute study. Each exercise taught us something different. The short poses taught us to let go of fear and capture energy. The long poses taught us patience and attention. It was like learning how to see again — not just looking at the model, but feeling the movement, the balance, the story behind each posture.
One of the most beautiful parts of the day was during breaks. We’d all gather around, look at each other’s work, ask questions, give small compliments, even laugh at our mistakes. There was no ego in the room — just mutual respect and the shared love of art. It reminded me that art isn’t always a solo journey. Sometimes, it’s a group experience that pulls everyone closer — like this one did.
Our lecturer reminded us over and over: “Don’t draw what you think you see. Draw what’s really there.” And that hit me deeply. Not just in art, but in life. We’re often too quick to assume, to rush, to rely on what we think we know. But this class forced us to pause, to look closer, to truly see — not just the model, but ourselves and each other.
By the end of the session, the studio felt different. We were tired, smudged with charcoal and pencils , some of us frustrated, others proud — but all of us more connected to our work and to each other. It was raw, imperfect, and real — and that’s what made it beautiful.
I left that class with more than sketches. I left with a new respect for the human form, a deeper appreciation for the art of observation, and a special bond with my classmates. We shared a creative moment that I won’t forget anytime soon.