There is more to Spirited Bodies than multi-model life drawing extravaganzas like the one at Mortlake in July. They also arrange small workshops in which newcomers can try out life modelling for the first time. I offered my services at one such workshop on 26 September 2012, both as an experienced model to get the ball rolling, and also to bandy around a few ideas ahead of a real spectacular planned for late October.
The workshop was attended by ten first-timers, Esther and Lucy, and me. Everyone would have a chance to pose for ten minutes, clothed or naked, in twos or threes, while those not posing would draw. I was on first with a solo icebreaker, followed by two poses with Esther. Then the rest of the group stepped up to take their turns in pairs. I joined the last two first-timers for a final group of three.
With Lucy and Esther offering their insights, ideas and encouragement throughout, it was a remarkably relaxed feel-good session. Everyone found something new in themselves. For me, the greatest revelation came whilst drawing: not through the observation of models, but through the observation of time.
While posing, my concentration is on achieving a linear performance; maintaining a consistent position, and using various techniques to count down the seconds. While drawing, however, I found that I started in a hurry, trying to capture outlines and forms; then I slowed and looked again and noticed new details; then I would apply detail in sporadic bursts of scribbling; then I would go back methodically and make small refinements to feathered lines, and so on; and throughout I had no sense of the minutes ticking by. It was quite fascinating.
All models should try drawing, and artists should try modelling, clothed or not.
22 September 2012 was originally scheduled as a repeat of the group life model event held at the Storey Gallery, Lancaster in July. When organiser Alan Ward kindly invited me to return, I accepted immediately and bought an advance train ticket while fares were low enough to make the day profitable. Thus it was disappointing when the event was forced off due to financial uncertainties blighting the future of the gallery. Being a true gentleman, however, Alan found me alternative work on the day: a two-hour solo session at the neighbouring Storey Auditorium.
A series of short standing poses was followed by a half-hour reclining pose, then a tea break, and finally a forty-five minute seated pose with a gentle twist.
I misjudged my pressure points during the reclining pose. After twenty minutes my ‘upper’ leg lost feeling and a slight tremble set in. When the half-hour was up, all the artists withdrew for their tea while I literally dragged myself off the platform and onto a chair. Sensation soon returned and I joined the others for a brew. There, one artist observed with a compassionate smile: “I saw your leg fibrillating…”
I made a mental note that if this were to happen again then I too would describe myself as “fibrillating”, and thereby sound more technically-minded and professional than if I simply apologised for getting the shakes.
Ghost Bird is probably the most extraordinary and dramatic art project that I’ve had involvement with. Conceived and created by Louise Ann Wilson, it was scheduled to take place over the weekend of 15/16 September 2012 in the Trough of Bowland – a high and remote area of outstanding natural beauty about ten miles south-east of Lancaster. Louise was one of the artists at the Storey Gallery in Lancaster for the life model group event back in July. The essence of her project was:
“Referring to the ghostly grey feathers of the male harrier and the absence this year of nesting pairs in the Trough of Bowland, Ghost Bird celebrates the beauty of the hen harrier and draws attention to their sometimes fragile existence within the North of England. In doing so, the work also becomes a means of reflecting on the journey taken 400 years ago over the Bowland Fells to Lancaster Castle by the Pendle Witches. In this new piece, installations and acts of live performance combined to create a unique walking experience set within a stunning upland landscape.”
Over two days, along with 24 other models, the intention was to take four forty-minute shifts in foetal positions within semi-circular dry stone grouse-shooting butts dotted about on the wild hills while audience members hiked among us. I was in a team of three, with Anne and Janet, rotating between two butts and the hidden base camp. At any given time, two of us would be laying naked and isolated in the butts while the other was back at base, five minutes’ walk away.
This system worked well enough on the Saturday, albeit dreadfully cold when exposed to unforgiving winds. Only once did I overhear a comment from our audience (always unseen). It was during my third shift as I lay curled up and braced against the biting conditions – what sounded like a mature couple conversed as follows:
He: “Over there.”
She: “Yes, there’s one.”
(their footsteps approached and they stood over me in silence for a minute or two)
He: “Shivering with cold.”
She: “It is cold… but bloody effective.”
How gratifying that my body’s natural response only served to enhance the piece.
If participation was tough when it was merely cold on the Saturday, it was nigh impossible when raining on Sunday. Sadly for all concerned, the day had to be abandoned quite early as the safety of participants stood to be at risk. As relieved as I was to escape the harshest weather, I felt desperately sad for Louise and her team who had committed so much time, love and resources to create a vivid and uplifting experience.
For me, the biggest positive was the friendships made over two days, forged in a common experience of art and adversity. These shared moments were undoubtedly testing at the time, but I think we’ll all look back on them fondly as time goes by.
Which way to Ghost Bird? We headed in the direction of Fiendsdale Head.
First encounter with art – a woman laying eggs, each a different pastel hue.
Still a long march ahead to where models would be exposed.
Another many-hued art installation, to contrast with the fragility of eggs.
Life model base camp, before it became a slippery quagmire.
Me, installed within a grouse-shooting butt.
Spirited Bodies is something special: a community founded by experienced life models whose passion is “encouraging people to love their bodies as they are, in particular finding body confidence and inner peace via life modelling in a group.” I had already found body confidence via life modelling by the time I found Spirited Bodies but one can always do with a little more inner peace, so I asked if they might find a place for me at a group event in London.
The opportunity arose on 21 July 2012 at Vernon Hall, a recycled church in Mortlake, two weeks after my previous group life modelling experience at the Storey Gallery. This was unpaid work but to me it was an unmissable chance to work with – and learn from – other models, and to share my own experience.
I was among the first to arrive so, after being greeted by Spirited Bodies’ co-founder and my booking arranger, the inestimable Esther Bunting, I made myself useful by setting up the easels. Other models and artists drifted in, and we were soon joined by another Spirited Bodies founder, the magnificent and dauntingly-organised Lucy Saunders.
The dozen-or-so models were split into two groups: one in the centre of the room; the other on a stage at the far end. It would be a three-hour session with a break in the middle. Short poses to begin with, followed by two loosely organised half-hour tableaux. What makes this more interesting than solo modelling is that there’s no benefit in sticking to tried and tested poses; it’s of greater importance to find a pose that creates a dynamic with those adjacent.
One slightly disconcerting aspect of working in a group is that if you’re surrounded by three or four models who, for a wide variety of possible reasons, may appear more visually striking than yourself then it’s tempting to wonder whether you’re standing in discomfort for up to an hour with not one person in the room taking the slightest bit of notice. Mercifully it hasn’t happened yet.
After packing away, we withdrew to a pub by the river for relaxing drinks and happy chat. It was a good end to a fine day with some lovely people. Here are a few shots of the venue and a little of the art born within it (that’s me on the far left):
Time for something rather different. I’d posed for performance art within a group, and I’d posed as a life model solo, but not until 7 July 2012 did I get to life model within a group. The chance arose at the Storey Gallery in Lancaster, courtesy of Alan Ward. It would be a long journey north from Essex, the rail fare would eat up the payment, but it would be worth every moment.
The aim was to assemble ten life models, with a fifty-fifty gender split. In the weeks before there was some doubt as to whether enough female models would come forward. Cometh the day, however, the split went the other way: we were four men and six women, with a seventh in the very late stages of pregnancy joining us for the morning.
The event was scheduled for 10am to 3pm. There would be short poses to begin with, followed by a two-hour pose-a-thon (short break permitted), and a ninety-minute pose, then another short pose or two, and finally a novel tug-of-war pose with all models pulling on a rope fixed at one end of the gallery. A musician was employed to provide gentle live music from one corner. Artists assembled in great numbers, possibly as many as fifty, and gave a marvellous ovation of applause when the end came.
This was a wonderful day on many levels: Alan’s organisation was quietly meticulous and impeccable, the artists showed generous appreciation and produced some fine works, the models were superb company, and the experience – I hope – made me a better model myself.
After the event I joined fellow models Yvonne and Martin Rowe – whom I’d previously worked with on Existere – for coffees. They generously kept me supplied before my long journey south, as we reflected on projects past and projects yet to come…
That’s me standing in the top two works, and Martin and Yvonne standing in the foreground of the lower work.
After nearly three years of ad hoc nudity in the name of art, it was at the Mud Circles performance shoot in February 2012 that I resolved to establish myself as a life model.
In March I joined the Register of Artists’ Models (RAM) as a provisional member. To become a full member I would need a thumbs-up from one of seven “RAM approved” auditioners. I emailed all seven and, one month later, finally got an opportunity.
I would be modelling at a life drawing session run by Monica Shanta Brown at the Islington Arts Factory in north London on 9 May. Through a gloomy, drizzly evening I arrived with plenty of time in hand and kicked my heels admiring the diverse artworks on display. Monica didn’t keep me waiting long. After exchanging a few friendly words we made our way to a small partitioned studio space, where we were soon to be joined by four or five artists.
While I undressed, Monica set up the central platform on which I would pose. She felt that deep blue would be the right colour sheet to stand me on; I like to imagine some curious significance in this choice beyond whim or taste or convenience, but I’ve failed to divine any. Still, it matched the lightweight dressing gown in my backpack.
The first session began with a series of short standing poses followed by a longer seated one. Then, after a break for a nice mug of tea, I draped myself unevenly in a horizontal sprawl across cushions and a box to close out the evening. I was pleased with the way it went – delighted with the drawings Monica produced – and ultimately fulfilled when RAM ‘full member’ status was conferred upon me the following day:
Steve Ritter (RAM 2437) Full Member (secure site).
As the London 2012 Olympics approached, with the city officially preparing to welcome the world, residents of east London were preparing for the suspension of life as they knew it. One group of artists living and working in Hackney Wick decided to mark the occasion with a party (one excuse is as good as another). The party was billed as ‘the opening ceremony to the end of the world’.
Artists would be showcasing their work. With Adam James on the bill it was only appropriate he should present his most recent piece: Mud Circles. The call went out for ‘mudheads’ from the previous performance willing and able to join the party. Six of us came forward.
It proved to be a quirky business. Team Adam James arrived early and established base camp on a heavily cluttered platform above the main party space. We would take it in turns to remove all clothing except for our eyeless mudhead headgear – like a colourful inverted lumpy bucket that blocks all vision – and then slowly stalk down a set of stairs and take up position standing motionless like part of the furniture while party-goers arrived.
I was still on my second shift near the bar when the first performance began on stage: a singer/songwriter/guitarist. After retreating between acts, I waited in the wings while a memory man and an extraordinary hula-hooping diatribess did their thing. Then cometh the naked mudheads’ main event… all six of us descending together and walking in a continuous slow circle at the heart of the assembled crowd. Round and round and round and round. And then having circled a few times, we withdrew.
What our audience made of it is anyone’s guess. My own guess would be that some were bemused, some non-plussed, some mildly astonished, and some immediately inspired – not least the chap who followed me up the stairs and asked if I would pose for photographs.
Alas, there are no published photographs of my own contribution but here is fellow mudhead Andy, putting in a couple of star turns among the revellers that night. It was a very strange, cool night indeed.
steve ritter 