“No, Ava! Kill the Mechanic! Kill the Mechanic!!”
So screamed The Watcher – great-granddaughter of Raven Rouge – as she fought off Ava Iscariot, a flesh-turned-metal cyborg. Ava rounded on the Mechanic. With a curl on her lips and murder in her eyes, she lunged. Together they locked in combat.
The Watcher screamed again: “Pencil to the heart! Pencil to the heart!” The drawing tools that had been grafted onto Ava’s fingers strained forward. A single graphite tip pressed to the Mechanic’s sternum.
Slowly he sank down on to his knees, haunches to heels, faded slightly forward and deactivated. As his silver cap tumbled to the floor, The Watcher and Ava ran joyfully to a new alternative future…
At most life drawing groups, the organiser will end the last pose with an instruction to stop drawing, an offer of thanks, and a wish for safe journeys home. This, however, was Art Macabre, and the denouement of their Digital Dystopia. Life poses are the dishes served throughout an evening’s narrative.
There were to be two of us modelling for Digital Dystopia: Ava Iscariot as the heroine, and me as an evil cyborg, the Mechanic. Art Macabre supremo, Nikki, had conceived a plot in which she played her own great-granddaughter, The Watcher, organising life drawing speakeasies in a future world where all art is outlawed except android art.
Ava and I both arrived at Cass Art, Islington an hour or so early. Nikki was a couple of minutes behind. She had brought fewer props than usual this time: just two suitcases full. With Linsay and Aaron completing the backstage team in our small (un)dressing room, we set about preparing.
Models were to be body painted so we stripped naked and donned our gowns. While Aaron decorated Ava with fine lines of fading bronze, Nikki coloured me a silver face, neck and breast triangle; bronze ribs and back decoration, black for eyes, jawline, curly moustache and a large ‘M’ on the forehead.
After applying a few extra adornments, Nikki opened the event. Ava would model solo for the first 40 minutes in a sequence of poses of increasing length.
© Art Macabre, Aaron Jacob Jones 2013, all rights reserved deathdrawing.com
As she began her final 15-minute pose, I made my entrance as the Mechanic. By now in addition to body paint I was further embellished with a silver peaked cap, eye-patch with flashing red light, latex gloves, a mass of clear tubes dangling from my stomach to my knees, a flashlight in one hand and a glitter ball on a stick in the other. Evil!
© Art Macabre, Aaron Jacob Jones 2013, all rights reserved deathdrawing.com
I first set about menacing the artists with my flashlight beam, or simply by looming over them while they drew. Next I approached Nikki and chalked enigmatic symbols on a board to indicate my instructions: Ava Iscariot was to be taken for ‘upgrading’ to cyborg. I stood sentinel above the cowering Ava as we continued her final 10 minutes in a duo pose.
© Art Macabre, Aaron Jacob Jones 2013, all rights reserved deathdrawing.com
A short break followed, during which Ava was dressed in her cyborg outfit – a silver jumpsuit with all the trimmings. Meanwhile I was given a top-up of paint, wires, tubes, pens, foil for my left arm, and then accompanied back out by Nikki for a 10-minute pose in the act of upgrading Ava’s previous body props.
Before leaving me, Nikki placed in my right hand a weird vibrating device with a twirling paint brush on the end. For a male life model, essentially nude before a semi-circle of attentive artists, there is a potential occupational hazard to standing in contact with a vibrating thing for 10 minutes. Fortunately the worst case scenario did not arise.
Nikki returned with the now fully upgraded Ava, who stood passive and upright, directly facing the artists. I paced around her then stood directly behind, towering above with arms slightly spread in an attempt to convey a triumph of evil dominance. We held the pose for 20 minutes.
© Art Macabre, Aaron Jacob Jones 2013, all rights reserved deathdrawing.com
In the final 15-minute pose the tables were turned. Ava took the ascendancy, standing high upon an oil drum while I could only glare dispassionately from below at the being I had failed to subjugate. And that, I thought, was that…
© Art Macabre, Aaron Jacob Jones 2013, all rights reserved deathdrawing.com
I should have remembered, however, that Nikki has a mischievous streak a mile wide. The part of the script not shared with me was that when I helped Ava down from the oil drum at the end of the pose she was to go haywire. First she set about Nikki, then Nikki set her about me.
“No, Ava! Kill the Mechanic! Kill the Mechanic!!”
It put my improv skills to the test, and gave the artists some light relief at the end of their evening’s work. Collectively we came out of character, if not out of costume, and mingled around admiring the art created.
After a brief struggle to remove the paraphernalia clipped, strapped or wrapped around my body, all that remained was the body paint. As ever, it’s removal was no mean feat in the tiny wash basin of Cass Art’s staff toilets.
With our dystopian future successfully performed, thoughts turned to our own futures. Ideas are never lacking with Art Macabre. Plans are already afoot for new events. The future is bright; the future is macabre.
Art Macabre blog posts:
Toynbee Hall has become something of a regular haunt in recent weeks. Six weeks ago I was there with Adam James and the mudheads to rehearse ‘The Birth Caul‘. Two weeks ago it was rehearsals for a November JocJonJosch performance. Today, however, was my first time there as a life model.
I’d arranged the booking over the phone with Toynbee Art Club‘s organiser, Richard, some time ago. By bizarre unexpected coincidence I found myself sitting next to him last week at the birthday party of life model and mutual friend, Ursula. My gathering theory, that London is in fact a small village, was further supported by the number of artists I recognised today.
It’s a friendly group to work for: very quiet while poses are in progress but full of lively chat at the interval and close of play. The pose pattern in minutes was: five, five, five, fifteen, ten, twenty, (ten-minute break), thirty, thirty. The second pose of five minutes, a lotus position, went down well enough for me to be asked to repeat it for ten.
The artists flattered me with some wonderful work:
Another satisfying session life modelling at the Garrett Centre in Bethnal Green. Last time I modelled there it was one of the hottest days of the summer; the sweat trickled off me, even with the doors flung open throughout the evening.
Now, with the seasons bypassing autumn in favour of an early winter chill, the heater was brought forth. Thirteen poses spread across the first hour and a quarter kept me sufficiently warm that I didn’t even notice when the heater cut out.
It was fixed during our half-hour break for food and wine, and thus served me well for the final 45-minute pose that saw out the night. Excellent art was again produced by this group, a sample of which can be seen below.
I sat for my first portrait modelling assignment on Saturday. The occasion was an art trail event at Wanstead library that saw stone carvers, wool spinners, glass stainers, cake makers and many other artists and artisans present their craft to the masses.
I was there to help promote local life drawing courses, for which I had modelled nude on several occasions. Needless to say nudity was out of the question before midday in a public library, so portrait it had to be.
On the face of it this would seem to be much less bother than life modelling: just the one passive pose for two-hours, seated in comfort, not even troubling to undress. It’s not hard work, but it is quite tiring in its own way.
Two hours with a ten minute tea-break. One hour and then fifty minutes, motionless, shallow breathing, staring at a fixed gaze point a metre below a bright lamp, blurred vision, an indistinct hubbub of low noise in the background…
Over the first hour I was fine: bright as a button, alert, little more than a few blinks to break the pose. Two artists were sketching me, a third joined late on, and there was conversation all around. It got trickier after the break. The number of artists doubled but the chat faded away and I could feel myself drift towards drowsiness.
I needed a distraction that never came. Instead my eyelids felt the pull of gravity and the battle to resist became a losing one. It couldn’t have, and didn’t, pass unnoticed by the artists but their good-natured humour at the end of the session helped to ease my embarrassment slightly. At least I did not actually fall asleep. I think.
It was a good introduction to a new discipline. I’ve since learned that drowsiness is a noted occupational hazard for portrait models. Equipped with this knowledge and the experience, I can improve my approach and be better next time around. And so the show goes on.
I’ve long struggled with the tag ‘naturist’ or ‘nudist’. On a warm day at home I’ll either not bother dressing or I’ll kick off all my clothes when I get in from work. Abroad, I’ll sunbathe and often go hiking naked in places where no offence can be caused. Yet I’ve never felt part of a movement, a philosophy or organised way of life.
I’ve never felt my simple pleasure and comfort of being without clothes has warranted a label ending with ‘-ist‘.
Nonetheless, I’ve dabbled occasionally in the UK naturist scene: highly sporadic and increasingly rare visits to London clubs; dim and distant summer days on Studland or Swalecliffe beaches. Nowadays I am more likely to head to the continent or Canaries to enjoy sunny beaches and spas without complications or categorisation, stigma or subscription.
It would be nice to rediscover unfettered social nudity in my own country. A small step was taken on Saturday while group life modelling at the Naturist Foundation.
The plan was for eight of us to be modelling, but a series of misfortunes meant that on the day our numbers had dwindled by half. Our diminished quantity was compensated by quality, however, with: Esther, a Spirited Bodies friend of long standing; Santosh, with whom I’d shared a stage many times; and Chris, whom I’d previously worked with in July alongside Esther and Santosh for the Inversed Voyeurism project.
So, after a 40-minute train ride south from London Blackfriars, and a 20-minute yomp across country, I was the first to be buzzing the Naturist Foundation gates.
Once inside I was greeted on the driveway by Terry, who had arranged the event, and given a quick tour of the grounds. We settled down for drinks and a chat, after which I headed to the pool. It was a great relief to get out of my clothes at last.
By the time I’d managed a few lengths, the others had arrived. I dried off and helped to carry copious quantities of picnic food and art gear from Chris’s car. There was time enough for sarnies and for Chris and Santosh to take their turn in the pool before our 2-hour life art session, from 2pm to 4pm.
Down to business, Esther coordinated our poses to ensure some strong tableaux.
She also managed to coax five of the Foundation’s naturist regulars into taking part as models. The coaxing was by degrees over a series of poses, so by the end everyone was in the element of their choosing, having a thoroughly agreeable time.
From a first five-minute standing pose, with all four models connected in a semi-circle, we culminated with a 25-minute tableau of two models and four Foundation members. As well as coordinating us, Esther joined the artists in drawing us too. Photos were taken for the Foundation’s magazine.
At the end, artworks were spread out on tables and we mingled happily around them, artists and models appreciating mutual admiration.
We still had time to enjoy more of the facilities. It was refreshing not to have to pull on a robe immediately after the final pose. Instead we simply continued through the rest of the evening as we were – first settling into the sauna, then jittering under a cold shower, and finally socialising in the pool.
After showering, sauna, and showering again, we returned to the pavilion’s sun terrace to spread out our magnificent picnic. We chatted and chomped in company with some colourful characters – some naked like us, but most clothed for the evening.
The range of personal stories made a nonsense of notions that naturists are of a type. We are a varied cross-section of humanity. If we must accept being organised in the margins at present, it’s because our country cannot accept us any other way.
I look forward to the day that will never come: the day when we needn’t be organised, we simply can… be.
But until that day, thank you naturist organisations. Thank you, Naturist Foundation.
Two great cultural institutions come together on Wednesday nights in Crouch Hill: the life drawing group and the pub. Life Draw N4 convenes each week in a function room of The Old Dairy, a venerable drinking and dining establishment in north London.
On the recommendation of Hope Deeney – a friend and fellow life model with whom I’d previously worked for Dunstan Perera – I introduced myself to Aless, the organiser of Life Draw N4. Emailing my next dozen available Wednesdays, I was fortunate enough to be offered the first date on the list.
Two short train tides and a five minute walk make this one of the more straightforward venues for me to reach in time for a 7pm start. A sandwich, an orange juice and a few chapters of The Pickwick Papers on the way made me comfortable in body and mind.
I was greeted by Aless and friends in a room that was wall-to-wall chairs. I spread my white sheet over cushions placed in the centre of the room, then stripped as discreetly as possible beneath my dressing gown while artists were still arriving.
Aless cautioned that on a warm summer evening such as this there was a chance the turn-out would be low. To our pleasant surprise, however, the number of artists swelled to 22 at a final reckoning – the most the group had ever seen.
Cometh the hour, I disrobed and entered the close circle of pads and pastels. For the next one and three-quarter hours, poses proceeded as follows:
5 minutes
standing, elbows crossed at chest, hands facing outwards either side of the head, leaning to the right, looking upwards
4 minutes
squatting, left foot on the floor with right knee adjacent, both hands on the floor on either side, head on left knee
3 minutes
standing, very slight back lean to face upwards, with palms over eyes and fingers interlinking
2 minutes
standing, legs crossed, right arm across crown of head, left arm bent behind back
1 minute
standing, arms held out and spread wide, whilst facing left
10 minutes
seated on floor, right leg bent under, left foot on the floor, arms wrapped tightly around the left shin
15 minutes
standing, hands in attitude of prayer with finger-tips close under chin
20 minutes
reclining, left leg crooked on the floor, right foot planted, left arm crooked over eyes, right arm outstretched
5 minutes
break time
40 minutes
seated on a low stool, left foot on the stool, right foot on the floor, both hands crossed grasping left foot, forehead on left knee
Gratifying applause followed Aless calling time on the last pose. I’d tried to rotate the poses to offer the artists as much variety as possible. In the time and space available, however, it’s regrettably likely that some saw more back than limbs.
I mused with Aless the possibility of a two-model session with Hope, and whether the room was large enough for it to work. Where there’s a will, there is often a way. For a group founded in February this year, that has already progressed so far, who is to say where the limits might be?
Duo or solo, it would be a pleasure to return for nice people in a venue of distinction.
Amidst a scattering of performance work, the life model bookings continue arriving in unprecedented numbers.
A prior commitment had prevented me accepting a short-notice booking with Adrian Dutton’s Thursday group in Bethnal Green last month. Happily this had not ruled me out of future consideration, and I was able to accept a booking for his Monday group last week with just four hours’ notice.
I wasn’t the only model able to accept the late call-out, so the session became duo work Henry – a younger, altogether fitter male life model. The artists were presented with a choice of body types and took full advantage of both.
Having not expected to be modelling when I left home for work that morning, I was without my sheet, dressing-gown and camera. The latter, disappointingly, meant I could not capture the fine works produced on the evening.
My next work for Adrian’s groups will be on 18 September and 11 November… and with any luck there may be a short-notice opportunity or two in between. Long may they come.
steve ritter 