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Dr. Sketchy's Anti-Art School
- Orgasm Rating
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- Address See Website for events and shows New York, NY
- Website http://www.drsketchy.com
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Walking into Dr. Sketchy's Anti-Art School feels akin to walking into your grandparents' living room and encountering a Betty Page look-a-like and her loyal following. We arrived on a Saturday afternoon armed only with a stack of typing paper and a few highlighters, sad tools for attempting to catch the glory of leopard-print panties and heart-shaped pasties. A mostly naked burlesque dancer smiled coyly from the corner stage, perched saucily on a tall chair, while a gaggle of earnest art students lounged on antique sofas, sketchpads held aloft. Despite the irreverent surroundings (wallpaper on the ceiling, a beautifully garish chandelier dangling above our heads, a smattering of antique lamps casting a sweet glow), Dr. Sketchy's attracts artists who take their sketching seriously, no small task considering the mesmerizing allure of the models who grace the stage.
Twice monthly, the Anti-Art School hosts an open "art class" for artistes to hone their drawing skills sketching burlesque dancers, roller derby girls, and other local hotties (male and female alike) in various stages of undress. Dr. Sketchy's describes itself as "a cabaret-style figure-drawing session featuring glamorous and exciting models, strange drawing contests and prizes!" While no formal instruction is given, the class follows the structure of a typical figure drawing class: the model changes poses every five minutes or so and takes a break after each set. The crowd packs the small back room at the Lucky Cat Bar in uber-hip Williamsburg, the mohawked sitting peaceably beside older women in pearls. Dr. Sketchy wisely advises advance reservations for those serious about elbowroom; the event is popular and the seating is limited. With reservation, the event is free, without a reservation the cover charge is a mere $6. Regrettably, we had not prepared for the volume of artists and sketchpads, thus, we found ourselves clutching our beers and climbing over the stage to sit on the floor off to the side. No matter, we still had a decent view of Betty Page and all her fish-netted fabulousness.
The afternoon began with four five-minute poses. Ms. Page languidly draped her body against the chair, one bare arm thrown back, her glittery pasties challenging the front row. She batted her fake eyelashes and pursed her red lips. Absolute silence fell: the only sound to be heard was pencils scratching paper over 1940s radio music. Eyes moved rapidly between black garter belt and sketch pads, artists' eyebrows knitted, Ms. Page held perfectly still. The very seriousness of the anti-art school trumps the "eroticism" of the event somewhat, nevertheless, there was something somewhat slightly risque about sipping a brew on a Saturday afternoon and attempting to sketch a glamorous, half dressed model in such an antiqued atmosphere. For those with their pencils held eternally aloft, it is not to be missed.
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