I have just recently realized that I may well have missed my calling in life. It occurred to me that my ideal job, my vocation if you will, has been evident for years and I have missed it. Having given it significant consideration I can only come to one conclusion: the ideal job for me is that of art class model.
Why do I think this is such a perfect fit you may wonder. Easy, just ask yourself, what other profession requires you to do absolutely nothing? All the jobs I have ever had, had one thing in common; they all required me to do something. Someone was always asking me to do this or do that. From student summer jobs that entailed foremen chirping about doing the grass cutting or lifting the trash cans to editors squawking about cutting this or lengthen that there has always been a need to do something. Tote that barge. Lift that bale
But an art class model is required to strike a pose and … wait for it … DON’T DO ANYTHING. Don’t even move. Stay still and try not to alter your stance. The job pays approximately $20 an hour for beginners, those capable of doing nothing well can make up to $60 an hour. I can do nothing so well I figure I might soon be making $100 for sixty minutes of nothingness.
Why did this never cross my mind before. Those hot summer days as a student pushing a lawn mower up hill for a pittance could have been better spent doing nothing in front of several easels in a local studio as a cool breeze blew in through open windows. I wonder if while assuming a reclining pose one can sneak in a little cat-nap.
Now I must address the elephant in the studio; the fact that full or partial nudity is a requirement for the position of art class model. I am no prude, but then again I am not a exhibitionist either. Not to worry, I could use the ostrich solution. When an ostrich is faced with a situation that scares or frustrates it, the bird simply pops its head into the sand and, viola! as far as the ostrich is concerned, it all goes away. In my case I have severe myopia, without my glasses I am hopeless. So I figure once I take my glasses off, the studio full of men and women painters will morph into a bunch of fuzzy blobs. Problem solved!