Walking around Stanford’s campus, I feel a slight disassociation with the other students. It’s not because I choose to converse solely in heroic couplets, or even because I only wear compostable clothes made from the fiber of flax seeds, but because of the knowledge that my peers grew up sending nudes to their beloved with their cell phones.
With the simple click of a button, they could capture a picture of their naked body and send it to their crush or significant other for erotic amusement. The utter lack of effort they put into the pictures, into crafting the perfect image of their body, not only disgusts me, but is the cause of my utter disassociation. As I walk around, it is clear to me that I am the only one left who grew up crafting my nudes on an Etch A Sketch.
They simply can’t fathom the labor that went into twisting those little knobs until I had the best likening of myself that I could create. The amount of hours I spent hunched over that little piece of plastic would put the underpaid and overworked warehouse workers of Amazon to shame. Each curve of my body was etched with love, precision, and painstaking detail. Each muscle was accentuated until I was left looking like I came straight off a two hour set at the gym. And, of course, the size and girth of my trouser snake was emphasized with subtle flicks of the knobs until what was left would leave the innocent onlooker gulping for air.
And then, of course, came the delivery of the art. There was no sending my craft with the press of a button; it had to be hand delivered to the doorstep of the lucky recipient. Placed with the utmost care in a nest of colorful, shock absorbent pillows at the doorstep of their place of residence, my deliveries were always viewed as a welcome gift of the highest order. But now, as I contemplate the lackadaisical nature of my peers, I realize that there is no one with whom to share these memories.
At the conclusion of my careful contemplation of the dying nature of my craft, I have petitioned to hold my own Etch A Sketch nude figure drawing class, officially listed as ARTSTUDI 169 (and cross-listed as CHEM 35X), to be taught in the Spring, partly to impart my craft upon the unknowing masses, but mostly for the immense satisfaction of sharing my creations with the world.