When I started college, I had to take life drawing classes. We used to spend days and days drawing with charcoal and sanguine. I had a Japanese instructor and he was amazing, sadly I was never that good, but I tried.
The class was small, about five of us, and the models were fairly good. The best model was a beautiful girl, she was tall, slender, and flexible as a dancer should be. The soft curves of her body translated to the paper wonderfully and she was very nice.
The rest of the models were interesting, we had a petite woman with unruly hair and a double mastectomy, a middle aged gay guy—who seemed to enjoy the modeling a bit much, he didn't wear a robe during the breaks and he also liked to do yoga on the small stage while in the nude.
Some of the models were African-American and we also had an elderly, short man with a very bad temper, he used to glare at us from the stage while posing and cursing under his breath. I suspect some of them were homeless, which is nothing wrong with that, but there was a sadness in their eyes that was hard to ignore, maybe that's the reason why I'm not that great at drawing faces, because I used to not look at them…I felt like somehow we were taking advantage of them, violating their privacy and taking away their dignity. I still wonder if that's the case.