Although I’m no stranger to the A-side B-side Gallery in Hackney Downs Studios, Monday’s visit was my first time modelling there surrounded by art. ‘Unbroken‘ was the title of the exhibition. On a couple of previous occasions I’d arrived just as works were being packed away, so it was good to turn up this week and find the walls fully occupied by pieces from Kimberley Beach, Helena Collins and Jamie Shaw.
Kimberley Beach – ‘Progressive Pain‘ (2014), video and screenprints
The artist amid all this art was our group tutor, Catherine Hall. Her gift for proposing new, interesting challenges each session would this time see us begin with a spot of collaborative drawing. Six artists at six easels would draw for 3 minutes then move to the easel on their left, continue its work in progress for another 3 minutes, then move again, and so on until after six rounds every artist had contributed to every drawing.
I’ve modelled for this type of exercise before and, as on those occasions, the finished artworks were surprisingly coherent and accurate. It’s as though no-one wanted to let the side down – everybody made a strong contribution.
Collaborative drawing – six artists contributing
Although the exercise went very well I think it may have been with some relief that the artists continued thereafter with medium-length poses and an easel all to themselves. 15 minutes standing and 10 minutes seated took us up to our break.
Afterwards, Catherine asked the artists if they would prefer to draw a single long pose or to divide this second half of the evening into two poses. The expressed preferences were for the latter: two seated poses, 20 minutes and 23 minutes, through to our 9pm finish.
As ever, Catherine offered tips and techniques on a one-to-one basis throughout while chilled music played in the background. It’s so easy to pose in such conditions. Time floats by, with the mind both fed and soothed. Artists departed with smiles at the end of the evening, and so did I. Life art once more dispels the Monday blues.
I entered The Cambria pub and looked about. Having been here twice before I knew I would be modelling upstairs yet I couldn’t remember the way up. I wandered in an arc around the central horseshoe-shaped bar, searching without success for a staircase. And then I noticed the walls…
All around the walls were life drawings – beautiful life drawings. I scrutinised each one whilst I pondered my next move, even recognising a few of the models as friends. The simple outline curve of a woman’s back was bold and unmissable beside the fireplace. Even more striking to me, however, was the smaller drawing just beneath it.
It was the first time I’d walked into a pub and found a picture of myself on the wall.
In the modest light I needed three or four attempts with my phone’s camera to snap a satisfactory picture. This prompted raised eyebrows and speculative muttering among nearby patrons. I’m not sure if they thought I was more or less of a weirdo when I told them it was me in the drawing.
This wonderful memento of my first visit to The Cambria brought memories flooding back and, feeling emboldened, I opened a nearby door marked ‘PRIVATE’ to discover the missing staircase. I ascended to the world of Camberwell Life Drawing.
Standing centre stage was multi-talented Tatiana Moressoni – group organiser, artist, photographer, life model, traveller and all-round stupendous person. She was midway through instructing a fellow artist in the science of setting up the room, so after some early banter I retreated to the sidelines and let them be.
Tatiana books life models for two successive weeks at a time. The first of these – this evening’s session – is for short poses. It’s my favourite as there’s more possibility for variation. It’s clearly also popular with artists as by the time we started there wasn’t a spare seat anywhere at the semi-circle of tables and chairs.
We began with four 2-minute poses: three standing, one crouched down, all featuring an attempt at dramatic arm gestures. Next came three 5-minute poses: two standing and one making use of the bright red couch behind me; an exotic item now looking a shade more worn than I recalled, but then I probably look a shade more worn myself.
Three 10-minute poses took us up to a short break and a first chance for me to admire some of the artworks that had been produced. This is a particularly talented group, not with grand pretentions as such, simply a happy coming-together of gifted people.
Three 15-minute poses completed our evening: first perching on one arm of the couch, reaching along its back; second, perching on the front of the couch cushions with one knee on the floor; third, a simple standing pose with hands on hips, chin tilted up.
All done, I covered up and followed Tatiana in photographing artworks. The one I kept returning to was an extraordinary watercolour that I confess – if it’s not too vain to do so – I fell in love with. It was based on the second of the 10-minute poses though the artist continued developing it throughout the evening.
Strong lines and striking colours that the artist used on the figure, contrasting with the blast of paints added afterwards as a backdrop, appealed to me hugely. If it joined the ranks of artworks on display downstairs I might be moved to put in a bid for it myself.
Instead I put in a bid for drinks at the bar and settled down with Tatiana and artists to chat away the remainder of the evening. And the model in that drawing just above the one of me on the wall – the bold outline curve of a woman’s back? Tatiana herself.
We chatted for so long that by the end I’d left myself a sprint finish to catch the train home. All to the good, however; this is a place I would gladly run to model at again. I count myself blessed to be returning next week.
A familiar face in an unfamiliar place: I had arrived for my first time life modelling at the Rose Lipman Building in Islington and was just embarking on a circuit of its exterior to find the way in, when I spotted Adrian Dutton. As I was there for Adrian’s Tuesday night life drawing group, he was just the man to follow.
Inside, we prepared the main hall with help from regular artists. I placed orange plastic chairs in a square arrangement with about ten on each side. Wooden frames were put in front of these for artists to rest their boards on. Art materials were stacked on a pair of tables that had been unfolded near the door.
I was to model with a chap by the name of Ray. He had made his life modelling début, first time anywhere, at the same venue just a week previously and could now use this follow-up as a chance to see an experienced model posing. In a way I felt a degree of responsibility, although the most useful thing I could do for him would be to treat it as nothing out of the ordinary.
We were spoiled with no fewer than four electric heaters: two heavyweight units at the corners of the square farthest from the door, and two smaller ones nearer the carpet of yoga mats on which we would pose. With a good turn-out of artists seated and primed to draw, Adrian introduced us. We slipped off our robes and started our first 10-minute standing poses.
A sequence of shorter poses followed: 1 minute, 30 seconds, 2 minutes, 3 minutes, 5 minutes. Another 10-minute pose brought us full circle before a 20-minute pose sitting back-to-back on the floor took us to a half-time break. As always at Adrian’s groups, hot food, hot drinks and snacks were free for all.
We resumed with a 15-minute pose, followed by another quick-fire round: 30 seconds, 45 seconds, 3 minutes. To close the night, Adrian suggested Ray pose for a half-hour while I do three sets of 10-minutes. Somewhere halfway through, this mutated into me posing twice for 15-minutes, while Ray did 20 minutes and 10 minutes. So be it.
Afterwards I shared a few random tips with Ray: extending limbs for the short dynamic poses but keeping them supported for longer poses; alternating to face all sides of the room; pacing the poses throughout a session; items worth bringing along in a kit bag; and so forth. Ultimately every model has to learn from what their own body tells them, however.
Before I slipped away into the night there was time enough left for me to photograph a selection of drawings that artists had placed on the floor. New venue, new model, new faces, familiar faces too, and the joy of life modelling continues.
Head down, umbrella angled, hunched forward, trudging the dark rain-swept streets of Clapham… I would much rather be in the sun. But then The Sun was my destination. Monday was my first modelling session at the pub since September last year.
It had been a long time since I’d posed at The Sun but even longer since I last worked with Julia, the group’s co-organiser. During recent bookings I’ve enjoyed the company of Aless, her partner in The Moon & Nude, so it was lovely to catch up again.
I arrived early and found Julia preparing the first-floor rooms. She was keen that I take it easy whilst we chatted. After 30 seconds watching her drag heavy tables, however, my conscience could stand it no longer. More hands made lighter work.
A dozen artists braved the elements to join us. As we began, I found the pose timings reassuringly familiar. In the first hour and ten minutes we worked through nine poses:
- 5 minutes standing, hands linked with one elbow behind my head
- 4 minutes standing, bent forward with one arm bowing out
- 3 minutes standing, one hand on face, one arm outstretched
- 2 minutes standing, crouched with one arm reaching up
- 1 minute kneeling, both arms reaching up to the ceiling
- 5 minutes seated on the floor, one leg stretched, hand on foot
- 10 minutes standing, both hands behind head
- 15 minutes reclining, one foot up on a stool
- 20 minutes seated on a stool, right arm cradling right knee
We took a break and then completed the session with a single 40-minute pose. Once more I was seated on the stool, this time with left ankle crossing my right leg, leaning forward with left arm resting on left knee. It was more comfortable than it sounds.
A little bonus after the event was finding that one of the artists, Harley, had tweeted a link to his blog with many outstanding drawings from the evening. Two of his drawings are reproduced below, with grateful thanks – it’s nice to find another life art blogger.
Before leaving The Sun I once more offered to help with the tables and chairs, but this time Julia was insistent that the responsibility was hers. I hope it won’t be too long till I can be of some use to this group again.
We’re nearing the sharp end of the academic year for college art. There are studies to be pursued but also substantial portfolios of work to be prepared for submission. With students torn between the two and – who knows? – perhaps also the distractions and allures of Valentine’s Day, this wasn’t the most heavily attended class ever.
Of course it makes no difference to me whether I’m modelling for one or one hundred artists. I’m booked to do a job of work, come what may. On this occasion we started with gesture drawing. I would be moving continuously, smoothly but very, very slowly throughout the length of the pose.
The drawing above was one young artist’s first attempt at this type of study. He even needed a quick Google image search for examples of what it’s supposed to be; yet I reckon this is as fair an execution as I have seen. We followed it with a sequence of four 3-minute poses that together showed a single developing position.
Next, for half an hour either side of our lunch break we took inspiration from an ‘After the bath‘ painting by Edgar Degas. In the absence of a bath towel I used my folded super-kingsize posing sheet as our prop. It meant I had to anchor one elbow into my side to support the extra weight, but the pose worked and the art was good.
My final pose was three-quarters of an hour laying face down. I was comfortable, I was warm and my mind was wandering freely. I have no idea if at any stage I dipped into a light sleep although I was aware I jolted slightly, just before the end. I’ll kid myself that I got away with it and hope my breathing didn’t become audibly snoozy.
New poses, new exercises, new contexts. Life modelling is as interesting, varied and challenging as ever.
What is the meaning of life… modelling? Maybe more a question of psychology than philosophy. I’ve mulled the matter previously on this blog: which flicked-switch in my mind, and the minds of those like me, drives us to a profession that most would shrink from in horror? I still don’t know; but it was time to go to a psychoanalyst’s.
So I went to the home of Sigmund Freud. It was after dark as I approached the only well-lit building in an otherwise shadowy residential street. I spotted gifted artist and occasional model Farida reading a noticeboard in front of the house. Simultaneously emerging through the gloom from the opposite direction was actress, model, milliner and star of burlesque, Ava Iscariot.
Ava Iscariot, drawing by @silveraj – © Aaron Jacob Jones
Together the three of us entered The Freud Museum.
The Freud Museum, at 20 Maresfield Gardens in Hampstead, was the home of Sigmund Freud and his family when they escaped Austria following the Nazi annexation in 1938. It remained the family home until Anna Freud, the youngest daughter, died in 1982. The centrepiece of the museum is Freud’s study, preserved just as it was during his lifetime.
It contains Freud’s remarkable collection of antiquities: Egyptian; Greek; Roman and Oriental. Almost 2,000 items fill cabinets and are arranged on every surface. There are rows of ancient figures on the desk where Freud wrote until the early hours of the morning. The walls are lined with shelves containing Freud’s large library.
We had converged on the last residence of Sigismund Schlomo Freud, the father of psychoanalysis, not to discover our true natures but to be part of another legendary Art Macabre Drawing Salon. We found Nikki, aka Raven Rouge, the divine creator of these happenings, already deep in preparations with the museum’s staff.
Ava and I would be half of a four-strong modelling team while Farida would be helping Nikki manoeuvre groups of artists between different rooms of the museum. Soon we were joined by Maya – life model, wordsmith and genius of transformation – whom I had previously worked with on the Day of the Dead.
Maya, made death
We were shown to a back room with adjacent bathroom – complete with bath – where we could change and prepare. Ava immediately set up camp in the bathroom to begin a hair-to-toes metamorphosis in the style of a grey-painted, winged Weeping Angel. Maya stalked between rooms as she evolved, piece by piece, into an altogether more sinister figure. They would be posing together as Eros and Thanatos: the drive toward attraction and reproduction versus the drive toward repulsion and destruction.
This was our salon theme – FREUD MUSEUM: Eros and Death.
Maya and Ava, Thanatos and Eros
Our back room complement was completed with the arrival of partners in arts, Aaron and Raquel. Aaron would be on volunteer duties with Farida, and at free times adding more beautiful little masterpieces to his sketchbook. Multi-genre singer and art muse Raquel Merlot would be our fourth life model. As Ava and Maya continued meticulous preparations, Raquel simply got comfortable in a replica of Sigmund Freud’s famous chair and immersed herself in a book. Her poses would be nude and natural.
Raquel Merlot, drawing by @silveraj – © Aaron Jacob Jones
But while Raquel could be herself, I would be stripped of all ego and identity. I was to wear an expressionless white plastic mask and have white gauze netting draped over my head. For gratuitous embellishment I was given a necklace of tiny skulls and silver crosses, and Aaron painted my left arm white from shoulder to fingernails. Why not?
Throughout the hour we were getting ready I was rather keen to make swift use of the toilet. With our sole unisex bathroom continuously occupied by semi-naked women, however, it seemed poor form simply to wander in and express myself. Eventually I made pleading noises to a member of staff, who mercifully showed me to facilities on an upper floor. When I returned, the others had already gone to their pose spaces.
The eyes of Maya
Maya and Ava were facing-off in the first-floor Exhibition Room, Raquel was nursing a skeletal baby in Anna Freud’s Consulting Room, and I was to be in the front hallway posing before the sculpture ‘Remember that we sometimes…‘ by Rachel Kneebone (2014). The museum folk took pains to emphasise the desirability of me not breaking, touching, breathing-on, or in any way unnerving this valuable piece of art.
In front of ‘Remember that we sometimes…’, Rachel Kneebone (2014)
Nikki had divided her 65 artists into five colour-badged groups. These would be rotated around our poses every 15 to 25 minutes. At any given time two groups would be with Ava and Maya, one with Raquel, one with me and one sketching artefacts in Sigmund Freud’s study. When everyone else was in place Nikki came for me. She led me down carpeted stairs and left me in a standing pose with a skull and a small plastic hand.
How one artist imagined that small plastic hand…
The business-end of my evening had begun. Artists surrounded me, sitting on chairs or on the floor, or standing in the hallway or on the stairs. My poses were to be lithe, perhaps provocative, but not strenuous. As I found at Mediæval Monsters, however, there’s something rather claustrophobic about posing in a face mask for a complete session. By the end of the evening it was running with condensation from my breath.
Artists changed rooms between poses. Once they had settled, Nikki would walk from group to group, explaining to each the history of the space they were now in, and the significance of our life modelling in context. For example, during my second standing pose in the front hallway she drew attention to the multiple limbs and ‘phallic tendrils’ of Rachel Kneebone’s sculpture, and suggested the artists might like to incorporate similar ideas into their work.
Tendrils afoot
My third pose was seated on the floor; my fourth pose was laying down with one arm raised; my final pose returned to standing, once more clutching the skull and the little hand. There was no artistic need to vary my poses as it was a different pool of artists each time, but it didn’t do my circulation any harm to change limb positions when the chance arose.
Me drawn by @silveraj – © Aaron Jacob Jones
As the fifth pose ended, so did the evening’s art. I remained in my mask and draping but was otherwise still nude as I attempted a slow, dignified retreat to our back room. When the first floor was clear of artists we re-emerged to get a few photos whilst still in character. Nikki and Aaron had some shots of artworks too, but alas this wasn’t a venue where time permitted drawings to be laid out for all to admire.
Eros and roses
Back at the bathroom those of us in body paint crowded round the sink and tub. With just one arm needing a rinse, I dipped in and out as quickly as possible so Maya and Ava could continue their more thorough ablutions undisturbed.
Raquel, Aaron and Farida had left by the time the rest of us were ready. Nikki, Maya, Ava and I grabbed some last photos outside the museum before departing south and north: Ava and Maya to Finchley Road, Nikki and me to Finchley Road & Frognal.
Nikki indicates where her own blue plaque belongs
Later Nikki would reflect:
“When I studied Freud at A Level psychology, I don’t think I could have imagined that one day I’d be creating art at Freud’s study and home with nude models!
“What a privilege tonight was! 65 artists capturing our 4 models posing throughout the rooms of Freud’s past home and workplace, alongside amazing art such as Rachel Kneebone sculpture.“
I replied in kind:
“And who knew when I was studying physics that one day I’d be a 6’4″ naked mannequin, draped like Mother Teresa, in Sigmund Freud’s front hallway?“
I’m still no closer to arriving at a true meaning, but for now it’s better to travel.
5 August 2014 – “Hi Lisa, Apologies if you’ve had a few messages like this today…”
An unseen facet of being a life model is sending speculative emails to art classes and groups whenever a call-out appears. Likely as not in most cases we won’t even get an acknowledgement, let alone a booking, but we give it a go. None of us are owed.
5 January 2015 – “Hi Steve, I would love you to model for us this term…”
It was a great surprise, therefore, when out of the blue in early January I got a reply to an email I’d sent five months earlier. Furthermore, two emails later that same evening, arrangements were settled: I would début at The Prince Regent pub in Herne Hill for SketchPad Drawing on 28 January. Very much worth the wait!
I arrived plenty early to find Lisa setting up easels in irregular arrangements around the sides of two adjoining rooms on the pub’s first floor. I did what little I could to help with preparations while we chatted about the format and poses.
There would be two models: myself and Ruby. We would each work a separate room, swapping over at half time. This seemed to me a very good way of accommodating up to 40 artists in the space available. They would each have an easel and a comfortable, clear view of a model.
Lisa said she had been running classes for 10 years. The experience had given her an instinctive understanding of what she could ask and reasonably expect from models in different situations. She demonstrated the poses she would like me to try in relation to the furniture and fittings of the room, all aimed at accentuating the length of my limbs.
I opened with a 15-minute seated pose, styled to look impatient, then raced through a dynamic standing sequence of 5 minutes, 2, 2, 1, 1 and 1 minute. Finally for this pool of artists I stood for half an hour with hands on hips and a twist at the waist.
The breadth of artistic styles on show was unexpected and impressive. I met Ruby for the first time in the doorway between rooms and we talked a while about modelly stuff. After the break she curled into a single long seated pose on the platform of tables that I’d vacated earlier.
Meanwhile, I was to pose for 15 minutes standing – a rather painful back-bending high reach up to the ceiling lights – and 25 minutes laying with my body on a footstool and my legs splayed across an armchair.
When all was done I bantered with artists, just as I had at the end of the first session. Everybody was so kind and complimentary, a couple even going so far as to say they hoped they could draw me again some time. Certainly I would jump at any chance for a return visit. Lisa seemed positive, so who knows? Let’s see what next term brings.
steve ritter 