Incredible to think it has been ten long months since my debut for Life Draw N4 in Crouch Hill. Frustratingly during that time I’d had to decline two potential bookings at their venue, The Old Dairy, due to prior commitments. Now, at last, I was back.
Whether it was due to summer holidays, or Wimbledon tennis, or World Cup football, the crowd of artists had thinned somewhat. Not quite one man and his dog; more like 10 to 12 people and a dog. Still, it is a nice friendly group, with a comfortable amount of working space for all.
I spread my large white sheet across the middle of the function room floor, and over a small pillow-cushioned stool. When the dressing gown came off, the art commenced.
For much of the time I was posing with my back was to the curtain that separated the function room from the main bars. How much could be glimpsed by bar patrons as the artists came and went for drinks, I know not, and mind less.
Certainly when a double-decker bus pulled up outside, anyone on the upper deck who happened to glance through the clear glass at the top of our otherwise frosted window would have caught a generous eyeful. Pens at the ready, I hope, as the bus idled for a good long while.
The pose sequence for the first session started 5 minutes, 4, 3, 2, 1, increasing to 10, 15 and 20 minutes up to the break.
Left: 3 minutes, 1 minute, 2 minutes; right: 10 minutes, 15 minutes
15 minute standing pose
20 minute reclining pose
20 minute reclining pose
After a 10-minute rest, I resumed with a single 35-minute pose to take the session to its end. A warm, unbidden round of applause helped coax my numb, rigid limbs back to life. We were done.
35 minute seated pose
The time seemed to fly by – always the sign of a good session. A few positive words from artists at the end sent me on my way with an extra spring in my step.
35 minute seated pose
Next work will be for the same group on Monday, at The Sun in Clapham – I wait ten months for a booking and then two come at once. The more the merrier, I say.
How good to be back modelling at Eastbourne House for Adrian Dutton. It had been two months since my last work in Bethnal Green; three months since my last visit to the venue; and it was the first time in 2014 I would be working solo for one of Adrian’s groups. He and Anya were already setting up when I arrived.
For reasons I never did work out there were all manner of bizarre props in the hall. On the downside this meant I was limited for space in which to change, but it also meant I could pose with some odd items. Adrian had already picked out a rickety nineteenth century wheelchair for me to pose with. I added an empty wine bottle and a gruesome model severed head. Adrian denounced the latter as “horrible” but I found it irresistible.
My posing space was prepared, seats were set out and all we lacked was artists. At our 7pm start time there was still just a handful present. We contemplated putting on the kettle as we waited for more people to turn up. Those already there deserved their full money’s worth, however, so I entered the arena.
The short poses
Adrian gave me a warm introduction ahead of my first pose, which would be the usual starter for 10 minutes. The room was quite full by the end. I moved on to five quick-fire one-minute poses, followed by three short poses of three minutes, three minutes, five minutes. I used my first prop – the wine bottle – in a three minute pose laying flat out, pretending to take a long swig.
On the right: the starter for 10, and five one-minute poses
Five one-minute poses
One-minute kneeling pose
One-minute standing pose
One-minute standing pose
Clockwise from top left: five minutes, three minutes, three minutes
Clockwise from top left: five minutes, three minutes, three minutes
Medium poses
Next was a standing pose with left hand pointing up and right palm facing down. This was to last 10 minutes but it felt more like five. Maybe I was too comfortable. Another 10-minute pose was a tad more strenuous, leaning forwards with hands up around my head and my full weight bearing down through one leg. I took it easier for the following 15-minutes, seated in the wheelchair.
Two 10-minute standing poses
10-miunte standing pose
Clockwise from bottom left: three, five, 10, 10 and 15-minute poses
15 minutes, 10 minutes and 10 minutes
15-miuntes seated pose in wheelchair
Taking a break
There was a nice surprise ahead of our refreshments break: Adrian announced that he and Anya had married at the weekend. We applauded warmly, and I suddenly had the peculiar sensation of life modelling at a couple’s honeymoon. A big spread of wedding wine and nibbles had been set out for us to feast upon, and we were all invited to leave a comment in the wedding book. Happy times.
Art unattended during our refreshment break
Longer poses
A long interval left just 45 minutes to close the evening. Adrian asked for a 20-minute pose and a 25-minute pose. It’s not unusual to end a pose sequence either seated or horizontal but I rather felt like finishing on my feet. Thus it would be 20 minutes laying down and 25 minutes standing. Time to bring in the last prop.
A challenge for the long poses is to find positions that offer an interesting perspective from every vantage point in the room. I feel sorry for artists when they’re facing a long session with nothing but a back to look at. Thus, I lay down bent at a right angle with one leg crooked upwards, my body up on one elbow, and both hands reaching out to the severed head. Something for everyone, surely.
When standing for 25 minutes I held out the head on an extended forearm and leaned backwards. I was nicely balanced and felt comfortable throughout. Nonetheless when Adrian called time and I tried to straighten myself it felt as though my spine had been set in concrete. Gingerly I eased back into motion.
20 minutes laying sideways
20 minutes laying sideways
20 minutes laying sideways
20 minutes laying sideways
20 minutes laying sideways
25 minutes standing, 20 minutes laying sideways
25 minutes standing, 20 minutes laying sideways
25 minutes standing, 20 minutes laying sideways
25 minute standing pose
25 minute standing pose
25 minute standing pose
25 minute standing pose
After taking photographs of the many splendid artworks, I returned to where I’d left my clothes, only to find they were buried under tables and chairs as stacked away by the artists. A bit of clambering was needed to get fully dressed.
From the novel quirkiness of naked bike riding, volunteering at the Royal Academy and being photographed by Spencer Tunick it felt satisfying to be back putting in a full night of solo poses for a large circle of artists. I like the purity and simplicity of this work, along with its flipside: the challenge of somehow injecting a little originality each time. It went pretty well, I thought, and I’m raring to go for the next one.
We’re looking for 2 friendly Art Macabre friends to come help out on the evening of Sat 21 June, at the Midsummer Night’s Fête event at Royal Academy next Friday.
You’ll get to be part of an exciting event featuring music from Gabby Young, vintage stalls, art, and get in for free (tickets worth £25 each)… plus lure people into our Midsummer themed death drawing workshops, whilst dressed as a woodland creature. Fancy it? Message us now!
Thus came the call from Art Macabre, ten days before they were due to be part of a Midsummer Night’s Fête at the Royal Academy of Art (RA) in London. It may not have been life modelling work or even expenses-paid work, but such an opportunity is not to be missed. I offered my services and was glad to have them accepted.
Art Macabre supremo, Nikki aka Raven Rouge, was away taking death drawing to the green and pleasant land of Warwickshire’s Also Festival, so stepping in as MC was the mighty Jon. I had modelled with Jon at my very first Art Macabre salon wherein he was strongman Victor and I was the skeleton clown, Egon. It was a pleasure to be working with him again.
Jon in character, your master of ceremonies, © Jon
Our midsummer salon at the Royal Academy was to be “a dark and twisted vision of Shakespeare’s classic shape-shifting tale of fairie queens and bare Bottoms”. Of the performers:
- Jon would be King Oberon
- Kate would be Titania, Queen of the Fairies
- Peter would be Nick Bottom, and later Puck
- Elizabeth would be the feminine side of Bottom/Puck
My fellow volunteers were Amy and Farida. We helped to prepare the stage and pack away afterwards, but our main job was to entice and lure people towards Art Macabre in the RA’s famous life drawing room. We wouldn’t be modelling, right? No, there’s no way that could happen…
The model’s stage under construction, © Peter
Jon was early on the scene, while the rest of us mustered around 6pm. Elizabeth ran into difficulty as she tried to get past increasingly thick layers of security at the main gate. I was dispatched to see if I could help, but by the time I got there she’d already vanished. So I returned to the life drawing room and, lo, there she was. A determined model will always find a way to be where they’re needed.
Body-painted leaves began creeping up Peter’s forearms while Kate whitened her face and began applying delicate black details. To my untrained eye, the individual strokes appeared minimal but the overall effect was rather powerful. Here was someone highly skilled and well practised in their craft. A bewitching headdress and dainty fairy wings completed the queen’s ensemble.
As the models prepared their costume and make-up, so did the volunteers. ‘Dark’ and ‘woodlands’ were our watchwords. Amy and Farida wore elegant black dresses, which they festooned with flowers, and wove more blooms into their hair. I went shirtless, but with a tight black waistcoat and black bow-tie, khaki shorts, a wide-brimmed straw hat and a weaving of ivy, flowers and cherries. Nice.
Amy and myself made midsummery
Doors to the fête opened at 6:30pm; the first Art Macabre drop-in session was to run from 7pm to 8:15pm. We didn’t want anyone there early, but neither did we want the room empty for too long. With so much variety on offer at the Academy we could not be sure how high we’d be among the visitors’ priorities. Certainly most seemed to be making a beeline for the bars and then soaking up the atmosphere of the courtyard.
The Royal Academy of Art gets a lawn, © Farida
As crowds come in, so the dancing begins… © Farida
…while others settle down for some alfresco creativity, © Farida
At 7pm sharp I made a move, sidling towards the first innocents to drift in my vicinity. “Would you be at all interested in a spot of life drawing?” I enquired tentatively of two gentlemen. I had strayed somewhat from the planned line about “dreamlike dark and deathly visions” but they needed no further persuasion. I escorted them merrily to the life drawing room and showed them into Jon’s care. Two in the bag. We were off.
It was as easy as that all evening. About halfway through the first session I decided a specific lure would drum up even more interest than individual enticements. Next time I was back at the life drawing room I scribed a couple of large signs for us to brandish. Visitors could tell by our dress that we were part of the fête, but now they would know our purpose. Now they came to us.
Luring and enticing, part I – Farida, © Farida
Luring and enticing, part II – Amy and me
We were too successful. Even before 8pm Jon told me they were already at capacity and that we should start asking people to come to the next sessions from 8:30pm or 9:15pm. This we did, yet still they kept coming. The Academy had sold more than a thousand tickets for the fête; at best the life drawing room could hold 40 to 50 people.
Jon did tremendous work managing both the crowds and the timing of each pose, not to mention sticking to his script as MC for the event. Crowd control was aided by the nice happy-go-lucky attitude of everyone we spoke too. It was a gentle laidback party atmosphere. The models remained serenely professional throughout.
There was to be no lure for the final session. It was already over-subscribed, with RA staff managing a waiting list for people wanting to get in. The question was asked: if there are more people who would like to draw than can be fit in the life drawing room, would the volunteers be willing to model in the corridor outside? Of course we would. Not nude, but striking five-minute poses for anyone who wished to take advantage.
I stripped to my bow-tie and shorts for standing poses. Farida also stood, while Amy was seated on the floor. Hopefully Farida was comfortable as she had one gentleman drawing her throughout the entire session. Amy and I had a few people drawing us to start with, and Peter also joined us in the corridor, fully-clothed having finished as one of the main models.
Peter, post-modelling, steps discreetly into the courtyard, © Peter
As one woman sat to draw me she cried, “come on, get ’em off.” Peter gave me a sly look, then turned back to the woman and cautioned, “you won’t have to ask him more than twice.” Nonetheless, more encouragement was forthcoming. I glanced both ways along the corridor, unbuttoned my shorts – beneath which I was commando – and got as far as lowering one side… “No, no, that’s enough!” she hastily implored. There’s an old saying that goes: ‘be careful what you wish for…’
She stuck to her task a made a pretty decent job of roughing me. I’m happy because even though I wasn’t there in a life modelling capacity, I can now rightly claim to have been drawn in pose at the Royal Academy of Art – a trifling disingenuous indulgence, but pleasing. I held one final pose alongside Peter until the life drawing room began to empty. All was done, and so were we.
It’s me, captured with bow-tie and loosened shorts
The fête finished, we dressed and cleared away. Last man out was Jon. He had been outstanding as a source of calm authority, organisation and clear diction. Certainly he would be returning for Art Macabre, and maybe Amy would too. Her initial interest was as an artist – witness the extensive embellishments to her ‘life drawing’ sign – but by the end I think she’d got the modelling bug too.
Amy prepares for a spot of modelling at the Royal Academy, © Farida
It had been a superb evening. All it was lacking – apart from the complimentary gins and tonic that we eyed enviously from afar – was Nikki herself, and Linsay and other Art Macabre regulars. I sincerely hoped that wherever they were, whatever they were doing, they’d had as much fun as ourselves.
The team: Jon, Amy, Me, Kate, Peter, Farida and Elizabeth, © Jon for Art Macabre
In the beginning
12 June 2004, 8pm, a band of 58 naked cyclists rode 2.5 miles around Hyde Park; it was the first World Naked Bike Ride (WNBR) protest in the UK capital. Since then it has become a major annual event on the streets of London. When it took place for the tenth time last year, participants had increased to thirteen hundred. This year’s tenth anniversary outing was primed to be the largest ever.
To the Tower
A big innovation for 2013 was to vex the voyeurs that assemble before each ride by spreading its start across five different locations: Hyde Park, Regent’s Park, King’s Cross, Clapham Junction and West Norwood. This year a sixth start was added, at Tower Hill. As its organiser was my friend Natansky, this would be the start for me.
Another difference this year was the weather. The 2013 ride took place on the only dazzling day in an otherwise cold, wet week. This year looked like being the exact reverse. Conditions had been overcast all morning. By 1pm I was pedalling towards Tower Hill station through light rain. It petered out as I arrived, but prospects for the afternoon ahead remained uncertain.
The official assembly time was 2:30pm for a 3pm start. I drifted into Trinity Square Gardens opposite Tower Hill, an hour early to see if I could help with preparations. For a while I thought I was first to arrive, until eventually I discovered Natansky with Lee Rex – our companion last month for Spencer Tunick in Folkestone – already being body painted in the vaulted corridor of Tower Hill Memorial.
Lee was already halfway through being decorated neck-to-ankles as a leather-clad biker – extraordinary artistry by Valbona Bicker – while David Southworth of the UK Bodypaint League was applying finishing touches to a pair of green bloodshot eyes on Natansky’s boobs.
The eyes were concealed beneath a fluorescent vest when official duty called. I took over as the artist’s canvas, and gave David a free hand to paint whatever he liked. He in turn gave me a large yellow cartoon bird’s head on my chest. I was well satisfied.
Natansky – London Naked Bike Ride official start organiser
Me – with a, erm… rooster on my chest.
As the clock ticked round, so more people joined us in the memorial. Some were our fellow riders, others were curious onlookers, while a few were just shameless voyeurs. Among the riders were friends from previous events: Camila, Chris, Cy, Gil and Robin. Another friendly face was photographer Scott – London remains a small village.
My pitiful efforts to help went no further than accompanying Natansky on a single lap of Trinity Square Gardens, and then failing to sell a single WNBR saddle cover. I did, however, put myself among the first riders on the corner of Trinity Square at a quarter to three, frontline, ready to hit the road.
To my left was a couple who’d arrived already painted head-to-toe: one red with horns, the other green with leaves. Just behind me was Clare, who could hardly stop grinning at the bizarreness unfolding all around. Next one back was a chap with a young child and a large sound system strapped behind him. And everywhere else cyclists were in various states of undress, attracting the predictable circle of amateur photographers.
Lining up to start – red devil, green goddess
Whistle while you wait – Clare raring to go
Hell’s Boris Biker – Lee revs up
Me – poised to saddle-up (photo by © Maria Sierra)
Unmoved by double-red lines – Chris and Camila (photo by © Scott H.)
Sound system guy, with the Tower of London and Tower Bridge behind
The ride to Westminster
The cry went up at three o’clock and we were away. Natanksy stepped naked into the middle of the road, fluorescent vest held high over her head, and brought all traffic to a standstill. We streamed out of Trinity Square, rolling right into Byward Street and then onwards to Lower Thames Street, Upper Thames Street and Victoria Embankment.
At last – wheels in motion on Lower Thames Street
Almost immediately we were surrounded by cheers and waving. Whether pedestrians to our left, or motorists and tourist-bus passengers to our right, or the crowds leaning over bridges on high, everybody seemed happy to see us. Elsewhere across London, the other five start groups were also by now on the move.
I lost sight of Lee very early and for the remainder of that day, which was a great pity. Cy too, disappeared from view until we were over the finish line. Of those unknown to me in our group, however, I was pleased to see one of the more iconic regulars of this ride: the lady with the bright red bob.
Red-bob lady coasts along Victoria Embankment
The plan was that the Hyde Park, Regent’s Park and King’s Cross starters would all come together as a single group at Piccadilly. Meanwhile, the Clapham Junction and West Norwood starters would merge at Vauxhall Bridge. These two mammoth groups would then converge with our own Tower Hill group at 3:30pm on Westminster Bridge.
We turned off Victoria Embankment into Northumberland Avenue, inching between red buses as we moved closer and closer to Trafalgar Square. At the north end we got our first glimpse of riders from the other groups streaming past in front of us. The plan was working – full credit to the organisers.
Slow progress behind buses along Northumberland Avenue
At Trafalgar Square I spied Natansky again, and the words ‘DOING IT FOR WILL’ that I’d painted on her back. The same words were daubed across my own back. This was our tribute to Will Golden who’d marshalled last year’s ride so magnificently.
Natansky at Trafalgar Square – doing it for Will
Will’s incredible battle with cancer prevented him being with us again this year. Our thoughts remained with him, however, as did the thoughts of many well-wishers who spoke with us throughout the day to honour his name.
Natansky lingered here a while to make sure all her Tower Hill starters got through and merged safely with the main group. She stayed at the back of the pack for the rest of the ride, so this – alas – was the last I saw of her until we reached the end.
Natansky in command – naked crowd control in central London
I pushed on, hanging a sharp left into Whitehall, passing Downing Street and assorted government buildings. The Palace of Westminster loomed large on our horizon. As our groups coalesced, so the clouds split asunder and sunshine spilled down upon us.
Wheeling down Whitehall, waving and whistling to well-wishers
Crowds and traffic thickened again as we neared Parliament Square – a favourite part of the route. There’s always a warm response from the foreign sightseers who throng here to see our living history, then suddenly get the unexpected bonus of a thousand naked cyclists pouring through the heart of it.
Entering Parliament Square, a lovely day to be on an open-top bus
All eyes on the London Eye?
Bridge to bridge
Our exit from Parliament Square was Westminster Bridge, where we ground to a halt for several minutes. Whether this was due to weight of traffic, or waiting for stragglers, I know not. Either way, we were a gift to the heaving masses of tourists that lined the west pavement. The photo opportunities here are always superb, but on this day…
Caught by © Scott H. in front of St Stephen’s Tower (Big Ben, if you like).
It wasn’t just friends and tourists and fellow cyclists taking photos here. Somewhere on the bridge I managed to get myself snapped for publication in Time Out London. And I never even got the chance to discuss my fee!
When eventually we cleared Westminster Bridge, we turned left onto York Road and began a short excursion south of the river. As per last year, our first destination was Forum Magnum Square to pause and get all the cyclists together before completing our journey. Again, progress was grindingly slow due to sheer weight of numbers.
Are we there yet? Westward to Forum Magnum Square
Diablo Delenfer – one of the more colourful characters on York Road
Forum Magnum Square was where I spotted Chas: friend and regular fellow performer of nude art. He’d given himself a good chance of being spotted by selecting a top hat tied with a long red silk scarf as his only garment.
We bantered about plans for future modelling in Berlin. Nearby a chap entertained the troops by walking naked on his hands – a curious sight that garnered much applause. And somewhere around here I got snapped for publication by the Londonist.
Back on our bikes we spewed forth from the north side of the square, looped round to York Road and wheeled left up to Waterloo Bridge. Another familiar face was spotted taking pics on the bridge so we stopped once more for a chat and photos.
The Olympic legacy – British cycling at its very finest
Saddled-up for the north side of town
Around the courts
As is now the tradition, our next rest break would be at Lincoln’s Inn Fields. Our route north from the Thames took us along Lancaster Place, around Aldwych to the Strand, and on to Fleet Street. A left hand into Chancery Lane, and then… I lost my bearings. But two turns later were at our destination.
Free to go – passing the Royal Courts of Justice on the Strand
Room at the inn – pausing for breath at Lincoln’s Inn Fields
Theatreland
Our lingering at Lincoln’s Inn Fields did not seem to last as long this year as it has in previous years. Or maybe I just lost track of time. Back in the saddle we swept along Great Queen Street, passing the Prince of Wales pub and pushing on to Long Acre.
Last year a barrier in the road made our loop through Covent Garden the most tedious crawl of the whole route. This time the area was bypassed completely as we circuited north along Endell Street then across Shelton Street before heading back south, down St Martin’s Lane. In these narrow passages the atmosphere turned to a carnival of dub reggae and street dancing.
Dancing queen on a golden streak
Window shopping – bagging a cheeky selfie
Into the light – down St Martin’s Lane towards St Martin-in-the-Field
From St Martin’s Lane we wheeled around St Martin’s Place and back onto Trafalgar Square. Our roads ahead were wide and largely empty. Only traffic lights would slow us now, but with the sun breaking through again, no-one was in a hurry to finish.
A right and then a left – coneheads lead us around St Martin’s Place
Passing between St Martin-in-the-Field and the National Portrait Gallery
Around Trafalgar Square beneath the stony gaze of Admiral Lord Nelson
The home straight
If one part of the route conjures a greater sense of freedom than any other, it is surely The Mall. Once through Admiralty Arch this regal red road, broad and straight, opens grandiosely before us, its entire length lined with huge pristine Union Flags. At its far end the immense façade of Buckingham Palace beckoned us forward.
Bringing it on – through Admiralty Arch to The Mall
Makes yer proud – the great British public descends on its monarch
Selfie in motion on The Mall – well, who wouldn’t?
For some, The Mall was a place of reunion…
…whilst others had stuck together throughout
Is that you twitching the curtains, Ma’am?
We turned onto Constitution Hill for the final leg of our journey. Naturally, scores of us dismounted for an opportunist photograph outside Buck House. There were still a few tourists left over from Trooping the Colour earlier that day and several joined in the fun. Back on two wheels I checked my watch: it was twenty past five. We’d been cruising naked around the centre of London for almost two and a half hours.
The end in sight – Wellington Arch in the distance
The end
At the top of the Hill, we found the wearyingly-inevitable predatory rabble of slavering damp-trousered photographers. Some water-pistol-toting women made certain those trousers got even damper whenever a camera was pointed at them without the basic courtesy of first asking permission.
Armed and dangerous – a masked avenger, naked nemesis of voyeurs
This year, rather than crossing beneath Wellington Arch for our finish, we took a sharp right at the top of Constitution Hill to finish in Green Park instead, close to the Bomber Command Memorial. Friends from the Tower Hill start who had lost sight of each other on the road, slowly drifted back into company.
We’re puttin’ the band back together
And here at last was Cy. An ever-reliable veteran of the ride, he’d once more captured video footage of the whole thing on a small camera hanging around his neck. His next challenge would be the race to publish first on YouTube.
Quite how I lost sight of a man trailing a large orange flag, I don’t know
Within 24 hours, the “World Naked Bike Ride (WNBR) London 2014 – A Rider’s View” was online. Victory was Cy’s:
Denouement
It had been another great ride – doing it to demonstrate our vulnerability as cyclists on the road; to protest car culture and oil dependency; to celebrate individuality and body freedom; to have a bloody good time. And – this year – doing it for Will Golden.
Here’s to absent friends.
By no conventional standard do I have a ‘good’ body. It’s the only one I’ve got though, and I’m fairly well at peace with its limitations so I do my best to make the most of it.
Wondrously, the lack of a conventionally good body is no hindrance to progress a life model. Artists value originality and variety. And while my body may be an accident of birth, my application, attitude and attentiveness are in my own hands.
All this comes to mind as some slight acts that I take for granted were unexpectedly complimented on Tuesday evening. I’d been booked to model for a group led by Aaron Jones, a friend and all-round creative talent from many an Art Macabre salon.
First compliment came with the booking itself: “It’s gonna be a hands and feet theme for the first half and I really like the expressive poses you do with your hands, hence wanting your services! Second half is a long nude pose.”
The slight acts on the day itself were, first: the sending of an early courtesy email to reconfirm I would be arriving when expected; and second: bringing my own sheet on which to pose. I’ve always thought these things were important and to some extent I take them for granted, but it’s still nice when they’re appreciated.
To the business of posing. Having been told that the first half would be hands and feet I was a bit hesitant before undressing. Strictly speaking one doesn’t have to be nude in order to have one’s hands drawn, but hands in relation to limbs and body were all part of the programme so I stripped completely.
Timings for this first session were two lots of five-minutes, four quick-fire one-minutes, then 10 minutes and finally a 20 minute pose. All with the emphasis on hands.
After a break for watermelon and wine we resumed with feet; once again starting with two five-minute poses, then 10 minutes, and closing with a 30 minute long pose.
Aaron was giving detailed one-to-one advice throughout both sessions to each of the four artists present. This remains one of my favourite kinds of art group – it’s always fascinating to hear observations and knowledge imparted. Not even a numbed foot at the end could detract from a positive reminder of the nicest aspects of life modelling.
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
steve ritter 