Sometimes bookings line up perfectly. When Catherine Hall asked Esther and me if we would model together at The Star by Hackney Downs on 4 October, we knew we would both be free. Indeed, come the evening only London transport held us back; the Overground was delayed indefinitely, National Rail dawdled horribly, and even our tube train terminated prematurely.
From intending to arrive 20 minutes early we were ultimately about three minutes late. This was doubly upsetting as it was the first time I’d ever been late for a booking. We got underway as soon as the artists were ready for us, presenting a set of poses that alternated between intimate and dynamic. With commendable courage, co-organisers Catherine and Carla Nizzola did not shy away from requesting quickfire work.
We began with 10-minutes and 5-minutes, forming connections whilst sitting upon two chairs. Then came the fast stuff: three 2-minute poses, and three 1-minute poses. We intertwined mercilessly yet this group of talented artists represented us well. Poses of 5-minutes and 15-minutes took us to an interval, then a single half-hour reclining pose ended the session. We overran by five minutes to compensate for our late arrival.
Esther and I knew this evening would be free in our diaries as we’d deliberately kept it clear. It was our one-year anniversary – to be marked with a modest celebration – and what better way than by sharing closeness in the work that had brought us together in the first place? Our duo poses are becoming ever more confident and comfortable, as indeed are we. A nice meal at La Lira in Dalston ended a quirkily special day.
Life modelling is good for you! At least that’s the conclusion I reached after this 2-hour session at the end of a day in which I had been sorely afflicted by the common cold. It seemed like I couldn’t last two minutes without blowing my nose that afternoon. Upon arriving at Bridge House in Penge, I immediately self-medicated with a large red wine then checked-in for my evening’s work at Anerley and Penge Life Drawing.
I exchanged warm, contactless greetings with group organiser, Tatiana and chatted at what I considered to be a safe distance for her. Meanwhile the room was filling up with more artists than I’d ever seen here before – including a high proportion of newcomers. They would not want their first experience of life art to be with a sickly lethargic model. Luckily, this was a short pose session so a degree of dynamism was assured.
Short poses, it seems, are the perfect cold cure. There’s no time to be self-indulgently snotty when every moment calls for energetic stillness and focus. My only concession to symptoms was a frequent tilting-back of the head. Three poses of 2-minutes, four of 5-minutes and three of 10-minutes filled the first half, with three of 15-minutes to finish. Rather than socialise afterwards, I left with my germs… but I felt very much better.
Describing itself online as “London Fields’ neighbourhood hangout bar and restaurant“, Wringer and Mangle has ample spaces. The broad expanse of its ground floor is for diners, whilst the concrete cavern below is ‘Mangle’, a live music venue and nightclub. Mangle is also the latest addition to Adrian Dutton’s portfolio of London life drawing venues. It would be the fifth in which I’d worked with him.
I opened with a 15-minute standing pose. The floor mat here is much spongier than at Adrian’s other venues, which makes it perfect for sitting and reclining at length but its push-back requires extra effort to balance upon when upright. Once accustomed to it, however, I proceeded nicely: 1-minute, 2-minutes, 3, 5, 10 and 20-minutes to a break, then 10, 3, 2, 1, 20 and 20-minutes to a finish.
It was a comfortable session with a pleasing postscript. When I modelled for Adrian’s long pose session at the beginning of the month, I had left my umbrella backstage in the Garrett Centre. Happily, Adrian looked for it when he next visited the venue and, lo, he found it and returned it here. Maybe my luck with umbrellas is turning. Certainly I count myself a lucky and honoured man to be booked for these groups.
Ideally for a nicely balanced life drawing group, the organisers and models should not outnumber the artists 4:1. That’s how it looked fleetingly when Esther and I arrived at The Finborough Arms for an afternoon of duo modelling. We were welcomed warmly by Aless and Mandy, who run the group, and said ‘hi’ to the then-lone artist seated in one corner. Happily, more joined us.
While many groups hold sessions every week, this one is monthly and perhaps loses a little momentum between times. If so that’s a shame because the basement setting is excellent: a small spotlit stage for models, candles on tables, atmospheric crimson décor, plus cheese and wine for the peckish. There’s always an intriguing playlist too, heavy on 60s and 70s counterculture this time around.
We provided five poses that began with 10-minutes standing, followed by 20-minutes of Esther seated on a bench with me by her feet, my hands upon her; to end the first half, I sat upon the bench with my arms wrapped around Esther as she stood in front of me for 20-minutes. After a break we both straddled the bench for half an hour, and finally Esther stood while I looked up to her for the closing 20-minutes.
It was a gentle, comfortable afternoon. Esther and I continue refining our duo poses to keep them interesting, tastefully intimate and sustainable without pains, numbness or imbalance. The Moon and Nude team, who organise the session, remain a pleasure to work for. Any artist who missed drawing us this time around can catch us when we return on the last Saturday in October, from 3pm. See you there!
“GO NUDE OR GO HOME” shouted the sign, adding provocatively: #getnudenow. The innocent barista at Nude Espresso who chalked those words on a board outside their Soho Square café probably didn’t anticipate that guerrilla naked-art performers might be passing that day, but when photographer Matt Granger invited volunteer models to join him at the square, there could be only one outcome…
Ropemakers Field
I’d begun August 2015 in the Netherlands as part of Matt’s group poses outside the Rijksmuseum in Amsterdam. Come the middle of the month, he’d returned to London for photography workshops and two further mass nude urban shoots. These would be his first in the capital since the previous year’s gathering on the Millennium Bridge. Shoot number one would be early on 14 August, at Ropemakers Field.
“SHOOT 1: Friday 14 August 2015, 5:45am at Ropemakers Field, Westferry. Meet at the entrance off Brightlingsea Place – Street View. Timeline: 5:45 to 6:00, meet and complete image consent forms; 6:00 to 6:30, shoot in a few locations; 6:30, expected completion.” Seven of us answered the call and mustered beneath pale misty skies in the deserted park. We bantered, building in anticipation, and then we undressed.
Our merry band included my friends Natansky and Nefretari, who had both been part of the Millennium Bridge shoot – plus Mike and Stan, with whom I’ve shared many a project. We spaced out in a line on a path around the field to begin, and then ranged similarly across the grass. It wasn’t a cold morning and, despite the emergence of a few passers-by, we were happy to take our time.
In due course, we moved to the main walkway through the space and posed in three pairs, chatting, while the seventh nude either sat on a bench or rode a bike between us. These were my favourite set-ups. Finally, we regrouped in a bandstand for poses as a V-formation. Passers-by continued to be non-plussed by our nakedness – such is life in London – but there would be no ignoring us in three days’ time.
Soho Square
“SHOOT 2: Monday 17 August, 15:00 at Soho Square. Meet at the entrance off Frith and Greek Streets – Street View. This will involve some body paint – nothing heavy, more like finger paint. Timeline: 15:00 to 15:15, meet and complete image consent forms; 15:15 to 15:30, very basic body paint – I will bring wet wipes; 15:30 to 16:00, shoot in a few locations; 16:00, expected completion.”
We assembled and waited to see if others would join us. The call-out had generated a lot of interest among nude-art enthusiasts yet disappointingly only ten of us turned up. Natansky, Mike and Stan were back; my good friend Louise came too, also Steve and Ian from the Millennium Bridge; Paula the Nude Nomad and two photo pros completed us. The square was packed so we stripped, painted and posed in a side street first.
Tucked away in Sutton Row, we were observed only by remote pedestrians and a site full of delighted builders. The stakes increased considerably, however, as we marched out into the heart of the square. It doesn’t get much more public, but I don’t think any of us gave a thought to dropping out. Matt was not alone in taking photographs as we arranged our poses – mid-afternoon in the middle of London.
Nobody challenged us and, despite the city being flooded with CCTV, police could not be bothered to investigate. That’s how it should be – we were merely making art. With this shot, our work here was done… till someone saw the Nude Espresso chalkboard. It was simply too tempting. Matt went inside to get permission, other customers were cool with it, so we went ahead and followed the instruction: #getnudenow!
It seemed our permission may not have come from the senior ranks as in due course a flustered manager emerged, pleading for us to cover up. We obliged, and all bought coffees or cake as a show of goodwill. It could have been great publicity for them, but sadly the café is no longer there. All that remain are our memories of two great photo shoots, and the striking images that Matt captured last summer. Wonderful times.
In the autumn of 2014, ahead of my first guerrilla-style nude urban photo shoot with Matt Granger, I posed the question: how far should we push it?
“Those of us who gladly shed our clothes for art, or for the causes in which we believe, or simply for the joy of it – how far do we take our nudity in public? We don’t set out to cause offence, and we don’t believe the naked human form is intrinsically offensive anyway, yet we know people get upset at the sight of it. This can be felt at a deep personal level, not merely the reflection-by-rote of religious or societal conventions. So how far should we push it?”
When Matt announced his return to Europe in 2015 for a series of photo shoots and workshops, my question had simplified to: how far should I travel for it? He would be shooting in Amsterdam, Edinburgh, Manchester and London. For me, now, there is almost no limit to how far my enthusiasm might carry me. I said I would participate happily in each and every one of them.
The plan
Confirmation emails were returned to me for both Amsterdam and London, with the Amsterdam shoot set for 1 August 2015. This being a Saturday, I worked out I could put in a full shift at the day job on Friday, then take an overnight coach from London, arriving at the Dutch capital the following morning; do the shoot in the early evening, stay at a hotel for one night, and get a return coach on Sunday. Simple.
Matt emailed: “about the group nude shoot I have planned for Saturday 1 August, from 9pm. I ask that everyone meets at 845pm at the front of the water fountain […] I want to shoot it at the Rijksmuseum, having people standing like statues in the water, just at sunset […] once the light is right and there is no security nearby, everyone strips, runs in, we shoot in under 10 seconds, then clothes on and leave.”
The journey
There were delays from start to finish on my journey to the Netherlands. The 9pm coach from London didn’t depart till nearer twenty to ten. When it boarded a Dover ferry for a 2-hour crossing to Dunkirk, the departure time was a quarter to three in the morning. Only in France did I yield wholly to slumber, sleeping right through Belgium and waking just before Utrecht. Arrival at Amsterdam came a little after 9:40am.
Pavement art in the red light district.
Feeling the love at Dam Square.
Body art busking in Dam Square.
I made my way to the central station, from where I would drift slowly southward to the Rijksmuseum. As I meandered from the red light district, to Dam Square, through the Begijnhof, and on to Amstel Canal, I noticed the city seemed to be in particularly festive mood. Unbeknownst to me – and, as it transpired, to Matt too – we were in the midst of Amsterdam Gay Pride.
The colours were out and, on this glorious sunny day, the atmosphere was fantastic.
Celebration worthy of Champagne ice cream.
Canal pride…
…doesn’t get much prouder than this.
When at last I wrenched myself from the party, I headed direct to the Rijksmuseum and located the fountain where I was to meet Matt later. As children were playing in its waters, I assumed at least this part of our shoot wouldn’t be an arrestable offence. Rather than wait around too long, I strolled through the Vondelpark and onwards to find my hotel; to check-in, freshen up and rest a while before returning.
In the shadow of the Rijksmuseum.
A very public fountain.
Entirely random, with a nearby Miffy.
The shoot
It was 8:20pm when I found Matt and half a dozen others gathered near the museum. Bathed in the natural light of a bright summer’s evening, the whole public space remained busy with people. Matt had been hoping to stage a smaller nude shoot ahead of the main event but, to everyone’s great annoyance, a policeman persisted in loitering a short distance from our spot.
With the light beginning to fade and no sign of our vigilant officer leaving his post, the pre-shoot plan was abandoned and we moved to our primary location. Others joined us, yet still we numbered just seven participants. We became eight when a chap arrived with his girlfriend and stripped to a mankini so she could photograph him in the fountain; Matt asked if he would like to go the whole way with us, and he agreed.
Come 9pm the light was right, the policeman had gone, and we could begin. One of our number took off his shoes and stood in the fountain so Matt could get his settings. Next we all followed suit so he could organise us positionally. It was a little slippy underfoot but we were only shin-deep in water. We practised two simple set-ups then waded ashore, ready for the real thing.
Matt gave us his final assurance that there would be no hard feelings if anyone wanted to back out. Nobody did. We all stripped naked and splashed back to our places. First we were photographed looking directly into the camera; secondly we turned 45° and stood with our eyes closed; and finally, as a bonus shot, we raised our arms and gave a big cheer.
The conclusion
By twenty past nine we were done and dressed. We’d signed model release forms before we started but Matt collected four more from some young British lads who’d been sitting in shot on the fountain’s edge throughout. They even joined us in the arms-up cheer at the end. They’d added another dimension to our shoot, and we’d added another dimension to their weird weekend in Amsterdam.
Matt invited everybody for beers afterwards but lack of proper sleep, at last, had the better of me. Although at any other time I would have accepted gleefully, this night I retreated through the wreckage of the city’s big party to crash into my much needed bed. Next morning trains took me back to the coach station, and I was on my way to London a bit after 10:30am.
There were stops at Utrecht, Antwerp, Gent and Bruges, plus a couple at motorway service stations before the coach boarded its Eurotunnel train exactly ten hours after leaving Amsterdam. The journey ended at London Victoria coach station around half-past eight in the evening, and I was home within another two hours – a lot of travelling for a 20-minute shoot.
Of course it was worth it! Even without the shoot, just to be back in the Netherlands for the first time in more than 14 years, and to stumble into that wonderful hedonistic spirit, was superb. Plus, after Sion in 2013 and Berlin in 2014, I’m starting to enjoy the idea of participating in at least one art project abroad each year. Those 20-minutes will sit well among a lifetime’s recollections.
And the London shoots were still to come…
“Devour her!” hissed the Devil. Momentarily, from behind my white half-face mask and long red tresses, I must have stared blankly at this monstrous black figure. He hissed again with greater urgency: “Devour her!” and pointed at the broken figure of Misumun, her clothes torn away, crawling slowly from the evil freaks. As his acolyte I was bound to obey. I sprang naked from the stage and feasted greedily upon the fallen geisha.
This was but one weird moment amongst many at The Underdog on 27 August 2016 when Club Hell took residence for the night as part of Come to the Sabbat Festival of Dark Arts. I was among the cast for a performance of Monsterlune’s Tales of Lunar Madness. When I arrived at the venue a little before 6pm, Starsha Lee – the headline band – was preparing a ferocious rehearsal.
Tales of Lunar Madness was scripted and designed by Estelle Riviere Monsterlune: “monstrous hermaphroditic phantasmagorias, excreted by the cavernous mind of Mme Monsterlune; a surreal hallucinogenic tale of geishas, human sacrifice, demonic black magic, mutant babies and brephophagy.” There would be fourteen of us performing the tales. First, however, came Suri Sumatra and the Flaming Nuns from Sapphos…
© Satanic Mojo – Facebook gallery
© Satanic Mojo – Facebook gallery
The Flaming Nuns had left us in wimples and piety; when they returned to our chaotic carnival backstage they were topless and dripping with sugary blood. Meanwhile, Ben Hell – psychotronic sound and vision maestro of resurrected Club Hell – was preparing for forthcoming Monsterlune madness, with the Winter Quartet finely strung and ready to perform a live Danse Macabre. Our swelling audience massed blackly.
© Satanic Mojo – Facebook gallery
© Satanic Mojo – Facebook gallery
Anticipation was rising. Our backstage area was comfortable enough, but served as a foyer for public toilets so we had a constant stream of curious visitors. There was also a tiny attic space stuffed with drum kits, plus our deluxe rider of wine, crisps and nuts. Soon enough the freaks got into costume, while Adam – my fellow acolyte – and I got out of ours. Estelle was somehow holding it all together.
© Lou Looby Love
© Lou Looby Love
At last: show time! Adam and I seethe onto stage first; next comes Joe, the bondage human table; then finally Estelle as geisha Misumun beneath a veiling black umbrella. Behind us Ben projected the blood and flowers film we recorded two months earlier. Estelle performs black magic, selling her soul to the Devil for eternal youth. Enter the exotic demon Suri Rangda – there is evil dance… Misumun is to be flayed.
© Satanic Mojo – Facebook gallery
© Lou Looby Love
© Lou Looby Love
© Satanic Mojo – Facebook gallery
We leave the freshly flayed Misumun alone in her torment, hallucinating a succession of nightmarish visions. Now the freaks will enter, one or – in the case of the conjoined twins – two at a time. This is a superb showcase of Estelle’s extraordinary costumes and the imaginative talents of those inhabiting them. Finally the demon returns… with a hermaphrodite… who gives birth to many children… for Misumun to eat.
© Lou Looby Love
© Lou Looby Love
© Lou Looby Love
© Satanic Mojo – Facebook gallery
© Satanic Mojo – Facebook gallery
© Philip Seargeant
© Lou Looby Love
Upon conclusion of the dark parade and sacrifice of babies, there is a second-coming for me and Adam, this time escorting the Devil himself. With measured ceremony, the Devil takes his throne and calls for Misumun to be his wife. She enters once more, an outrageous bride accompanied by a shower of freaks. The marriage is celebrated, but the Devil’s hunger is not sated by a mere soul…
© Lou Looby Love
© Lou Looby Love
© Satanic Mojo – Facebook gallery
© Lou Looby Love
© Philip Seargeant
© Philip Seargeant
“Devour her!” hissed the Devil. Geisha Misumun, stripped and torn by the multitude of creatures, is to be eaten. I am first to jump upon her; others soon follow. Chaos reigns yet our hitherto silent audience knows this feasting is the denouement. They drown us in enthusiastic applause; as an unchoreographed rabble we quit our meal and stagger from their presence, leaving Estelle abandoned semi-naked on the floor.
© Satanic Mojo – Facebook gallery
© Satanic Mojo – Facebook gallery
© Satanic Mojo – Facebook gallery
Backstage it was party time. Everyone could let down their hair, masks, tentacles and umbilical cords. It’s been a pleasure to immerse in the weirdly fantastical Monsterlune world this year and gradually get to know its inhabitants a little better. This night I was due elsewhere, however, so whilst Estelle was still outside being shibari rope-bound, I began dressing in readiness for an early exit.
I got into my clothes, Estelle got out of her ropes and I was able offer congratulations and farewells before leaving. Farewell, too: Delphine, Elodie, Erika, Joe, Sarah, Steve, et al. On my way out I passed Ben in the doorway and shared a final fleeting moment of laudation and reassurance. He’d presented a stupendous environment within which Estelle fashioned truly fabulous tales. Bravo, les freaks magnifiques. Bravo!
steve ritter 