It has become a highlight of the London life drawing calendar. An art extravaganza, no less. It is the annual ‘Big Draw‘ grand collaboration between London Drawing and Spirited Bodies, bringing together a multitude of artists and life models under one roof to do what they do best.
This year’s drawing theatre – subtitled ‘a human orchestration’ – took place yesterday in St John’s church, opposite Waterloo Station. When I arrived at 11am, clouds were breaking up and the sun was starting to shine through after the dreary overnight rain. It augured well for a good day.
Spirited Bodies’ artistic director Esther had assembled 19 life models to deliver the performances. We ranged from the hugely experienced to a very brave first-timer. It was lovely to be working again with Camila, Clifford, LaDawn, Letizia, Liliana, Peter and Ursula, and making many new friends. Special credit goes to another frequent model collaborator, Santosh, who was on logistics duty for the day.
The event was to be comprised of three separate performances starting at 1pm so we had a couple of hours to rehearse. David and Anne of London Drawing, together with Esther, took us through practice runs for the centrepiece of the day. Afterwards we retired to the organ balcony for food and to change before the artists began arriving.
Performance 1
Rather than change into robes we simply set aside surplus layers of clothes, removed our underwear, and then dressed again. As artists began to fill the wide space of the church, collecting complimentary art materials before settling on chairs or the floor, so we did the same, discretely and anonymously scattering ourselves among them.
Come one o’clock, David and Anne introduced Canon Giles Goddard, who spoke well about the occasion and why the nudity of the models sat comfortably with the church. Next came some words about the day’s programme, and Esther spoke about Spirited Bodies and the models. The principals then departed, leaving the artists to assume that models would file out from backstage and assemble on the cushioned platform near the altar space.
But no. Instead, after a couple of minutes Esther moved amongst us and made subtle signs to individual models. When we each received our signal, we quickly undressed and stood in pose. Nude bodies rose up across the congregation over a period of ten minutes. Artists were never sure who would be next. Afterwards at least one said she dreaded getting the sign in case it meant she had to stand naked too.
This performance lasted about an hour. Models were at liberty to change pose but I opted to maintain a single long pose for the duration. Towards the end, Esther came among us again, signalling us individually to sit and dress. When all was done, the artists were invited to share their work for others to admire. As ever in a multi-model event, it was a relief to see at least some of the artists had drawn me.
Performance 2
Returning to the balcony, we once more plundered the buffet, then changed into our gowns. Esther lead us back down the stairs, single file in order of our height with the tallest (me) first. We waited silently out of sight while David and Anne introduced our second performance, then put our coverings to one side and slowly processed naked down the central nave carpet.
Standing in line the length of the carpet, we turned to face the balcony. Christine – a life model and superb vocalist – had remained on high and now set about leading us through a series of vocalisation effects. She filled the church with sound, then took a pace back as cue for us to provide an echoing response.
After ten minutes of call and response, Christine descended to join us. We turned to face forward, and Esther started us in a spiralling walk around a wooden cube. Ursula stepped onto the cube and our spiral tightened around her. Those on the outside then lowered themselves to the floor. We were ready to begin the next piece.
Ursula, who is a wonderful singer, began projecting a range of melodious sounds and phrases. The rest of us, rather than responding in kind, improvised with every manner of vocal effect, and threw in several slaps and clicks for good measure.
As we hummed, droned, whooped, boomed, clicked, whistled, tisked and shushed, Ursula belted out snatches of song. In silent moments we changed pose a couple of times. Again, I stood throughout. With Ursula elevated to equal height with me, we took a rare opportunity to pose with arms around each other’s shoulders.
Our work with sound had been carefully planned, but a certain amount of spontaneity took over in the execution. By general consent it worked extremely well. Within the resonant walls of the high-ceilinged church, it added an extra dimension of unseen form. To our joy the artists surprised us with warm unbidden applause as we filed out.
Artworks were placed around the carpet during the second break and we returned in gowns to admire how our efforts had been interpreted.
Performance 3
Our final performance was a more conventional group tableau. Once more we disrobed out of sight and then filed out to our cushioned tables and stools. I sat slightly to the left of centre, as seen from the floor, and again went for a single long pose – right arm resting on right thigh, left arm extended to the table, left leg hooked behind right.
The piece lasted between forty-five minutes and one hour. At the end we stood, held hands, and took a bow to prolonged applause. It had been a long but exceptionally enjoyable, successful day. Esther, David and Anne were delighted. Most importantly the artists seemed happy with the event and the unique opportunities it presented.
I’ve tended to take positives from all the life drawing events in which I’ve been involved. This one, however, definitely had something special that was way beyond the norm. It reminded me of coming away from the ‘Inversed voyeurism‘ project in the summer feeling we had got an exceptionally special group together.
This drawing theatre had a fine group, a brilliant concept and fantastic orchestration. The venue, the atmosphere, the schedule, the balance of planning and spontaneity, the good vibe from the artists, even the sunshine blazing through the windows, it all came together perfectly. Happy times. Full credit to the organisers – I hope we did them proud.
Tomorrow sees the capital’s big life drawing event of the year as once again London Drawing and Spirited Bodies combine forces to deliver an art extravaganza.
As a warm-up for the main event, half a dozen of us got together to model for London Drawing’s regular Thursday evening group at Battersea Arts Centre. The pose pattern for the first half was: three of us for 15 minutes; then all six together for five minutes, five minutes, five minutes and 20 minutes.
After a break we completed the session with 40 minutes in which the models were at liberty to move whenever they saw fit. I chose to hold a single pose. Some fruits of the artists’ endeavours are below.
“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.
steve ritter 