It’s the last Tuesday evening of May. Rain is teeming into puddles on the saturated streets of Islington. In Colebrooke Row, meanwhile, upstairs at Cass Art the pattering and splashing is a different soundtrack, that of fine brushes swirling in plastic cups. Watercolours are afoot.
A horseshoe of 30 seated artists has assembled here to capture the astounding visual confections fashioned by Art Macabre. Tonight, on this wettest of May nights, their theme is Dark Waters.
I was one of two life models ready to be imagined in four roles. For the first part of the evening I would be a child-snatching grindylow, while newcomer Helen would emerge as the shimmering Lady of the Lake. After an interval I would return as Charon, ferryman of the underworld, transporting souls across the river Styx to Hades. Helen would be the human embodiment of Styx.
The charismatic visionary who conceives such diverse fantasies and melds them to a coherent whole is, of course, Nikki, aka Raven Rouge – business director, creative director and all-round macabre art engine – with essential support provided by the equally talented Linsay.
Together they set out chairs and build a skull-strewn waterworld set of fabrics, before turning their attention to make-up for the models.
Linsay started with me, painting my arms, shoulders, ribs and face a mottling of blues, silvers, greens and black. To my right, Nikki set about embellishing Helen with beautiful cascades of azure tears and delicately decorated blue boobs (bloobs?)
Infinite adornments were festooned around Helen’s golden hair and her pleated pale turquoise gown, whereas in my grindylow guise I was to wear nought but a draping of black mesh. Oh, and as ever, Nikki picked up her brush and gave me my ubiquitous Art Macabre skull-black eyes.
We were ready to go with barely a moment to spare. Nikki greeted our audience and set the mood with a grim recounting of murky mythologies from unfathomable depths. In a far corner, concealed for the public gaze behind mounds of art materials, Helen sat serenely in her elaborate costume while I crouched low in nothing but my paints.
I was first to enter the arc of watercolourists. Five poses were to last one minute, one minute, two minutes, five minutes and 10 minutes with the skeleton of an umbrella for a prop. Regrettably the first one-minute pose disintegrated after just 40 seconds as the material upon which I was squatting slid from beneath me on the polished floor. Redemption came in the five-minute pose, which called for one arm to be stretching high aloft throughout.
Helen then made her entrance and Nikki set to peeling from her the costume that had been prepared so meticulously. We posed for 15 minutes, after which I withdrew to wash off my make-up, leaving Helen in her second pose to take the session to its interval.
After the break we returned for a 10-minute pose together as Charon and Styx: me with loincloth, Helen with robe. For the final half-hour Helen held centre stage alone and naked, seated with a slight sideways lean on a high flat surface – it’s a pose that looks deceptively comfortable but can easily lead to numb limbs. She held it very well.
By the time Helen had taken her applause and Nikki had closed the session, I was already dressed and able to chat with the artists while photographing some of their superb work. I’m so used to being drawn with pencils or charcoals that it was a real treat to see so much colourful art on display.
Special credit to Aaron – Art Macabre regular; Twitter’s @SilverAJ – whose art seems to get more exquisite and expressive with every passing week; his are the seven works above with clean lines on cream paper. But this was a particularly talented group of artists all round. It was a privilege to pose for them.
This road…
This journey, everything that you see here, every milestone and way pointer, has a backdrop of Tunick photographs at its point of origin. Landscapes of massed nudes on every continent, in geometry and disarray. Breakthrough images that trickled then poured into our mainstream media throughout the first decade of the 21st century. They became inescapable. But more than that: they became alluring, intoxicating: a Siren song. I felt a nagging compulsion to be part of a Spencer Tunick installation.
The road to Salford
It’s one thing deciding to participate but quite another to get the opportunity. My intent came too late for me to be part of his 2005 Gateshead shoot ahead of an exhibition at the Baltic Gallery in 2006. Who knew when Tunick’s global peregrinations might next bring him to the UK? I signed up to mailing lists and forums, and then waited… and waited. But as I waited I found little networks of like-minded individuals and learned of alternative opportunities. On Sunday 14 June 2009 I joined in a nude photo shoot at Prested Hall in Essex. It was my first time naked for an artistic endeavour.
Within a year Tunick was back in the UK to photograph two groups of 500 people over two days at locations around Salford. These were Everyday People, commissioned by The Lowry gallery. By sheer chance I heard of it on the day it was announced and was thus amongst the very first to apply. Weeks of silence passed before an email arrived bearing the wretched news that I had been rejected. Fortunately I was able to muster a bona fide case of appeal and, to my great relief, the decision was reversed. On Saturday 1 May 2010 I participated in my first Spencer Tunick installation.
The road less travelled
The majority of those who strip for Tunick do it as a once-in-a-lifetime experience. Others of us get the bug. We crave more. I was 40 years-old when I posed in Salford: just ripe for a mid-life crisis and a new beginning. Since then I have posed for artists, photographers and performance makers. I have been drawn, painted, body-painted and body-casted. I’ve performed in physical installations, film and live dance theatre. I’ve worked indoors and outdoors, in homes, studios and galleries, in city centres and remote countryside, in the UK and abroad. This has been my road, and it continues before me towards limitless naked horizons.
The road to the south coast
Four years had passed between the Baltic and Lowry exhibitions. Now, after another four-year gap, Tunick was returning for Museums at Night – but where exactly? On the south coast somewhere: either Brighton, Folkestone or Hastings, depending on the outcome of a popular vote. The voting opened on 14 January 2014 amid much campaigning from all parties. On 29 January the results were announced: Georges House Gallery, Folkestone had triumphed with 3,736 votes (38.2%), ahead of the Royal Pavilion and Museums, Brighton with 3,187 (32.6%), and Jerwood Gallery, Hastings with 2,856 (29.2%).
In due course a call-out came from Strange Cargo on behalf of Georges House Gallery, for volunteers to participate in Scope Out: Spencer Tunick in Folkestone:
We would like to invite you to apply to POSE NUDE in a performative photographic action by artist Spencer Tunick.
Spencer Tunick will be photographing multiple individuals one at a time. You will stand in a line clothed and then when it is your turn to be photographed you will disrobe and the artist will quickly photograph you.
Spencer will choose men, women and any gender identity to be part of this unique portrait series. In order to be chosen we ask that you please send in a low resolution photograph of yourself and a brief explanation of who you are and why you would like to participate. Please also include your address, age and phone number.
Participants will be selected based on photographs submitted and what is written. Please respond [by email]. The artist will then review the photos and the statements to choose the participants. Most installations by Spencer do not have limits to the number of people participating, nor do they require the submission of a photograph. However, for these individual portraits in Folkestone, there is a cap on the number of people participating due to the specific concept of the work. We are asking for a photograph of yourself because we want to have a wide range of body types and skin tonalities represented in the final work. Although everyone is unique, if you are not chosen, it is simply because we may have reached the amount of people with similar specific characteristics needed for the art project. We apologise in advance if you are not chosen for this particular idea but please do not let it deter you from signing up and posing in future works by Spencer where there are usually no number limits. Chosen participants will be contacted by email prior to 15th April 2014 with the project location in Folkestone and further instructions. Please only apply if you are committed to participating and able to be free for approximately an hour on Thursday afternoon the 15th May 2014. You only will be nude for a approximately 2 minutes… we know it could be chilly… so you will not be nude until right before its your turn to be photographed. In exchange for taking part, you will receive a unique (scope) key chain viewer of the portrait Spencer makes of you at the Museums at Night event at Strange Cargo on Saturday evening the 17th May 2014. All the photographs will be exhibited that same evening.
Thank you for wanting to be part of Spencer’s art, he could not make his work without you!
I made my pitch on 6 March and – happy days – on 23 April I received an email that confirmed I’d been chosen to participate:
There are only 125 spaces.
Shoot Day: Thursday May 15th. Rain or Shine.
Arrival Time: 1.15pm
Kindly please be on time.Meeting location: The wooden hut below the Martello Tower (opposite No 76 Wear Bay Road, Folkestone, Kent. CT19 6BL) GOOGLE MAPS VIEW. From there, after we register you, we will walk to an undisclosed area to make the artworks.
Be prepared to walk a little. In exchange for posing you will be given a unique photograph of yourself in a Keychain (Scope) at the exhibition on Saturday 17th May at Georges House Gallery in Folkestone.
You will only be nude for a short period of time. You will not be disrobing until right before you are photographed. Please do not take off your clothing until the artist requests. After you are photographed please get dressed. The portrait will only take a few minutes, but there will be a short line of people waiting to be photographed.
While in position do not wear any clothing. No sunglasses, no jewellery, completely nude. Piercings and tattoos are fine. There will be people on site to watch your clothing. Wear warm, loose fitting clothing. (please avoid strap marks from tight underwear). Please do not take photos or video of your fellow posers. After your session is over, you can stay for 10 minutes, but you will be asked to move to a safe distance away from the shooting location. After the 10 minutes are up, have a safe trip home and we will see you on Saturday evening at the exhibition in Folkestone.
The road to Folkestone
I’d intended to travel by train to Folkstone for the shoot, but a little flurry of Facebook activity on the morning of the day itself resulted in me getting a lift with artist / model friend Natansky, plus fellow model / body-paint specialist Lee Rex. We met at 11am on the outer rim of east London and began our road-trip south. I was due to pose first at 1:15pm, with Lee next at 1:30pm, and Natansky following at 1:45pm. Other familiar faces from past modelling and performance pieces would also be descending on the south coast: Andi, Camila, Cy, Gil, Karen, Keith. Overwhelmingly, however, this was an event for the people of Folkestone itself.
It looked set to be a great day, and so it proved. The sun was warming us generously from a rich blue sky. T-shirts were all that we would be removing from above the waist. We passed over the Queen Elizabeth II Bridge without delay and made good time down to our destination. A drive through a cloud of large and exceptionally juicy flying insects provided the only startling moment on our journey across Kent.
We parked below a Martello tower, a little further along Wear Bay Road than the one we were aiming for, but it was free parking and the sun was still shining so we didn’t mind the short stroll. A small gathering of participants had already assembled at our designated meeting place – the correct Martello tower – where a portable table strewn with paperwork was being attended by three volunteers in official tops.
We introduced ourselves and were handed model release forms that conceded so many of our rights that Spencer Tunick could have reversed his car over us and we would have had no recourse to complain. It’s standard stuff, however, so we signed and joined the crowd, sunning ourselves in a lush green field overlooking the English channel, with France hazy in the distance. A cooling coastal breeze deceived us as we simmered to a soft pink.
The road to Spencer Tunick
Participants were called in groups at fifteen minute intervals. After 45 minutes’ waiting, during which we were joined first by Karen and later by Keith, the 1:15pm call came: I was the first from our tribe to go. Along with others in my timeslot, I was taken for a ten-minute walk down an undulating country road, past the Folkestone Camping and Caravaning Club to a large rectangular man-made surface lapped by the sea.
A precautionary ambulance was parked on the land side of the rectangle, and at the centre by the water’s edge were two bright orange tents for models. Spencer Tunick was seated at the very edge of the water with Gil, and Brigette of Strange Cargo, as foot soldiers to keep the operation moving.
A line of naked people queued between tents and artist.
I stripped out of my clothes and joined the back of the queue, bantering and laughing with fellow participants. Everybody had travelled their own unique road to arrive at this one moment of exuberant liberation. As if emphasising the point I found myself ahead of a local chap from Folkestone, and behind Rachel, originally from New Zealand.
On reaching the front, each person was asked by Brigette to confirm their name, then ushered forward and a little to the left to stand directly facing Spencer. Blue sky, white cliffs and a barely rippling sea was our backdrop. Back a bit, right a bit, step forward, that’s fine, hold that. There was no posing to speak of; we were simply to be natural.
Minutes passed as we shuffled forward. Soon Rachel was in position for her full-frontal photograph and I was due next. I gave my name to Brigette, removed my sunglasses, offered a cheery ‘hi’ to Gil, then stepped into position. Just Spencer Tunick and me.
Spencer was working with two cameras – no tripod, nothing digital, these were vintage Olympus Pen EE-3 half frame models. A novelty in itself.
Within a couple of minutes a photograph had been taken on each Olympus. Thanks were offered, and that was me done. I was handed a slip of paper that I should bring back for the exhibition’s opening night on Saturday to collect my personal keychain viewer (scope) – a mere two days later – then wandered along the adjacent beach while waiting for the others. I was happy.
A small number of beach-goers and dog-walkers were clearly curious about the line of completely naked people queuing to have their photographs taken, but they kept their curiosity coolly distant. The organisers had succeeded in keeping the location secret. No gawpers or voyeurs were apparent.
Lee had been and gone again by the time I returned to the shoot location; Natansky was dressed and on her way back too. We met Lee at the field and made straight for the car to beat the Thames crossing rush hour traffic. There was just time to stop for cola, coffee and ice lollies at Folkestone service station, along with a water top-up for Natansky’s insect-splattered windscreen.
Back in east London we parted where we had met. Neither Natansky nor Lee would be able to return on Saturday so I would be collecting scopes for all three of us.
The road to Scope Out
Come the Saturday, a high speed train took me southbound from London St. Pancras International to Folkestone Central in less than an hour. From there I slowly navigated the local roads with Google directions in hand. An amiable woman with strikingly short spiky blonde hair who’d arrived on the same train, asked if I needed help to get where I was going. I thanked her, but said I was fine as I had a map. Little did I know we were both headed towards the same place. Was everyone in town there that evening for the Scope Out opening night?
A crowd had already gathered outside Georges House Gallery by the time I arrived at 6:20pm. It continued to grow steadily.
When proceedings got under way the first business was to hand out individual scopes to the participants. This was done in small batches numbered as per the slips passed to us on the day of the shoot. Scopes were given out randomly within each group, so it was up to participants to check and swap with others till eventually they recognised themselves. This in itself was a great ice-breaker.
By now I had chanced upon my friends Martin and Yvonne, who hadn’t participated in Scope Out but who would be part of a Spencer Tunick party series shoot in Notting Hill, London the next day. Martin captured the moment of my first viewing.
I swiftly found the keychain scopes for Natansky and Lee too. As with everything else in the organisation of this event, the process was simple, smooth and jolly.
The gallery was rammed by the time I entered. Patiently I waited for the chance to squeeze into line and begin peering through the back-to-back wavy rows of back-lit scopes that formed the centrepiece of the exhibition. There were 120 in total, 60 on each side in two rows of 30. These, together with a smaller batch of 25 scopes at an outside window, showcased almost all the 156 who took part in their full naked glory.
Words on the gallery wall answered the natural question: why keychain viewers?
I began photographing people in keychain viewers when I was 16. I was working for my father at a young age, taking photo keychains of guests in the hotels of the Catskill Mountains in New York. When my father retired, he gave me 50 half-frame cameras and all the keychain viewers I could ever dream of. I use them as a visual diary, documenting friends and nude situations. I am rarely somewhere without a keychain of a nude friend in my pocket.
Spencer Tunick – May 2014
Indeed, in one corner of the gallery stood a separate panel of 36 scopes from Spencer Tunick’s personal collection: unexplained, seemingly random images of unclothed people from his private world sharing space and context with the Folkestone folk.
I wondered whether the unknown people in these viewers had any idea that they were being displayed naked to hundreds of people in a distant town on the English coast.
Spencer, meanwhile, mingled among us.
Familiar faces were all around. Keith gave me a pointer as to where I could locate my portrait in the five panels of the main display – the window-facing side, second panel from the right, bottom row, second in from the left on that panel: yellow scope. Once there, I found myself standing next to Rachel, whom I’d queued behind for the shoot. We continued on, merrily seeing who else we could recognise from our little group.
I remembered one young woman who had been about four places ahead of us in the queue. She was desperately nervous, the only person to keep clothing on – a single long vest – until the very last moment. With all our encouragement and support she bravely went for it, earning hearty cheers and applause for her efforts. The resulting photo was truly wonderful. I hope she’s rightly proud of the strength she found, and that it helps her along her own road with more confidence and freedom.
Still in the packed gallery, I crossed paths at last with Cy. We had somehow missed each other on the day of the shoot. Now we needed a drink. Wine was on offer in the gallery for a £2 donation but we opted instead to try Kipps’ Alehouse next door. We were later joined by Martin and Yvonne. Martin seized the opportunity to get his lips around Spencer’s blonde – that’s the beer, ‘Spencer’s Ale’, created especially for the occasion, in case you’re wondering.
When the crowds started to thin and I’d said my goodbyes to Rachel, Martin, Yvonne and Cy, there was space at last to return to the gallery for one final photograph of the main exhibition in its entirety.
This road continues…
Some life models shun Spencer Tunick’s installations because the artist profits while his models go unpaid. It’s a point of view, sure, but my message to anyone is this: if you get the chance to take part you must grab it with both hands. It’s pure fun, worth doing for the enjoyment alone, and even better if – like me – you appreciate his work. There’s the gift of a personal work of art at the end, which itself has value, plus many great memories and always new friends.
Good luck to Tunick and the galleries that make these events possible. May they get every reward for putting smiles on the faces of scores… hundreds… sometimes even thousands of participants. Happiness and art make great companions in life.
More about Scope Out: Spencer Tunick in Folkestone
Wednesday evening saw me revisit the Garrett Centre to work for Adrian Dutton. As per my last time in Bethnal Green, I was paired with another male life model.
As is typically the case, my first meeting with Miguel was a mere five minutes before we were to start striking dynamic poses together. No time to rehearse or talk through ideas or discuss specialities or limitations. We simply entered the circle of expectant artists, shed our garments and made it up as we went along.
A 10-minute opening handshake was followed by four quick-fire one-minute poses, two three-minutes poses, a five-minute pose and a 10-minute pose.
My toughest work of the evening came in the next 15 minutes. We stood as though Miguel was whispering in my left ear, with me craning sideways to hear him, my left arm around his shoulders. Too much weight on my left leg and too much twist in my right side meant I was in a fair degree of pain from the second minute onwards.
Sometimes very small muscle adjustments can alleviate such discomfort, but on this occasion none of the usual techniques worked. The show must go on, however. I’ll be sure to learn from it. For the final five minutes before the break I lay down on the floor, with Miguel pretending to check my heart and pulse.
After a light repast of garlic bread, pizza, crisps, Jaffa cakes, marshmallows and tea, we closed with a 15-minute and 20-minute pose. We stood for the first, my right arm around Miguel’s right shoulder and left hand on his left shoulder. For the last I sat on the floor and held up a wooden pole, with Miguel poised as if to karate-chop it.
All in all, I think we did pretty well. Certainly the artists created outstanding drawings and sketches from the challenges we set them – their spontaneous applause at the end was much appreciated.
So, you and your colleagues have put in a full shift at the office, the clock ticks round to 6pm, the working day is done… what do you do? Dissolve into the heave and swell of rush hour? Join the slow and stressful scattering to dispersed domesticity?
Or, do you simply fetch down a few easels from the top of a filing cabinet and enjoy a relaxing hour of extra-curricular creativity at your workplace?
At five forty-five last Tuesday, I ascended the stairs to the first-floor offices of a London design company, where I would be life modelling for that relaxing hour. Half a dozen of the team had stayed behind for a spot of informal art.
A chap on a ladder was handing down easels from a tall cabinet to a colleague by the entrance when I arrived. After friendly introductions all round, I took myself to a corner out the way and discreetly changed into my lightweight dressing gown. Meanwhile the easels were arranged in an arc around two yoga mats. At the appointed time I spread
my own white sheet over the mats and we were ready.
Well, almost. It’s the nature of easels that one in every batch will refuse stubbornly to hold its position.
All set? OK, let’s go. I slipped off my gown and settled into the first of five one-minute poses. I do like a one-minute pose: there’s no limit to the dynamism possible. These were followed by a further three one-minute poses, which the artists tackled with their weaker hands amid much chortling and banter throughout.
Next came a 10-minute pose. The drawing of lines – and nothing but lines – was to occupy the first five minutes; the last five minutes were for the addition of tone.
And then a real novelty.
A six minute pose. After each minute the artists moved around one place clockwise, leaving behind their previous drawing and resuming on a different easel. At the end of the exercise there were six works each contributed to by all six artists. I managed to see only one of these works and thought it looked surprisingly coherent.
A fascinating little exercise. I did offer to move one place clockwise each time myself, but for some reason the suggestion was laughed off…
We closed with two traditional 10-minute poses: one with me seated on the floor, the other standing with one arm out-stretched.
This was a laid-back, enjoyable booking. A refreshing dynamic with new challenges in a different kind of setting. Only an hour, but one I would happily repeat any time.
It must seem peculiar to a good many people. Why do this thing called life modelling? Whatever is the point of performance art? Answers may be various, but for me: I find it ever more enriching to do fabulously weird things in increasingly wonderful places with truly extraordinary people.
For example, take the evening of Thursday 27 March, deep in the Deadhouse beneath Somerset House in London’s Strand. Nine of us assembled to enthral fifty fee-paying artists amid tombstones, dripping water, skeletons, dolls and bloodied rags.
This was Art Macabre tackling British history’s Jacobean era.
As ever, Nikki Shaill (aka Raven Rouge) was creative dynamo, director of ceremonies and now orator of history. Linsay and Aaron were geniuses of make-up and costume. Heather and Tiffany took care of other logistics such as catering, art materials, crowd control, and so on. And then there were the four life models:
Carmen Mon Oxide sang and portrayed Queen Catherine of Braganza,
Mika portrayed Queen Henrietta Maria of France,
Alex B portrayed Queen Anne of Denmark,
and I would be King James I of England / James VI of Scotland
Weird… wonderful… extraordinary.
With the event due to begin at 7:30pm, we all gathered 90 minutes beforehand in the designated ‘green room’ to give ourselves plenty of time to prepare.
Carmen would be wearing a wig of elaborately-pinned chestnut hair. My first role of the evening was to sit beneath said wig whilst Linsay orbited around me, twisting, braiding and fastening it in readiness for its eventual star occupant.
Meanwhile, Aaron wove an intricate wreath of plastic laurels and flowers into Mika’s hair. Her only other attire would be underwear bottoms, embellished with fabrics and assorted items of exotica.
Nikki and Linsay next turned their attention to the most intensive piece of preparation: pinning Alex’s magnificent, long, naturally white hair into a particularly complex style of the period. All manner of sophisticated paraphernalia was fastened in and around it, creating a delicate work of art that was worth the entrance fee on its own.
By now Carmen had changed into full head-to-toe costume for a preliminary show in the Deadhouse, providing sumptuous song for the early arrivals. I was rather sorry to be missing the performance, but we would see much more of her later.
If it’s an Art Macabre event you can be certain that at some stage the face paint will come out and I’ll be given a good working over. Aaron, Nikki and Linsay all had a go, starting with a ginger base for beard and eyebrows, darkened in the goatee area and topped off with real hair stuck to my chin with double-sided sticky tape.
26 March – @ArtMacabreLDN on Twitter:
Having my hair cut by @owllady80 ready to make fake beard for @charoigne to wear @SomersetHouse tomorrow eve! #sacrifice #forartsake #snip
Wearing nothing more than a large black hat, lavishly bedecked with huge feathers in the manner of the era, and a prim lacy collar, I was all set.
© Art Macabre, David Geewai Ho 2014, all rights reserved deathdrawing.com
The artists had arrived, the time had arrived, so we left the green room for a short walk in secluded open air to the subterranean Deadhouse.
Carmen and Mika entered first and made for their allotted places in the damp, snaking catacomb. Alex and I followed together, Queen and King, slowly pacing to the farthest depths where we would pose facing one another. All around us was cold stone. As we would both be naked from the shoulders down, we were rather relying on the artists radiating a generous portion of their collective body heat to keep us comfortable.
With little room for large crowds to assemble, the plan was to rotate artists between models in four separate groups. For each group, models would present one dynamic five-minute pose and one longer 15-minute pose. In theory therefore, we only needed two poses to keep us going all night. Professional pride could not be doing with that, however, so all eight poses were made original.
© Art Macabre, David Geewai Ho 2014, all rights reserved deathdrawing.com
Alex and I were opposite and apart for the first group. We began with dynamic dancing stances, and then we sat: Alex regal; me pensive with affairs of state.
© Art Macabre, David Geewai Ho 2014, all rights reserved deathdrawing.com
For the second group we began as dancers once more, this time with my right hand supporting Alex’s right hand, as a gentleman to a lady.
© Art Macabre, David Geewai Ho 2014, all rights reserved deathdrawing.com
With the dancing done, Nikki decided to move me to a clearer space in the catacomb. There really wasn’t enough room around me and Alex together for 20-25 artists to get the view they deserved and be able to draw in comfort. I concluded alone with a longer standing pose for my sub-group.
Halfway through, I was suffering. Not so much with the cold – although it could do with losing its edge – and not even from the occasional drip of icy water falling on me from the arched stone roof. No – the villain was my stupendous hat… or my head. Whether the former was too small or the latter too large, after an hour I felt I was being crushed close to unconsciousness.
Drawing by @silveraj – © Aaron Jacob Jones
I eased the hat up slightly before the next group encircled me. A five-minute standing pose was followed by 15 minutes seated on the floorboards. Aware of my costume drama, for the last group Nikki told me to part with the hat and – with inspired quick thinking – introduced me as Charles I instead of James I. Two kings in one night: my personal best. Charles posed standing, and then sitting on a stool in mental anguish.
Job done, artists happy, Alex, Mika and I returned to the first corner in from entrance where Carmen was still performing. Not only standing without a stitch of clothing, but also singing with the most wonderfully pure, clear baroque operatic voice. She moved with small gestures, sublime and transfixing, worthy of the rich applause elicited.
© Art Macabre, David Geewai Ho 2014, all rights reserved deathdrawing.com
Drawing and photograph by @silveraj – © Aaron Jacob Jones
Retiring to the green room, we shed the trappings of our characters and munched on the generous buffet provided by Nikki’s mum. It had been another great original event, doing weird things in a wonderful place with extraordinary people.
But what is it that motivates us to do these things? To answer the call we crave and express ourselves through our bodies, in beauty or absurdity, naturalness or fantasy, standing exposed to the world?
The answer may be that there is no answer.
I find similarity only in the film Close Encounters of the Third Kind – unconnected people from every walk of life feeling a deep-rooted irresistible compulsion to be at a certain place at a specific time, to be part of something they can’t explain. I’ve felt it all my life but only in these recent years has it found focus. And it is…
Weird… wonderful… extraordinary.
Carmen as Queen Catherine of Braganza
Mika as Queen Henrietta Maria of France
Alex B as Queen Anne of Denmark
Me as King James I / King James VI
My first time modelling at Eastbourne House in Bethnal Green, on 1 July 2013, was duo work with another debutant at the venue: Maurice. We were introduced a mere 15 minutes before stripping off to pose in a hall packed with artists.
There’s no knowing beforehand quite how these things may work out but happily we found an immediate rapport. Such was our success that we were brought back last Thursday for a fresh session together.
We worked through 12 poses for the first part of the evening, then took a 25-minute break for tea and snacks before closing out with a single long pose:
10 minutes
standing, shaking hands, my left hand on Maurice’s right shoulder
1 minute
standing facing each other as if throwing punches, dynamic
1 minute
both standing, me as if throwing a ball, Maurice as if about to bat it
1 minute
Maurice kneeling, me standing threateningly above him
1 minute
kneeling facing each other, wrestling around each other’s shoulders
1 minute
both kneeling side-by-side in prayer
3 minutes
standing, both holding sticks with both hands in combat, dynamic
3 minutes
both standing, bent over like old men supported by walking sticks
5 minutes
standing, both holding sticks in the style of a sword fight, dynamic
10 minutes
me laying, cringing, Maurice standing with a stick as if to lance me
15 minutes
seated at right angles to each other, shoulder to shoulder, me higher
20 minutes
standing facing each other, holding opposite ends of a single stick
40 minutes
both laying down, head by feet, one knee raised, one arm across chest
More great artwork from the session can be found on the MeetUp website.
Not a bad effort for two wholly dissimilar middle-aged men. It was suggested that the reason we worked so well is that we both come from the box marked ‘miscellaneous’ rather than from the ranks of “vanilla 20 to 30-somethings with ripped bodies”.
Given the choice I would probably rather have the ripped body of a 20 or 30-something. As it is, however, I shall continue to make the most of my uniqueness and the chance to work with great co-models like Maurice.
A flurry of Monday afternoon emails saw me debut that evening for a life drawing class at Hackney Downs Studios, Hackney, London. A late cancellation, a word-of-mouth recommendation, some hasty rearranging – it’s not unusual for new bookings to arise this way.
I arrived 20 minutes early, buzzed the door and was greeted with a friendly welcome. Up the stairs, at the centre of the A-side B-side Gallery, rich coloured sheets were crumpled and strewn on the floor, encircled by upright easels. Here I was introduced to the tutor for the class, Catherine Hall.
Catherine was expecting 10 artists to join us but as the clock ticked round it became apparent there was likely to be just four drawing me. Still, it gave them the freedom to move about and pick a preferred vantage point for each pose, should they wish.
The pose sequence would be physically quite demanding, requiring both creativity and control: ‘gesture drawing’ was to be the focus of the evening.
Gesture drawing calls upon the life model to be in perpetual movement, slow motion, either continuous or move-stop-move-stop. The challenge for artists is to capture the dynamic form by imagining themselves experiencing the physical strains. Their work might take the form of multiple rapid sketches, or – my preference – an overlaying of lines in the same place on the paper.
I began with tiny fleeting movements punctuated by five-second poses, as Catherine counted down the seconds. Next we increased the pose lengths to 10-seconds, with me counting silently and Catherine offering advice to the artists.
Through many small movements over a period of minutes I turned 360° several times. More than once I was standing and turning on one leg.
Next came a traditional 10-minute pose. This should have been a respite but I made it much harder than it should have been as I’d misheard the time to be just two minutes. I would not have chosen a kneeling pose, bending backwards with both arms reaching up in the air had I heard correctly!
A round of slow continuous-movement gesture drawing followed. No stops, just flow. Finally, to take us to the break, a nice simple static 10-minute seated pose. I think this came as a relief to the artists as much as it did to me.
After 15 minutes for mugs of tea and friendly banter we resumed our roles. No more gesture drawing, however. A brace of two-minute standing poses was followed by a pair of five-minute poses, kneeling and standing. A long 30-minute pose to end with saw me perched on a low stool, twisting to look over my left shoulder.
It’s nice to work somewhere new. The outer-facing wall of the A-side B-side Gallery is almost entirely glass so it would be a particularly pleasant place to pose in the lighter summer months.
Catherine herself is young but has an immense experience of life drawing, which she shares with lucidity and enthusiasm. I believe this was only her second class held at the venue. Let’s hope the classes continue and become a popular success.
steve ritter 