Last Pose

About this work

Tuesday evening, a walk-up life-drawing loft in SoHo. The class folds. Past the north windows the cast-iron facades go black. Evelyn is twenty-eight, a hired model from Boston, married. On the stand she cannot wear the ring, so it hangs on a thin chain at her throat.

She locks the freight elevator with the robe not fully tied. “Just one more sketch.” Fold the newsprint into the bag and that night is class. Pick up the charcoal again and the loft stops being a classroom.