“As a collective of three artists, JocJonJosch are interested in issues of identity relating to the individual and the group both on a universal as well as a more self-reflective level.”
– JocJonJosch portfolio introduction.
“In Dig Shovel Dig, each of the three artists dig their own hole in the earth, only to fill their neighbour’s hole. The process of digging and shovelling repeats till JocJonJosch eventually give up. What remains are neither three obvious holes in the ground nor three equally filled pits.”
– JocJonJosch ‘Dig Shovel Dig’ (2013) video introduction.
In spring 2016 the collective called for volunteers to collaborate with them in digging earth at a site in Martigny, Switzerland and build a series of totem poles that would stand for a period of time, before eventually being razed to the ground. Come winter, this evolution through practice and intervention was ready to be presented as a new performance in the heart of London.
“Foot-Kroku-Zvuk-Klingen-Fall – the corruption of ‘footfall’ through translation from English, to Czech, to German places an emphasis on the motion and the sound of the action implied by the word Footfall. The collective JocJonJosch are devising a new performance entitled Footfall premiering at Laure Genillard gallery…”
– Laure Genillard gallery event introduction.
Preparation
The call for performance collaborators came on 16 October. After the joy of working with JocJonJosch for Existere (2011), Ouroboros (2013), and Ouroboros (2014), I immediately expressed an interest. Frustratingly, I would not be able to take part in the opening night private view on Friday 25 November, but I took consolation from at least being able to join its dry-run movement rehearsal (earthless) six days earlier.
Photo of a raised totem – at the Laure Genillard gallery.
Six of us would be part of the second performance: Joc (of the collective), Chris, Cy, Stan, me, and Esther; late sickness meant Esther was to be a lone female. When I arrived, Joc and Jon were already well advanced in preparing a large round-ish pile of mud at the centre of the upstairs gallery space. For this performance, we were to be trampling it for 90 minutes whilst naked and covered head-to-toe in the stuff.
It was an endurance piece without a break. We were to start at 6:30pm and continue until 8pm, with Jon (of the collective) giving a single clap at half-hourly intervals so we would have an idea of progress. The time came for us to put on the mud. Esther and I went first, lathering each other all over with dirty great handfuls. When the rest joined us, we helped them cover those hard-to-reach places.
Pre-performance, behind the scenes – me and Esther.
Performance
With the doors about to open, gallery assistants took away our possessions and we started to tread through the mud – always looking downwards, never at each other or those who entered the room. I had felt uncomfortably cold when the mud first went on my body, but I quickly warmed up once we were underway. The thick heavy mud was firm yet satisfyingly squashy… albeit peppered with annoying little stones.
It wasn’t physically fatiguing work, only mentally tiring as time dragged. The first clap seemed to take ages coming. Although theoretically we were all performing the same action, in practice our movements varied according to our physicality: some marched while others glided; some were upright while others slouched; some created patterns while others were directionless. Thus, we persevered curiously to a close.
Aftermath
At the finish, with all guests cleared from the gallery room we stepped from the mud into paper suits and flip-flops. Speedily we dashed via the street to the flat next door, where we would shower and dress. The mud on our skin was part caked, part sticky, part crumbly and there was no way to shift it all without making a fearful mess. I pity whoever tidied up after but, as is said: no good art is produced without suffering.
Post-performance, behind the scenes – ready for a shower.
Once sufficiently clean for admittance to decent society, we joined the artists, fellow performers and select guests for wine and tortillas in the lower gallery space. As we relaxed, so we could enjoy what previously we’d endured. Meanwhile, the expanded disc of mud above us set slowly in serene solitude. Every ridge and impression now seemed to be imbued with a serendipitous artistic quality. We’d done good work.
Post-performance, behind the scenes – mud.
Post-performance, behind the scenes – marks.
I look forward to returning for a final performance of Footfall on Friday 3 February 2017.
My last booking of 2016 was for a creative agency’s pre-Christmas celebrations. Their party organiser booked Art Macabre for an afternoon of life drawing, and I in turn was booked on 28 November. A second model – Rosy – was added on 15 December, four days before the gig itself. Our venue was Wilton’s Music Hall in London’s east end.
We were to pose as characters from old time music hall. Art Macabre’s Nikki provided our historical context and nervously played Cockney sing-along tracks that walked the tightrope of political incorrectness. I posed in top hat and face paint as Flash Harry for 2 and 3-minutes, then as Champagne Charlie as we stood for 10 and 15-minutes.
Next, a creative exercise was created for our creative agency. Nikki asked her models to sit adjacent on a couch, then challenged the nine artists to dream up designs for a ventriloquism act poster. Needless to say, I was the dummy. Imaginations ran wild for 15-minutes, both in their elaboration of our tableau and the invention of slogans.
Rosy posed for 5-minutes whilst I underwent the traditional music hall gender swap of putting on a corset and floppy floral hat. Once transformed, it was my turn to hold the fort – for 10-minutes – as further gender changing took place backstage. For our final 15-minutes, I lay largely ignored on the couch, whilst Rosy was drawn on a stool.
All this had taken place in a modest-sized upstairs room with a bar rather than in the main music hall space. It would have been nice to experience the big auditorium, yet even here the venue’s classic character was undeniable. There is comfort in knowing places like this have found a way to survive in the modern era. Life goes on.
“Hi Steve, hope you guys are well. Just wanted to let you know the piece is officially completed. In the next few days we will finally post the result of 4 years of work. The piece has been named SANCTUARY.” – Angelo Musco, 30 July 2016.
This was news that a quietly vigilant corner of me had indeed waited years to receive. Angelo Musco had at last completed his magnum opus; a huge artistic undertaking inspired by the Tower of Babel. Yet Sanctuary had become very much more than a tower – it was a sprawling metropolis constructed from countless thousands of nude human forms… several of which were my own.
Sanctuary was officially announced to the world on 8 August through an interview for The Creators Project; an article in the Huffington Post; and a production video on YouTube. Soon after came news that the piece would feature within an exhibition at Maison Particulière, in Brussels. Esther and I had the first weekend of December free, so we boarded Eurostar in London and departed for the capital of Belgium.
After a Saturday spent exploring the city, we left our apartment late Sunday morning and headed for Maison Particulière. Doors had opened shortly before we arrived, and for a while we had the place all to ourselves. Such an elegant and serene space. We were given a brief introduction by one of the staff, then began our wanderings around the ground floor exhibits…
‘Senza Titolo‘ by Claudio Parmiggiani, and ‘Hollow Figure‘ by Daniel Arsham
‘Cocoon‘ by Angelo Musco
‘Carmela‘ by Jaume Plensa
‘Murmek‘ by Angelo Musco
All around was beauty and exquisiteness. Up the first flight of stairs I discovered one of Angelo’s most dynamic pieces – the hellish whirlpools of ‘Tehom‘, in which bodies try desperately to escape their underwater torment, or possibly drag the viewer down among them. Also here was ‘Remember that we sometimes…‘ by Rachel Kneebone. I’d life modelled with this very piece at the Freud Museum in London last February.
‘Remember that we sometimes…‘ by Rachel Kneebone
With ‘Tehom‘ (detail) by Angelo Musco
‘Tehom‘ (detail) by Angelo Musco
‘Tehom‘ (detail) by Angelo Musco
I’ve become acquainted with much of Angelo’s extraordinary work over the years from his website. Now to admire so many pieces with my own eyes on such a grand scale felt like a blissful privilege. Such detail, to notice and absorb – no more so than within ‘Phloem‘ from his ‘Cortex‘ series. We lingered before it at length, before traversing the next room containing ‘Pièce détachée‘ by Michel François, to find… sanctuary!
‘Phloem‘ by Angelo Musco
‘Phloem‘ by Angelo Musco
‘Phloem‘ (detail) by Angelo Musco
‘Phloem‘ (detail) by Angelo Musco
‘Pièce détachée‘ (detail) by Michel François
SANCTUARY!
‘Sanctuary‘ by Angelo Musco
This wasn’t even the full-size version, yet at 16 feet wide by 4 feet high it was truly an astonishing piece, assembled from figures photographed in New York, Buenos Aires, London, Berlin and Naples. Together with friends, I’d taken part in the London (2013) and Berlin (2014) shoots, and now rejoiced in recognising faces. There’s me, top left corner, Cy just below, Peter to the right, Zabine just below, Clifford by her knee…
‘Sanctuary‘ (detail) by Angelo Musco
‘Sanctuary‘ (detail) by Angelo Musco
‘Sanctuary‘ (detail) by Angelo Musco
‘Sanctuary‘ (detail) by Angelo Musco
These were merely among the most noticeable figures. The more I studied the piece, the more would catch my eye. In three separate places my upper torso loomed large, curved inwards or backwards in a tangle of other body fragments. Elsewhere I would find myself peering out from a standing group – shots taken in Berlin. No matter how tiny the figures, their clarity was pin-sharp. My camera has not done them justice.
‘Sanctuary‘ (detail) by Angelo Musco
‘Sanctuary‘ (detail) by Angelo Musco
‘Sanctuary‘ (detail) by Angelo Musco
‘Sanctuary‘ (detail) by Angelo Musco
‘Sanctuary‘ (detail) by Angelo Musco
‘Sanctuary‘ (detail) by Angelo Musco
‘Sanctuary‘ (detail) by Angelo Musco
‘Sanctuary‘ (detail) by Angelo Musco
‘Sanctuary‘ by Angelo Musco
Credit to Esther’s patience that she indulged me to spend so long with the piece. We were lucky still to have the place to ourselves at this stage, but soon others began to arrive. We passed into more rooms; one with ‘Aves‘ and ‘Ala’ by Angelo; one with the sculpture ‘Lie’ by Antony Gormley, and a video of monarch butterflies formed of naked bodies by Angelo; and finally to a light installation by the incredible James Turrell.
‘Aves‘ by Angelo Musco
‘Ala‘ by Angelo Musco
‘Lie‘ by Antony Gormley
Image from video installation by Angelo Musco
Image from video installation by Angelo Musco
Image from light installation by James Turrell
Any single one of Angelo’s works can be mesmerising in composition, detail, delicacy and soulfulness. To see so many here, complemented perfectly by sculptural artworks in minimalist chic surroundings, felt magical and elating. Only nature could adequately follow that, so we drifted through crisp December air down to Bois de la Cambre and partook of sunset pancakes at Chalet Robinson. It had been a day of feasting.
The exhibition ‘From here to eternity‘ continues until 30 April 2017 and is open from Tuesday to Sunday each week, 11am to 6pm. If you have the means and opportunity, I highly recommend a visit. Hopefully Angelo’s next big show in Europe will include a version of Sanctuary at least double the size of the one we admired in Brussels. Until then, let’s enjoy that production video one more time. Thank you, Angelo.
Aside from a Christmas party booking on Monday and anything last-minute that might come up unexpectedly, this would be my last life modelling work of 2016. What better way to end the modelling year than with my beloved Esther at Eastbourne House on cheese-and-wine night, for one of the groups run by Adrian Dutton? I arrived early to find Esther, Adrian, and his partner Anya already there; such lovely people with whom to create art. We opened with a 15-minute pose, Esther sneaking up on me…
The first pose always allows time for latecomers to find a seat and settle down. By the time we followed it with short poses, there were between 30 and 40 artists drawing us. We continued with 1-minute, 2-minute, and 3-minute poses. Plenty of variation, taking turns to suggest an idea. For the next 5-minutes, I thought to repeat the pose we tried in Croydon the weekend before, with me laying down and Esther standing with a foot upon my chest. Next it was Esther laying down and me leaning on her for 10-minutes.
Earlier that day, Esther had been modelling at a hall where old theatre costumes were being discarded. She was invited to take some choice clothes, amongst which were a pair of hats. It’s usually tricky for me to find a hat that fits well but astonishingly these two could have been made to measure for us. We closed the first half wearing them in a 20-minute standing pose. During the interval that followed we partook of cheese and wine, and were delighted to find our friend Lily had made it across London to draw us.
The second half started with us sitting face to face very close together for 10-minutes. We were loving the space and, notwithstanding the scrutinising eyes of several dozen artists, felt a private tenderness in the moment. We got into more strenuous postures for the next 3-minutes, 2-minutes, 1-minute, before taking it easier for our final 15 and 25-minutes; albeit with an ache or two. It was a joy to see so many great drawings at the end – some inspired work.
Happy new year, Adrian, Anya and Bethnal Green artists! Hope we meet again soon.
“Our last session for 2016 is on Saturday 10th December and I have a special treat in store for you (and I don’t just mean mince pies!)” This enigmatic teaser was posted on the Facebook event page of Croydon Life Drawing Group by its organiser, Francis Wardale. His treat? For the first time in their nigh thirty-year history, the group was to face the challenge of two nudes in duo poses. Specifically, me and Esther.
It could also be a challenge for models. At 3-hours, this would be the longest session in which Esther and I had worked together. An hour of short poses was to be followed by a single pose of 90-minutes. Our ability to sustain balance and intimate closeness without aches and numbness would be tested. The opening three poses of 5-minutes were a good start as first we stood entwined and then varied our relative heights.
Short work was easy: 4-minutes, 3, 2, 1-minute. Our favourite was a domestic scene in which I sprawled flat and Esther stood with one foot on my chest, arms triumphant. Two relaxing poses of 15-minutes took us to a break for tea, coffee, mini stollens and, of course, mince pies. Soon it was time to prepare for our long pose. Happily, we had the option to be seated on a couch with our backs to a wall – so much better for us.
We nestled into a position we’d tried before and knew could be held in relative comfort for long periods. I sat far back on the couch, allowing Esther to slide between my legs and recline onto my chest whilst my arms wrapped around her body. We had a couple of stretch breaks, and occasionally Esther would lean forward imperceptibly so I could breathe a little deeper.
Artists rose to the challenge, whilst we remained pain-free and cosy throughout. Two electric heaters kept us warmer than was needed – even for mid-December. A couple of artists left early, either to start their festive shopping or perhaps we were a little too much for them, but those who stayed to the end seemed well satisfied with Francis’s special treat. Merry Christmas, Croydon – hope we see you again in the new year.
Evening life painting – session 4 of 4
It was the final week of term at The Conservatoire, Blackheath, and the last of my four weeks modelling for their life painting classes. On this warm December evening, an end-of-year pre-Christmas feel-good mood was all-pervasive: fairy lights entwined the wide-stretching tree outside; light lilting jazz lured smart young people to a party at adjacent Blackheath Halls; comings and goings at The Conservatoire itself were breezy and jolly. Every step seemed to have a spring in it.
Upon entering the art room I found tutor David Webb in characteristic good humour, midway through the familiar chore of arranging easels and tables. Artists were close behind me: in week one we’d had eight; in week two it was seven; in week three we dropped to six; now we were back at seven. Such was the extraordinary ambient warmth that I could almost have done without the two heaters provided. I took off my robe and adopted the now-familiar stark standing pose.
Despite the warmth, this was probably my least comfortable session for strains and numbness. I thought less of it, though, as by now the symptoms were familiar, and I took comfort from knowing the end was near. Maybe a few artists felt that way about their own struggles but I believe they could all take positives from their effort with the materials. These sessions were as much for learning as they were for pleasure – I’m pleased to have experienced both whilst in pose.
I was offered this booking the night before by text message from Aless of The Moon and Nude. She would be facilitating an informal life drawing group at the offices of a communications company near Paddington, for their employees, when they finished work at half-past five. Having established that I could get there on time after finishing my own day job, I checked in at reception with five minutes to spare. Aless arrived a couple of minutes behind me.
We were led to a pavement-level room with one long wall of fifty-fifty clear and frosted glass facing onto a busy main road. It took Aless and her four artists about a quarter of the session just to fix paper over these windows, but enough glass remained clear to permit some splendid views from outside. I’m long past caring about such matters, however. Once everyone had settled I began with poses of 6-minutes, 3-minutes and 1-minute.
I stood twisting to my left, then stood holding the ceiling, then knelt. Next I sat down for 10-minutes, leaned back on a buttock-level shelf for 15-minutes, and sat again for 20-minutes more. All the while, artists were sketching and dipping into a large tub of chocolates. At the break, I too dipped liberally before closing the session with hands upon my head in a final 20-minute standing pose. It was a good gig and nice to have my first workplace booking of 2016 with just days of the year remaining.
steve ritter 