Drawing attention

“I can do only so many standing poses because I was on my feet all day yesterday in heels,’’ she told them early in the three-hour session. She wore sparkly purple pasties, a G-string, spiky blond hair, and makeup that included a gold glitter mustache and goatee. “Then I was up at 7 this morning, teaching hula hooping to children.’’ At a Sunday school, she later revealed.

The artists hunched over their sketchpads, shading and contouring, as Blazes riffed through a series of one-minute, then two-minute poses, preening and vamping on the stage at Great Scott, the bar in Allston where Dr. Sketchy takes place on the second Sunday of each month. As the session went on, the poses got progressively longer.

Dr. Sketchy started in a dive bar in Brooklyn in 2005, the brainchild of Molly Crabapple, who has been both a life-drawing model and a burlesque performer. Now artists can find Dr. Sketchy in 120 cities around the world. Aliza Shapiro, who runs Truth Serum Productions, which stages the monthly drag show Trani-Wreck at Oberon in Cambridge, brought the burlesque life-drawing group to Boston in early 2007. In the last couple of years, Shapiro has put her own mark on the series, inviting more and more drag artists such as Blazes to pose.

“The memo about models from headquarters was that they should be burlesque models,’’ Shapiro explained. “This is my own twist on the mandate. It’s who I have access to, and who I want to support. Drag performers are just as in need. People outside of the gender norms aren’t always well employed.’’

Blazes pulled on a black bustier. “I forgot my nipple glitter,’’ she lamented.

Daniel Parziale has been a Dr. Sketchy regular since the beginning. An artist and an artist’s model, he appreciates the Dr. Sketchy models’ easygoing engagement.

“In traditional modeling, the person is up there, they do their poses, and there’s no contact with the students, no talking. The poses are very clinical,’’ Parziale said. He sat at the corner of the small stage, wearing a striped shirt and a bushy beard. “This is more lively.’’

The model’s rapport with the audience, Parziale pointed out, can be seen in the drawings. “I’m more sympathetic toward her, and as a result there’s a dialogue. She’s an actual person, as opposed to a vase of flowers.’’

Sometime after 3 p.m., Norris Branscombe drifted in. He’s 91, and he takes a bus, subway, and trolley to get here each month from his home in Somerville. Branscombe is the only one in the audience who doesn’t have a sketchpad. He merely watches.

“It’s one chance I get to sit comfortably and stare at a partly disrobed girl who is there just to be stared at,’’ Branscombe said as he stood at the bar.

Shapiro introduced him to the crowd. “Norris is the only exhibit of a dirty old man I will support and egg on,’’ she joked. “I think he’s my dirty-old-man spirit animal.’’

Blazes ducked offstage and returned in a maroon wig, a gray-feathered tutu, and boots. She had stuffed two black balloons into a white camisole, expanding her cup size exponentially. She settled herself on all fours for a 20-minute pose, resting her knees on a pile of clothes. While sketches for the shorter poses had been quick and rough, many of the drawings for the 20-minute pose were strong, fleshed-out works.

Shapiro announced a contest: Anyone who drew the most intriguing sketch of Blazes and incorporated a balloon theme would win a book about tattoos.

Many of the artists here, veterans of other life-drawing classes, have had their fill of nudes. They thrill at the burlesque costumes. “It’s fun drawing the costumes,’’ said Edith Mooers, who attends a longstanding life-drawing group in Malden. “The burlesque performers bring a lot of attitude in.’’

When Blazes broke her pose, Shapiro gathered drawings and held them up for all to see. The model chose the winner, in which she was depicted as a Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade balloon.

Then she dashed to her dressing area, a large stall in the ladies room, inviting a visitor in to chat as she pulled out her balloons and peeled off the camisole. She started to blow up the beach ball to serve as a pregnant belly in her next costume.

“I think of myself as a vaudevillian,’’ Blazes said in between breaths. “A double triple threat. Singing, dancing, acting, circus arts, and drag.’’ She gestured to her ruffled panties, where she had stowed what looked like a rolled-up black sock. When it comes to super-sizing it, Blazes may go over the top with both genders at the same time.

In fact, Blazes prefers to be referred to by gender-neutral pronouns. “I don’t come down on one side or the other,’’ she said. Later, she acceded to the feminine pronoun, allowing, “My stage persona at the moment is a rather feminine one.’’

Blazes, who lives in Boston, has a solo show she tours to colleges, “Wo(n)man Show,’’ pronounced “one-man show,’’ and makes a living as a performer, with the occasional Sunday school gig on the side. When she tours, she models at Dr. Sketchy sessions around the country.

Blazes pulled on a black dress, then wedged the balloons into the top and the beach ball underneath it. She floated out of the bathroom and hoisted herself up onto the stage.

“I’m 10 months pregnant,’’ she announced to the artists, and sat down facing them on a red folding chair with her knees wide. “This character is called Connie Traction,’’ Blazes told them. “The first time I did her, she was in a pink muumuu and called ‘Preggers the Clown.’ I had a small tumbler — he was a grown-up, but he was small — and I walked out and he was holding onto my thighs, upside down. Then he dropped down.’’

The crowd murmured with laughter. Blaze’s tip jar had filled steadily. But mostly the audience members were quiet, their heads bowed over their sketchpads.

Cate McQuaid can be reached at cmcq@speakeasy.net