On 2 June this year I shall be stripping and dipping for Skinny Dip 2013, Essex to help raise funds for Marie Curie Cancer Care.
Four different events – at Dorset, East Lothian, Essex and South Wales – will take place at the same time on the same day in a bid to set a new Guinness World Record for the world’s biggest skinny dip.
It promises to be good fun but the whole point is to raise funds for Marie Curie Cancer Care. The charity is best known for its network of 2,000 Marie Cure Nurses who work in the homes of terminally ill patients across the UK providing practical care and support. In addition there are nine Marie Curie Hospices across the UK, plus an on-going programme of research into the best ways of caring for people with terminal illnesses.
If you would like to help support this cause then please make a donation to Marie Curie Cancer Care via my sponsorship link below. £20 provides a Marie Curie Nurse for one hour in a patient’s home; £180 provides a full nine hour shift for a Marie Curie Nurse in a patient’s home. Any amount you are able to pledge towards these targets would be welcomed as a vital contribution.
justgiving.com/steveritter – now closed
Rest assured that donations will bypass me and go direct to the charity itself.
Participants won’t be allowed to photograph the dip but I’ll post my experiences here.
Thanks again for your much needed support!
It’s just four weeks since the 18 January premier of ‘Does My…Do I?‘, choreographed by Leda Franklin and presented as part of Resolution! 2013 at The Place. My own experience of taking part is described in “Resolution! Dance theatre at The Place“. Now you can see it for yourself.
The video here is titled “excerpts from ‘Does My…Do I?‘”, not because any part of the Resolution! performance has been omitted, but because that performance itself was a truncated version of a much longer piece.
We still wait in keen anticipation to learn whether it will be possible to stage the work in its entirety. In the meantime let’s enjoy this memento of a joyous event.
It’s two months since my first experience of body casting courtesy of Big Soda in their Peckham workshop. As I eagerly await a private view of the exhibition featuring my casted figure, my warm memories of that December day have been revived by the arrival of photos taken during the creation process.
To recap: the process required me to be tightly wrapped in cling film, then zipped into a one-piece body sock, smeared all over with Vaseline and conditioner, and finally to have plaster applied to my body in four phases: back torso; arms; front torso; legs. Here are a few pictures:
Shrink-wrapped, looking alarmingly like a butcher’s bag of chicken feet.
The first stance, propped on a broom handle with arms precisely placed.
Patiently waiting to set, appreciating that little red heater in the foreground.
After lunch, feet correctly re-positioned ahead of leg casting.
Legs wholly encased, fully immobilised – these boots are not made for walking.
A little refinement around the feet completes the piece.
I’d never thought of the camera as my friend. At best it has been a dispassionate recorder of harsh truths; at worst a brutal critic. Whereas artists have appraised and interpreted me through the creative filter of their imaginings, cameras had simply transposed me from flawed life to flattened form. But perhaps this was because no camera had ever been pointed at me as an individual from the expert hands of a professional photographer…
Towards the end of 2012 I had signed-up to participate in a large-scale project for photographer Rachell Smith. With the date for that piece still to be set, Rachell emailed to say she was looking for “interesting people” with whom she could test new lighting equipment in her studio. Would I consider some portrait and nude work on a time-for-photos basis that weekend? Certainly I would.
Come two o’clock on the Saturday afternoon, I arrived at the Hackney studio to find Rachell and her assistant, Gordon, already outside waiting to greet me. They knew to expect someone extremely tall and I was glad not to disappoint.
The studio itself was a windowless room. Not one object stood within its walls without serving a practical purpose. Cables criss-crossed the floor to rise like tendrils around tripods and lighting stands. There were tables, a couple of chairs, a couple of stools, a couple of boxes, an assortment of backdrops, scrims and reflectors, plus an all-knowing computer. Most crucial of all on a raw January day, there was a heater.
In contrast to the hard functional nature of the studio, Rachell herself was open, engaging and cheery throughout. There were periods of professional contemplation and quiet analysis – trial and error with lighting was the session’s raison d’être – but mostly there was laughter and ease while we worked.
We began with some portrait shots, me still wearing the coat and scarf I’d walked in with. Next came a series of shirtless poses in profile: “chin up, higher, eyes lowered, lean forward, a bit more.” After a tea-break and a change of backdrop we moved onto nude poses in two series. In the first I was seated on a low foot-stool, curving my spine, with one or both knees drawn up. In the second I was almost horizontal across two stools with back arched and twisted. These were landscapes of the body.
Some of the resulting images are reproduced below. It is me as I had never seen myself. It is me as visualised by the photographer as artist. Certainly for me it was a new type of encounter with the camera, hopefully the start of a new understanding. Truly a fascinating and enjoyable experience.
‘Resolution!‘ is an annual six-week extravaganza of modern dance theatre staged at The Place in London’s Duke Street. A January/February fixture since 1990, the 2013 event saw 81 separate performances scheduled over 27 days. One of these was ‘Does My…Do I?‘ by Interdigitate, choreographed by Leda Franklin.
Leda’s production needed naked bodies… and that’s where I come in.
‘Does My…Do I?‘ is: “A darkly comical look at cosmetic surgery, plastic wrapped bodies, and the length to which we will go to get a date. A fresh look at looking in the mirror.” Interdigitate’s company of seven dancers – Eleni, Ivonne, Jacob, Michael, Nathan, Tomomi and Wayne – were its main performers, with pivotal if largely static roles for dancers Tom and Lil, all supported by a 15-strong ‘chorus’ at the sides of the stage (Lil balanced the numbers when not centre-stage).
Having spotted the call-out for naked chorus volunteers on the blog of nigh-ubiquitous fellow performer Peter Jacobs in mid-December, I emailed Leda my details and was welcomed onto the project. A first rehearsal was scheduled for 5 January, with a second (that I couldn’t attend) set for 16 January, and a concluding full day of ‘tech’, rehearsal, and the actual live performance itself on Friday 18 January.
Rehearsals
The first rehearsal was all about chorus members getting a feel for the production, and Leda assessing her oddly assembled team of volunteers. Practice for the final scene of the performance – a kind of maypole dance in which the chorus encircle a dancer with wrapping bandages in three coordinated phases – proved that the grace and spatial awareness of first-time amateurs isn’t quite on a par with that of professionals.
It also showed that an additional rehearsal would be invaluable, so the Sunday before the show we regrouped for further practice. Some couldn’t make it, others dropped out altogether, and a few new faces were greeted, but overall progress was made. It was then my turn to go missing for the penultimate rehearsal. Two days later it was show time.
When we assembled at 9am on 18 January it was the first time that the whole cast of ‘Does My…Do I?‘ had come together. We had three hours in which to prepare the theatre stage (‘tech’), with lighting, sound levels, equipment and positioning all given keen attention. It was becoming real.
Details
By this time it had been decided that the chorus would start in varying states of dress or undress. Stage left, front to back, was: myself (T-shirt only), Paul (naked), Lil (naked), Miguel (underpants only), Peter (T-shirt), Camila (undies), Gil (underpants) and Chas (T-shirt). Stage right, front to back: Arthur (underpants), Niv (T-shirt and underpants), Michaela (undies), James (T-shirt), Trebor (underpants), Cy (open shirt), Jerry (naked) and Ricki (T-shirt and underpants).
After tech we had time for one rushed run through of the full performance before hastily vacating the theatre, lest we incur a fine for over-running our allocated 9-12 slot. With two hours to kill before final rehearsal I popped across the road through snow and slush to Euston Station for a bite to eat. On returning there was the small matter of showing my passport at the box office to prove my eligibility to work in the UK.
Our last two hours of practice concentrated on the maypole finale and the dancers’ refinements to the piece that preceded it. A full run through of the performance was once more abbreviated for want of props and by speeding through the dialogue.
Pre-show
Then we waited. Three hours until the doors opened, after which we would be the third of three 25-minute performances, with the audience exiting and returning between each. The sedate dullness of loitering before 7pm was given a slightly sharper tang of anticipation as we relocated to a studio adjoining the back-stage area.
The dancers stretched, writhed, rolled and cavorted with each other, never still for a moment. The chorus lounged about, propping up walls, browsing newspapers, quietly chatting or simply measuring their length on the floor. Some disappeared back-stage, some even front-stage, to watch the dancers that performed prior to us.
As we neared our start time, so the small ripples of nervous energy among the chorus enlarged to waves of agitated excitement. Leda herself had handed out ‘Good Luck’ cards and then disappeared very early on, a martyr to first night tension. Shortly before show time she returned, refreshed and changed into an all-black ensemble that befitted the mastermind of a slick, edgy, original dance creation. We gathered around her to receive final words of inspiration and then we were on.
Show time
The audience was absent as we took to the stage but there were enough coats and bags on chairs for us to know the evening was a near sell-out. The chorus found its positions. I placed my trousers and boxers neatly out of sight behind me, along with the rolled bandage I would need for the maypole dance. A microphone on a stand stood front-centre on stage. To its left, in front of me, Eleni sat on a plastic chair with a bowl of cosmetic products by her feet. Our audience entered.
With Eleni going through a routine of preparing for a date while the whole naked and semi-naked chorus stared intently at her, and beauty industry sales spiel played for a soundtrack, we knew we had made an impression. The crowd was in boisterous mood as they returned from the bar to their seats. There was much banter and guffawing before they finally settled down and Tom sauntered on from stage right, beer in hand.
Eleni got up to meet Tom at the microphone and I stepped forward to remove her chair and make-up from the stage. This was to be done as unobtrusively as possible for a 6’4″ man with no pants on. I had only two concerns: not to drop the make-up all over the floor, and not to show my breakfast to the front row when I bent down to pick up the bowl. I succeeded in the first matter; I like to think I got away with the latter.
At the microphone Eleni and Tom exchanged dialogue as a couple seeing each other for the first time on a blind date and neither meeting the other’s expectations. The words that had been rushed and mumbled in rehearsals were now alive and ringing clear. The audience responded in all the right places. It occurred to me that, like them, I too was seeing the performance in its entirety for the very first time.
Chains, games and mascara
Exit Tom. Niv removed the microphone; the other six dancers entered. Together with Eleni they formed up with chains around their waists, standing in front of seven mirrors arranged in two rows across the stage. They inspected and preened themselves in slow movements to the sounds of birds twittering. As a crow cawed we all craned forward for a closer look. The pace picked up, we leaned back, and the dancers threw themselves energetically into the ‘chain dance’. Meanwhile, those of us in the chorus without underwear began a drawn-out process of slyly getting dressed.
When the dancers departed with their mirrors the chorus slowly crossed the stage, swapping sides, and deposited five chairs ready for the ‘game show’. In my view this segment would make or break the whole performance. It cast five of the dancers as ultra-thrilled contestants, Wayne as the gushing host and Ivonne encased in a ‘fat suit’ as ‘the prize’. Contestants would try to win parts of Ivonne for use in personal cosmetic procedures by answering three exceptionally crude, humiliating questions about her body.
If the audience didn’t get this bit – how our callous judgementalism dehumanises others while our limitless vanity dehumanises ourselves – then all would be lost. There was no subtlety or mitigation to help them, yet mercifully they laughed out loud, at us and themselves rather than the appalling game show. Wayne hit top form when it mattered and the chorus did his cheerleading. With a count of 1-2-3 at the end, the lights were cut and the dancers scampered away with the spare chairs.
Illumination returned in the form of two spotlights on two chairs occupied by Eleni and Tom. It was now Tom’s turn to go through a make-up routine, genuinely applying assorted cosmetics, even going so far as to rip two wax strips from his very hairy legs. Eleni harangued him throughout with quickfire instructions. When the lid of an eyeliner pot got stuck her sharp-witted ad-libbing brought the audience even further into the show. It was all going rather well.
The big finish
Exit Eleni, exit Tom, the chorus crossed the stage, and once more I prayed I wouldn’t drop the make-up that I carried off with Tom’s towel and chair. It was now time for the penultimate piece: the ‘doll dance’. Lil, who had artfully left the chorus, was deposited centre-stage with her back to the audience, naked but enshrouded head-to-toe in two clear plastic bags. The dancers returned clothed in three pairs: one in a plastic bag (a game show winner), the other to remove them and ease them into animation.
While the doll dance accelerated to a fearsome crescendo the chorus put on the last of their clothes. For me this meant slowly pulling on a pair of black jeans. We also picked up our bandages. The dancers continued hurling themselves about the stage, running, sliding, twisting and catching before finally slithering to Lil’s feet, tearing away her plastic covers and each taking one of six bandages tied around her waist.
As the dancers unfurled the bandages like taut ribbons, slowly circling anti-clockwise, so the maypole finale was underway. After one revolution Cy and I walked in, handed Lil one end of our rolled bandages and then walked out again to circle around with the dancers. The rest of the chorus followed us in pairs, one from each side of the stage.
Once everyone was circling, at Eleni’s signal the shorter half of the cast stepped inside and reversed direction. At her second cry we all took up a run. At her final cry we stopped, dropped our bandages, turned to face the audience, paused, and then exited to the nearest wing leaving Lil mummified and alone in the centre. The lights were cut and the applause was rapturous.
Take a bow
Lights up, the dancers returned and took a bow; the applause was ecstatic. The technicians were shown a hand by the dancers; the applause was prolonged. The chorus was welcomed back to take a bow; the applause was sustained. We bowed again and the applause followed us as we left, with Nathan carrying the still bandage-swathed and heroically nonchalant Lil.
What a fabulous experience. I was so happy for Leda and the dancers. Whilst this was a heart-warming novelty for most of the chorus, it was life and livelihood for the professionals. The genuine applause – and subsequent glowing reviews – was fair reward for much more hard work than we ever witnessed from the wings.
We felt flush with success as we quit our back-stage studio and dressing rooms, first reassembling in the theatre bar and then migrating to Mabel’s Tavern at the end of Flaxman Terrace. I could happily have stayed all night but with snow and ice still causing chaos in the world beyond our little bubble of joy there was no option but to tear myself away after a single Sauvignon Blanc.
And now I am once more but a life model standing at the fringes of the performing arts, ready to dip in a toe whenever the opportunity permits. Will I ever be involved with dance theatre again? Impossible to guess, but should another opportunity arise I would seize it in an instant. That is my personal resolution.
I have posed nude for artists, of course, and have participated nude in art installations before a live audience, yet never before had I gone naked as a visitor at an exhibition. Indeed, only once before had I heard of such an event taking place, at the excellent Leopold Museum in Vienna for ‘The Naked Truth’ (2005). But the chance came on a mild January evening in London’s Holloway Road, courtesy of Guerilla Galleries.
When their ‘100% Nude‘ exhibition appeared at the Daniel Libeskind Space on 3/4 January 2013, one hundred tickets were issued for a “clothing optional” private view from 6-8pm on the first evening. With ticket in hand, I joined the queue (largely male, it has to be said) shortly after the doors had opened.
Guests were greeted at the entrance by Guerilla Galleries’ Tony André. Amiable and fully clothed, he was by far the most stylish person present on the night. Inside, a gentleman wearing nothing but a pink and black bow-tie – thus himself not entirely without style – showed me to a secure side-room where others were already in the process of undressing.
Although the event was clothing-optional, the overwhelming majority of patrons opted to strip completely. I personally entered the galleries with nothing about me except the glasses on my face, and soon had a glass in my hand as complementary wine was provided. Familiar faces were everywhere. It was especially nice to see Rodger and Esther, with whom I modelled at Spirited Bodies events last year. I wondered whether I would recognise any of the models in the artworks… but no, not this time.
(photo: Guerilla Galleries on Twitter, 20 December 2012)
The art itself was an interesting mix of styles. Among the most memorable were the paintings of Pílar Camíno Alcón (Piluca), who depicted solo nude figures against a white background, each holding an object of their desire. In Pílar’s own self-portrait – beside which she briefly posed nude, possibly the only artist to take the option – she adopts a defiant warrior-like stance, clutching her beloved brushes and palette like arrows and a shield, with the whole canvas slashed with streaks of blood-red paint.
(photo: Piluca on Facebook, 5 January 2013)
The small plasticine figurines of Eliza Freespirit brought an immediate smile to the face of all who saw them. Contrast with the performance work of Selma Dahhouki, which at first glance seemed nothing more than a pile of bricks. On closer inspection, however, the bricks were… they were breathing. Beneath them lay a naked female figure, silent and still, save for the gentle rise and fall of her shallow breaths. As she would be laying there for two hours my first thought was admiration for her durability. Then I wondered how many other piles of rubble I might have walked past without noticing what was trapped underneath. Maybe this was part of the work’s purpose.
(photo: Eliza Freespirit via Piluca on Facebook, 2 January 2013)
The works that I found most impressive were paintings by Gareth Morgan. Each depicts a nude figure against a solid-colour background; each figure is formed entirely of tessellated triangles; each triangle is a single uniform flesh tone. It was surprising to see such lithe graceful forms created from straight lines and geometrical shapes.
(photo: Gareth Morgan on Facebook, 4 January 2013)
So the art was positive, the company excellent, and the wine appreciated. Negatives? Well, temperatures fell away as the night wore on, so several us were fidgeting and shuffling to keep warm. Also, a lack of clarity on the protocol for camera use was a bit disconcerting. On the one hand it was unclear at first who was an official photographer and who was sneaking snaps for their own titillation (inevitably there were a few such creeps); on the other hand there was no knowing what would become of the official photographs. To their credit, the organisers took note of all these concerns.
Personally I found the event highly enjoyable and one that provided a fresh perspective on the relationship between art and the naked body. As a clothed visitor to galleries my attention is initially drawn to the art, then loaned in part to those around me, and finally becomes conscious of me, myself relative to the whole. Stepping naked into a gallery filled with clothed and unclothed people, however, my attention is first vainly pre-occupied with my own self – I am on show in a gallery! – then drawn to those around me – who are the others in this show? what’s the feeling? – and finally to the art. It doesn’t diminish the art; it alters the psychological context of its appreciation. But big words shouldn’t mask the fact that most of all this was simply fun.
The ‘100% Nude‘ exhibition now moves on to Guerilla Galleries, 35 Kingsland Road, Shoreditch, E2 8AA from 9 January to 24 January 2013 (Monday to Friday, 10am to 5:30pm). I wish the artists and galleries every success and hope they are inspired to try similar ventures in future. Whether it would work without a nude-themed exhibition, or whether over-use of the idea would render it passé or a magnet for exhibitionists and voyeurs, only time can tell. But it was great to be a part of it this time around.
Featured artists included Hock Tee Tan, Pouka, Eliza Freespirit, Keeley Wynn, Anna K Halsall, Julian Segura-Pacheo, Selma Dahhouki, Debra Taylor, Charlotte Ratcliffe, iCon, Dan Kitchener, The KRAH, Caroline Truss, Orinthia Tyrell, Gareth Morgan, Pilar Camino Alcon, Lucas Thompson, Nicola Anthony, Laurie Felipe, David Agenjo and Jessica Suarez.
I first met Ian Hinde over glasses of red wine after a group life drawing event at the Storey Gallery, Lancaster in July. Ian was present as an artist while I had been posing alongside with ten other models. During post-event drinks we talked about past works and planned projects. At that stage Ian was conceptualising a filmed piece that would centre on rhythmic movements of geometrically arranged nude bodies. It sounded interesting, so I volunteered my services for when the project got off the ground.
In early November Ian emailed to say he was hopeful filming could take place in mid-December. I confirmed I was still in and booked myself a cheap return train ticket from Essex to Bolton. It would mean a very early start to the day for me, of course, which was not a problem until an annual Christmas night out with friends was set for the night before. In a moment of forgetfulness I’d even suggested the date myself, and then paled afterwards when I realised I had to be on a train at 04:44 the next day.
Against all odds I felt reasonably alert when I stepped out at Bolton station on that cold damp mid-December morning under dirty skies. I had time on my hands so I took in a little of what the town has to offer – full marks for an excellent fresh produce market – before making the short walk to our filming venue. At first I doubted my directional skills as I seemed to be leaving the busy urban centre and entering a backwater of garages and workshops, yet suddenly there it was: the vivid scarlet façade of Bolton Little Theatre.
I arrived just as Ian and Nick – another model friend from the Storey and Ghost Bird – were unpacking Ian’s car. Inside, Ian had already secured his camera to the lighting rigs above the theatre stage. A touch of the surreal was added by the stage itself, still dressed for a production of Jack the Ripper. Food for lunch was piled up on a table in the wings, and all the while other volunteer participants were arriving. It was a pleasure to see among them Peter from Everyday People, Existere and Mud Circles, and Mo from Ghost Bird. By the time all were present we numbered 13.
Ian gave us an outline briefing, and then we withdrew to our changing rooms to undress. The plan was to coordinate short bursts of simple movements, to be filmed separately such that they could later be edited and looped into an elegant ensemble of forms and actions. We started in a tight standing group, slowly shuffling, turning and interweaving. It reminded me somewhat of emperor penguins in Antarctica, albeit sufficiently warmer. We then lay on the floor side by side, rippling and rolling. Next we changed to a circle, feet together, bodies rising and falling. And so on and on, in various other patterns filmed from above and from one side over 3-4 hours with a break for refreshments.
This was only my second filmed work, the previous being Adam James’s Mud Circles in February. Like Adam, Ian was a considerate organiser with a clear vision for his art. Now he has the challenge of turning his raw footage of raw forms into a finished piece of art that adequately translates his conception. It will be fascinating to see what he creates.
steve ritter 