Were you, on certain Saturdays, to wander through the fog-shrouded, gaslit back alleys of Williamsburg, you'd find yourself stumbling by opium dens, slinking past the doors of speakeasies, bypassing floating crap games, ignoring the temptations of "Swedish" style massage parlors and high-class galleries selling prints of the "French persuasion" -- because you, my waistcoat-wearing sketchbook-toting friend, would be seeking the true heart of artistic decadence, where decades of erotic mischief blend together in heady wisps of aromatic debauchery: the Lucky Cat Lounge, home to Dr. Sketchy's Anti-Art School, where burlesque babes perform a frozen fetish fandango for the prurient penciling of depraved dabblers and skilled sketchers alike. Lo! Were you to find yourself tempted into that wicked warren of vexing vice, it could easily be your first step down that slippery path to the utter corruption of today's Williamsburg "sophisticates" -- unless you're already a slut, in which case you're golden.
Who, you might ask, is Dr. Sketchy? Rumors abound, but law enforcement agencies in three countries and a half-dozen burgs worldwide have been as yet unable to provide details on this querulous quack known to peddle such reputed cure-all patent medicines as "art," "nudity," and the "apple martini." "Dr. S" prefers to do business through his international network of agents, wicked shadow puppets who can be spotted by the trademark graphite smudges on their right, or in some cases left, thumbs. A mysterious figure known only as Molly Crabapple is suspected to be their queenpin, an underworld ingenue recognizable first by her lascivious smirk and secondly by the ominous saxophone music that plays whenever she enters the room.
Held every other Saturday, Dr. Sketchy's Anti-Art School is more than just a life drawing class because, as former artist's model Crabapple rather famously told Rachel Kramer Bussel in a Village Voice interview: "Two years of twisting my back for 15 bucks an hour as an artist's model convinced me that modern sketch classes weren't nearly as sexy as they were cracked up to be. Where was the romanticism? The booze-and-hot-chicks fantasy so many of us went to art school for? I wanted a sketch class that jived with my daydreams and rewarded models for their talent. I plotted with my friend A.V. Phibes, hired Dottie Lux to model, and Dr. Sketchy's was born."
Crabapple more recently described Dr. Sketchy's as "A cabaret/art-school fusion where artists sketch mostly naked burlesque girls, compete in contests, and win booze and prizes. We have drinking contests, onstage gogo, and the occasional appearance of foul-mouthed guest MC's." Clearly the road to Hell is paved with Dr. Sketchy's, and we at Eros Zine caution you to avoid such terrifying temptations as "winning booze" and "art-school fusion."
Crabapple (left) and Lady J.
However, if you are unable to resist the sordid inducements of NYC's favorite Gibson Girl Gone Bad, you would find that Dr. Sketchy's is reaching out its aberrant tendrils in more ways than one. "We're branching out a bit from the burlesque world, getting fetish models like Aprella to pose," says Crabapple. Waving her hand to disperse the smoke of European cigarettes, she adds, "What started nine months ago in Brooklyn has now become a bit of an international phenomenon. There are now nine Dr. Sketchy's branches across the world, including in Denmark and Australia." This simply proves what I and my partners in morality have been saying all along -- what happens in Williamsburg corrupts the Aussies, and pretty damn soon the Danes get involved. Where does it end?
Whatever its debaucherous pleasures, the core of Dr. Sketchy's is the drawing. The organizers bring in "the most beautiful burlesque dancers, the most bizarre circus freaks, and the most rippling hunks of man" around, and all you sketchpad sluts get to draw them for three hours. Between poses, guests participate in bizarre rituals and curious contests -- best left-handed drawing, say, or best incorporation of a woodland animal. The prize? Liquor and art supplies, baby, two of the four food groups (the other two being G-strings and coffee).
What's more, Dr. Sketchy's will soon be immortalized in print, in Dr.
Sketchy's Official Rainy Day Colouring Book , penned by Crabapple and
John Leavitt (Sepulcultures DIY Publishing). This cookbook of corruption
is rumored to be "Filled with Dr. Sketchy's history, paper dolls, drinking
games, and childhood toys gone dirty." Again, law enforcement agencies were
unable to verify the details of this forbidden tome, but expect the whole
shipment to be seized by crooked Prohibition agents with handlebar mustaches
and funny hats.
If our warnings and entreaties have failed to
dissuade you from this dirty, dirty place of villainy,
then you'll want to reserve a table early with
Paypal -- they go fast, and do you really want
to be drawing the World Famous *BOB* while attempting
to juggle your sketchpad, a stick of charcoal
and a liberally-mixed cocktail? I didn't think
so: visit drsketchy.com
for all the prurient details and to reserve a
table. And don't try to pack that table -- your
arm candy's gotta cough it up as well.
Dr. Sketchy's: where your soul will assuredly be forfeit to the addictive curves of pencil-drawn cleavage, and you'll find your spiral into depravity soundly greased by the texture of a conte crayon. Don't blame us: We tried to warn you, Picasso.
Dr. Sketchy's Anti-Art School Quick Info:
when
Every other Saturday
where
Lucky Cat Lounge, 245 Grand Street (btw Driggs and Roebling), Williamsburg, Brooklyn
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EROTICA
/ ZINE
