Fired
Out of context: Reply #21
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Early one morning I read an index card on a window that said "artist assistant needed, please knock" I walked off the street into the studio of Ernst Neizvestny, a sculptor, and he nodded, yes ok, come to this maquette and sand here and here. "The body is like an apple, exploding inside to the skin." he handed me a block of wood and a sheet of sandpaper and an apple. " Make this body like apple." I was standing next to this enormous block of plaster. " I am to going see my friend Arthur Miller."
When I looked up he was gone and I was standing in the middle of his cavernous semi-dark studio. I could hear traffic outside, people walking past, their shadows tracing across the white painted out front window. Whish whoosh whish all day back and forth with the sand paper. I had no idea what I was doing.
When he didn't come back, it was dark and 9 o'clock I walked out closing the door behind me.