A Fashion Lesson on Tissue Paper



Tissue paper with sketches and commentary by June Anderson.
Look below the letter for closeups of the art and June's comments.


Friday, December 9, 1949

46 West 83rd Street, Apt. 7B

New York City

Dear Art,

Since I have nothing to write today, I believe I shall supplement this letter.  You have always asked to see my work.  This will teach you to shut up when you are well off.  Of course, it really isn’t my official schoolwork – it’s more on the doodling side.  You see, I had nothing to do this afternoon except loads of homework so I decided to fool around and enjoy myself.  That’s exactly what I did.  Now I’m passing it on to you – you should be able to get some humor out of it.

I called up daddy;  told him I wanted a dress for Christmas.  Poor daddy.  The family’s fine.

The washing machine is still out of order.  I have no guilty conscience, however.

If you ever mention these drawings to me, I’ll plead temporary insanity.  I’m sure that’s what it is.  Now I really have to do some work.

Love,

June



"I guess she's going downstairs.  I can't
think of anything else."




"This girl is wearing some kind of short slacks.
Her head is too big and out of joint, I think...
Yes, definitely rubber necked."




"This one's playing some game on
board ship."




"That's all right (indecipherable) ...
9 1/2 heads just (indecipherable) ...
for the heck of it, I never do when I sketch."



"This is my feeble attempt at a haughty,
disdainful portrait."



"I started out practicing -- I don't understand how people can make
fashion (pretty) faces looking up."




"As you can see, I gave up practicing.  This comes under the
category of fun.  I think I should have her holding a pole to
balance herself."




"This was a bathing suit -- I got tired of filling it
in -- she's holding onto something."



"(indecipherable) ... sick and told her I am
out right now.  I feel real proud of myself.
Bet she's surprised to hear from me."

"Now that you have finished, please throw this away.  And try not to
have too many nightmares over it.
Love, June"

(Tonight – a short love letter from Art.)

© 2010 Lee Price