
Life drawing class the other night went well. It will be continuing for a few more weeks, which is great, though I'm not sure I'll be here for all of them (may be going to India again at some point soon, for the business).
The timing of the next drawings was, respectively: 20 minutes, 45 minutes, 20 minutes. The last one is my favorite.
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So there was a little studio incident the other night... When I woke up I heard some frantic meowing. I couldn't figure out where it was coming from, and then it stopped, so I shrugged and went about my morning. Then it started up again. Was it coming from outside? I looked behind the house, looked in front of the house. Then, quiet for a while. Then, more meowing. Finally, I happened to walk past the (glass) studio door (which connects the house and studio) and saw a stripey little Lynx face peering at me anxiously and meowing insistently. Apparently, Lynx got trapped in the studio sometime during the night. I'm guessing I hadn't latched the door well and he went in and then when he tried to come back out, he probably stood on his hind legs and pressed against the door and it latched shut. (They're always standing like that looking in when I'm in the studio.) Lynx was very grateful to be rescued (he's a cat who's very nervous about new situations) and got quiet for a while, but then started meowing again, which was odd, because he rarely uses his voice.
So an hour or two goes by and I realize I haven't seen The Midget (sorry, but that's one of Rumi's nicknames...I'm embarrassed...okay, some of his other nicknames, as long as I'm embarrassing myself, are: MonkeyPie, Pink Cadillac, GhostPuppy, The Prince, WhiteChild, Mr.Pink, Tiny-ness, and Midgetino) all morning. So I go look in all his favorite sleeping places around the house: papasan chairs, kitchen cupboards, on top of my computer bag...nada. Strange. And he couldn't be in the studio, because I'd already been in there, and he would've heard me and wanted out, like Lynx.
It actually took a few minutes for the fact to register: Oh. Rumi's deaf. He wouldn't have heard me. Back I go into the studio, searching everywhere for a non-frantic kitty (no meows, no sad face at the window)...and finally find him, curled up happily sound asleep inside a box of framed pastels covered with brown paper in a corner.
Needless to say, there were some painting casualties in the studio. And I didn't notice this until later in the evening:
Nearly impossible to get these shots, as Rumi loves both people and the camera, so it was very hard to get behind him; he kept turning around instantly while I ran around the table like a maniac.