MINISTER OF CREATIVITY, copywrite 2014 ————-

I’ve seen a lot of naked poverty traveling around New Mexico and being involved with the arts and artists, and like most people unable to do much about it. The nude art class is one place where nakedness and poverty intersect. Mainly young women doing the only thing they can do to make money, a little higher of activity than selling themselves sexually. Occasionally, a young woman would offer herself to me as a nude model while I was participating in art exhibits, but as everyone knows, nude artwork doesn’t sell that well; so would decline their offer. Once a woman made the offer, but also included the information that she was also an artist, which stimulated my interest and sympathy. Since she didn’t have any transportation to my studio at that time, I went and picked her up in front of her families old barn a few miles outside of town. These are extremely difficult situations to deal with. As I opened the drapes and made some arrangements in the studio, she took her clothes off and dropped them in a pile on the floor in the corner. I turned around to see her standing there naked and she asked, “what do you want me to do?” I felt the question was wide open, from posing to having sex. She once again said, “I’m an artist too.” We stood staring at each other pondering the potential of this situation. I asked her, “o.k., as an artist what would you like to do?” She went to my sketching easel, flipped over to a new page and said, “I’ll sketch you.” Alright, I thought and sat in a nearby chair. “No, no.” she said. “Take your clothes off.” I guess that’s fair I thought, but was concerned a little. After putting my clothes in the chair, I turned around to her critical glare. “Women are more interesting to draw with their curves, all you have different is a penis and balls.” She stated. She began furiously sketching, broad strokes. she had me leaning against the wall, standing with one foot in the chair and bent over the chair. She had very definite ideas what she wanted, moving the easel around the room. She finally took a break and sat down; so I went and took a look at her pictures. They were awful, but maybe leaned towards child expressionism. I glanced at her to see her expression, which she understood and said, “I’m not very good, huh?” She stood up and took a pose with her arm above her head, looking submissive now. She had simpy tried to have some dignity by saying she was also an artist, more than just a naked poor woman. “Do you find me attractive?” she asked. As I told her, yes, she was slender and attractive, she looked at my penis, which was not arroused, and appeared disappointed. There’s nothing arrousing about poverty, as I remembered her standing next to the old barn with eroding adobe, weathered wood and a red rusting metal roof. I began sketching her standing in front of the barn and slowly began to see the aesthetics of her and the scene. She began smiling as she watched my penis react to my on and off success and appreciation of my efforts at creating beauty. We had a good morning at art, which made both of us feel good. I could see that she would offer more of herself, but there were just too many morale complications.


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