Evening life painting – session 3 of 4
Two weeks ago at The Conservatoire it had been a level playing field for everyone. Eight artists stood before blank canvases, scrutinising the upright pose I was to hold throughout four two-and-a-half-hour sessions, and contemplating where to make their first tentative marks. Once underway, a few devoted most of the week to drawing and redrawing my figure, whilst others were quickly mixing oil paints, capturing the basic composition and blocking in colour.
Seven artists returned for week two and made fine progress; some were sufficiently satisfied to declare their works finished. When our third session was ready to begin, with easels, canvases, materials, and me all restored to consistent positions, it was decision time for the six returning artists. Four continued their original works – albeit one focused exclusively on the background detail – while two started new canvases, one from a new vantage point in the room.
It ought to be getting tedious for me by now, but I’m enjoying the group dynamic; the characters, their struggles, guidance from tutor David Webb, the growing self-belief. On the downside, plummeting outdoor temperatures combined with a malfunctioning partition between studios meant that even an extra heater couldn’t prevent this being the chilliest session so far. In a heart-warming moment at the end, however, an artist kindly gave me his finished canvas. Now, where to hang my beautiful bare behind?
“On a bus outside Wanstead Park station. I should be with you between twenty-past and half-past seven.“
I’d felt bad in October when London transport delays made me three minutes late for a booking. It was the first time I’d ever been late. Then, as now, I left with time enough to be more than twenty minutes early, but it was not to be. Whilst I was still caught in traffic, Patrick himself posed clothed for portraits. Upon arrival I hastily undressed in a side room and emerged ready to take over.
I offered to make up time by working during the tea break or staying late, but Patrick remained phlegmatic – “it happens” – and instead he asked for poses of 10-minutes, 10-minutes and 20-minutes to complete the first half. I made sure they were suitably strong. After a surprisingly long interval, I concluded with a 30-minute reclining pose, which included a shallow inversion and a numb left hand.
None of the nine or ten artists voiced any complaints about my tardiness – not within my earshot, anyway – and a kindly few were enthusiastic with praise for the poses. I asked not to take a fee for the time I hadn’t worked but Patrick wouldn’t hear of it, so instead I donated it to The Samaritans – as the cause of my delay was a ‘customer incident’ at Holland Park, it seemed possibly a pertinent gesture. Honour satisfied.
“We’ll start with 5, 10 and 15-minute poses,” said David. Evidently he would be calling the pose lengths for this booking. Most of the groups for which I model are led by one person, but at Toynbee Art Club there’s a more transparent sharing of responsibilities; be they for acting as treasurer, making the tea, or hiring life models. There were eight or nine artists surrounding me during this Sunday session and it seemed at least half had some kind of role in its organisation.
I started in a standing twist, progressed to a tendon-tensing crouch, and followed with a reprise of the seated pose I had held for 2-hours a couple of days previously at Mall Galleries. A much simpler standing pose filled the 25-minutes that remained until our tea interval. Afterwards, a 60-minute twisting recline completed my afternoon’s work. I had made a couple of poses slightly more uncomfortable for myself than was entirely necessary, but the overall range was appreciated by these experienced artists.
The Dellow Centre itself is home to Providence Row, a charity dedicated to tackling homelessness. When not hosting weekly life drawing sessions, its art studio serves primarily to provide workshops for the homeless. Broad windows face other rooms in the complex, and sometimes I wonder the extent to which models can be seen; a long howling yell from outside during this session, however, reminded me that some residents have more troubling preoccupations. Donate to Providence Row.
In a darksome, red-hued back room of The Book Club basement bar in Shoreditch, the green Snazaroo was running low. Unsurprisingly, maybe, as it had been used to colour me all over from hairline to toenails. I was just applying the finishing touches of paint to my penis and scrotum when the poor barman walked by – it was a sight that he can never unsee…
This was Art Macabre: The Mighty Boosh Special. The rest of my green layer had been sponged on by Nikki – Art Macabre supreme director. I’d been quick in offering to take over before the matter became delicate. Here’s a top tip for life models: if you work with body paint, don’t make a laughing stock of yourself by expecting – or even asking! – someone else to paint your genitals. It’s a tad indecorous.
© Art Macabre
Matilda
Time for work. First to pose would be Nikki’s long-time friend Lorraine (‘of Terror’). She would be Matilda – shell-covered wife of seashell artist Ramsay in The Mighty Boosh episode: ‘The Legend of Old Gregg’. She was a blink-and-you-miss-her character, but then this was a series with very few female characters at all. Judging by our full-house of artists, however, it surely had a predominantly female following.
© Art Macabre
Old Gregg
After Matilda’s two 5-minute poses it was my turn to be Old Gregg himself. In addition to green skin, I had dark eyes, dark moustache, red lips, red tutu, pearl nipples and a green plastic seaweed wig. With a bottle of Bailey’s and a shoe from which to drink it, I posed for 10-minutes, 20-minutes and – by popular demand – an extra 5-minutes. In between, Nikki wove the storyline, and played Boosh extracts while artists sketched.
The Crack Fox
Next on stage was Raquel as The Crack Fox – furry-faced, faux fur stole and syringes for fingers, but otherwise fully nude. Whilst this exotic facsimile of the Julian Barratt original entranced our artists for 20-minutes, Nikki set about adjusting my greenery in the back room. Off came the seaweed, off came the tutu, and off came the gratuitous pearl nipples as I was transformed into another Noel Fielding creation.
The Hitcher
The combined body warmth of more than forty busy artists could not quite permeate to where I waited, so I hugged a coat tightly around my shoulders as Raquel’s pose came to an end. At the appointed moment I emerged once more, resplendent in red wig, top hat, a white sticky-tape triple cross on my chest and a giant Polo-mint over one eye. I was… The Hitcher! My friend Louise loaned a cane to perfect the look.
© Art Macabre
Nikki asked me to pose in a proper bandy-legged Cockney style to start, so I obliged for 5-minutes. Next I perched on a stool for 15-minutes, a tad more relaxed until Nikki burst forth as the evil screeching Nanatoo – a very noisy granny – to pose with me for another 15-minutes. But the poor old dear only lasted halfway till her back packed up and she needed a stool of her own. A final 5-minutes standing, and I was done.
© Art Macabre
Artworks
It had been a fun session. Nikki garnered applause for her models, and I reciprocated. Then came the chance to admire the artworks and attempt to photograph them in the dingy mottled light of the bar. After the artists left, we sifted through a pile of drawings that remained abandoned. We were rather taken aback when the one below surfaced. Ahh, maybe it was by the barman who walked in on my preparations…
This event was staged to coincide with The Boosh Club – an exhibition of previously unseen photography from designer, photographer and cast member Dave Brown aka Bollo, with selected works by: Noel Fielding, Ivana Zorn, Andy Hollingworth, Mr Bingo, and Jake. Catch it for free from 20 October 2016 until 29 January 2017. Thank you for joining us, Boosh fans!
In the fixed format of Hesketh Hubbard Art Society life drawing at Mall Galleries, models pose from 6pm sharp until 7pm; tea and biscuits are then taken for precisely fifteen minutes, after which there is a further hour of posing. During the two working hours, a clothed model sits for portraits, a nude model provides four half-hour poses, another offers eight quarter-hour poses, whilst in an adjacent space one final model delivers a single long pose. On this evening, I was that long pose model.
Although most artists cluster around the two shorter poses, the long pose always attracts a small yet loyal following. It’s also the only setting where the pose can be negotiated between model and artists. I was amenable to standing, sitting or reclining, but sensed I was being steered towards a seated pose. Whilst the easy option would have been to make myself comfortable in some kind of slouch, I decided I would treat them to a straight-backed, cross-legged, spindly posture; something a bit different.
Unlike other venues that facilitate long poses, there are no updates here on how much time has passed, nor even the option for models to stretch and relieve their numbness or pains. One simply has to find an appropriate state of mind and remain within it for an hour at a time. Fortunately my choice of pose never became unbearable; I wasn’t even told when time was up at the end of the session – only the sounds of a hubbub from the main space told me that it was probably OK to finish.
Gratification for my exertions came courtesy of thanks from artists. One in particular had been very pleased with my efforts, saying she’d: “been waiting ten years to draw that pose” – high regard indeed. I’ve never particularly been a fan of long poses, and given the choice would probably still opt for shorter, more dynamic work, but after a recent run of single-pose bookings I’m gaining greater appreciation for the discipline. Most important is a real sense throughout that artists are genuinely appreciative.
Evening life painting – session 2 of 4
I checked out the two heaters, then removed the neatly folded white sheet from my backpack and placed it on the floor in an exact tape-marked position. More tape to mark where my feet should stand remained on the sheet from my previous visit to The Conservatoire. Meanwhile, tutor David Webb was returning multiple easels to their precise positions from last week, and tables as closely as possible.
Seven of the previous week’s eight artists rejoined us; they prepared individual paint palettes, then resumed their works in progress when I returned to the position. Once again I would sustain a single long pose for 2-hours of a two-and-a-half-hour session, with a 15-minute break, plus brief stretches at roughly twenty-minute intervals. David visited each artist regularly to offer gentle critique and constructive advice.
Of me, David observed: “it’s like he’s constantly inhaling… which, of course, he isn’t!” It is true I’d been trying to hold in my stomach to accentuate my ribcage; not so easy after the pizza I’d eaten before leaving home. With so much attention to colour-mixing around me – the infinite variety of flesh tones – I could imagine my skin having pizza-like qualities. Halfway through four sessions, some very nice work is taking shape.
Evening life painting – session 1 of 4
After three Monday life drawing bookings at The Conservatoire in Blackheath, I was back within days to begin posing for Thursday life painting. Each life drawing session had been different, incorporating both short and long poses. For the oil painting class, there would be one single pose maintained across four evenings. Sessions would last two and half hours, within which I would be posing for 2-hours, with breaks.
I arrived early and chatted with tutor David Webb. Luck had been on my side as life drawing tutor Victoria Rance had recommended me at the very time he’d needed to book a male model. David explained that after three sets of three weeks with female models in seated or reclining poses, he wanted to finish the term with a contrasting male figure in a stark standing pose.
It may seem like I got a raw deal, having stand when those who went before could lay around in comfort, but to be honest I prefer to stand – tired legs recover more quickly than a numb bum. Posing with hands on hips made for a more dramatic posture, but also brought numbness to the wrists. Aside from a 10-minute half-time interval, I took three ‘shake-out’ breaks of a minute or two to recover sensation in my extremities.
In this session, the eight artists spent most of their time considering form, proportion and composition. During the last quarter, David encouraged them to begin blocking in colour, if they had not already done so. Several struggled – as so many do – with my unnaturally long legs; in David’s words at one point: “you’ve drawn a man, but it’s not that man.” I find it genuinely fascinating to listen and learn.
Committing to a group in this way – sustaining a long, taxing pose for several hours over several weeks – is daunting in prospect, as there can be no change of heart or omitting a week once work is underway. Fortunately, I feel good about this one; I’m enamoured with the venue, appreciate David’s positive words, and sense the artists’ commitment. It was an encouraging start that bodes well for the future.
steve ritter 