me, myself, and mine

It won’t come as a surprise to many that reality,

or more accurately, "correctness" has never caught-

up with the anatomical inaccuracies of my early drawings.

I recently posted a drawing of a man’s legs in response

to David Astbury’s photo of Toulouse Lautrec’s “a dancer adjusting her tights”.

he stated unequivocally that “no one draws legs like Toulouse Lautrec”!

and who would argue?

certainly not me.

but I’ll wager no one who saw Astbury's post didn’t have a bunch

of artist renditions of people in one way or another displaying

the humanity of legs as they perceived them, running around in their heads.

Ingres, Picasso, Sargent, Brasse, Kollwitz, as well as some fine

examples found in “Men’s Skin-Pics Quarterly” magazine.

so..I decided to toss-into the ring my own set of legs,

not as a oneupmanship to Lautrec, I'm not nuts,––but only as

an afterthought for the purposes of discussion as in a critique.

that’s right. these are my own “portrait of the artist’s legs”

from back in the late 60’s when only the biologically amount of fat

necessary to keep me alive graced my body.

in closing, I will not be pressured into drawing my legs

as they exist today, or at least as I perceive them, although the highest

monetary offer from the fairer sex to linger, and examine the "legs"

of William, might very well garner my undivided attention.