Pauline Nevins

I finally did it — something I’d wanted to do for years. I signed up for a drawing class.

This isn’t the first time I’ve had the courage to try something new. A few years ago I decided to learn tap dancing. I purchased a pair of shiny Boch tap shoes and sped up the hill one Tuesday evening to the Colfax Sierra Vista Community Center for my first class.

I was the oldest person in the room. The instructor was very welcoming, as were the other students. I hid in the back row. I was beginning to get the hang of it, but my Achilles’ heel was having none of it. I lasted four sessions.

I now had time to learn a musical instrument. What could be an easier instrument to play than a ukulele? According to YouTube, I could learn in five minutes. My tennis elbow flared up after four.
I had failed as a dancer, and as a musician. I was ready to become an artist.

The impetus for taking a drawing class happened during a game at my daughter-in-law’s baby shower. I attempted to draw an apple on a wood building block. It looked like a bare bottom. When I tried to add a stalk it looked obscene. I hid the block in my purse, jumped up and offered to serve cupcakes.

The Placer School for Adults catalog listed the perfect class: “Drawing Made Easy,” taught by Steve Coverston. I’d heard Steve’s name here and there. One former student described him as having “magical teaching skills.”

I zoomed down the hill to Auburn to sign up. The class is full, said the cheery lady behind the desk. I was relieved. Maybe this was a sign. Someone up there was trying to protect me from embarrassing myself. I honestly can’t draw a circle — the ends refuse to meet.

“I can put you on a wait list,” the school lady said. I don’t like wait lists. I either want to be in or out. “OK,” I said equally cheerily. “You’re number one,” she said as if I’d accomplished something. Three days later I learned I was in.

I felt rather artsy when purchasing the required supplies for the class. There was a huge sketchbook, several pencils with a number I could hardly read, and umpteen erasers. Now I was committed.

The night before the first class, the weather people predicted a massive storm for the following day. Snow was forecast as low as 1,200 feet — that’s Auburn I gasped. I dived under the bed with a flashlight and a copy of Annie Proulx’ "The Shipping News."

This was looking like a second bad omen. The morning of the class I called the school. The receptionist was still cheery. “Has the class been canceled," I asked hopefully. “Nope. We have staff that drives in from Foresthill and Colfax and they managed to get here." “Managed?” I detected a snide remark. With one click she knew I lived below both those locations.

The predicted Arctic blast was more whimper than a roar. The roads were clear and the sky was blue by afternoon class time. The art room was full, almost 25 people, mostly women. The instructor asked the class to introduce themselves, and state their level of drawing skill. My anxiety lowered each time a person admitted to being a beginner — first drawing class they said, like me.

The session began with Steve explaining the drawing supplies … the weight of the paper, the size of graphite pencils, and which erasers did what — yes, we did need all of them. Steve lamented that for many of us art lessons stopped very early — not considered on par with the other subjects. He was very encouraging, ending with a “don’t give up.”

Before our first in-class assignment, we were asked to help ourselves to three inches of masking tape on a dispenser at the front of the class. My anxiety returned. Oh no. He was going to have us tape our drawing on the wall. Wrong. The tape was to secure our sketch page to the desk as we completed our assignment — drawing our open hand without looking at the paper. It was fun. My sketch actually looked like a hand.
A later class assignment was to draw three objects that we brought from home. I chose a seashell, a garlic clove, and a dried pepper. I eagerly showed the finished sketch to my husband and asked him to identify the items. His answer: a rock, a rock, and a rock.

My husband and I are still together.

I’m enrolling in another beginner’s class this autumn. I’m taking the art instructor’s advice — refusing to give up.