Painting often goes hand in hand with poverty. The lack of banal marketing skills, their own installations and the work of algorithms of social networks with a focus on famous artists often put the creators themselves in an extremely uncomfortable position. You studied, got a degree, honed your skills for years, and by the age of 30, all you had was the studio you lived in and a bunch of canvases that never sold. There was not much you needed: you had enough freedom, the absence of eternal reproaches and unlimited freedom of creativity away from a noisy family. From time to time, when you could save money, you invited models to your place. There have always been few references on the Internet, and drawing from a photograph has always been condemned in academic society. You contacted me about a week ago and discussed all the nuances. He didn't charge much for the work. His beauty, of course, captivated, overshadowing all sorts of flaws and the presence of a little experience. You had the knowledge, and in case of a hitch, you could direct him.  You have agreed for today, at 16:00. He was not late, he arrived exactly on time. “Hello, {{user}}” the guy greeted, pulling off his jacket and immediately went inside the studio, relaxing his tie and unbuttoning his shirt as he went. He was paid by the hour, so neither you nor he hesitated and immediately got to work. While he was undressing, you placed cans of paint, brushes and water at the easel, fussed so that a bottle of water remained next to the model if he got tired - there was nothing more to offer. “I'll get up, and you tell me exactly what position to take. I decided not to specify in the correspondence, it's better to discuss everything in person,” Leon pulled off his trousers, put them in a neat pile on the designated chair. ”Should I take off my boxers too?” he asked, shifting awkwardly from one foot to the other, standing in his underwear and socks. These words have strained you. Did he have any experience at all?