Drawing the Star at The Star by Hackney Downs is firmly established as one of my favourite life art groups. The poses are snappy and dynamic, the artists make superb works, and the upstairs room is both characterful and comfortable – especially during these light summer evenings. Moreover, there’s always pleasant chat before we start, during the interval, and afterwards over drinks.
There’s only one drawback for me: the session lasts only an hour and a half. Most of my bookings are for two hours, two and a half, or three hours; such a pity that one of the sweetest is also one of the briefest. Then again, perhaps that’s not a coincidence. Who knows? This session at least was made all the sweeter for having Esther come along to practice her drawing. I’m overdue to return the compliment.
Pose lengths followed a familiar format: 5-minutes, 4, 3, 2, three of 1-minute, three of 30-seconds(!) and two of 10-minutes up to a break. Afterwards the preference was to have two 15-minute poses rather than a single long one to the end. I stood, sat, knelt, and ranged about within a horseshoe of artists whilst organiser Catherine Hall called the times and kept the pace lively.
No aches and pains, no numbness, no coldness, no interruptions, no bureaucracy, no discomfort whatsoever, just a satisfying session resulting in some nice art – not least the Egon Schiele-style drawing in pink, and Catherine’s own vivid watercolours in red and yellow. After a fortnight in which we mostly felt desolation at the UK’s referendum vote to leave the EU, it was a relief to set aside the gloom… if only for 90-minutes.
Such anticipation for this session! And little wonder as it combined two of my favourite things: modelling for The Moon and Nude at The Old Dairy – a superb venue – and duo poses with my beloved Esther. We’d worked together for The Moon and Nude four days earlier at The Finborough Arms, and had a booking on the Monday too, at The Sun in Clapham, only for it to be cancelled due to the vagaries of international football. But this one, for me, was the one to relish.
Our poses would be timed at 10-minutes, 10-minutes, 15-minutes and 15-minutes up to a break, then half-hour to the evening’s end. For all our experience as solo models, we continue to learn about our bodies in close-contact duo poses – for example, how to manage our burdens of weight and balance against each other, and how to protect ourselves from numbness. What might seem to be a form of soft eroticism is actually a series of delicate exercises in physical mindfulness.
Yet despite our awareness of the challenge, we cannot resist abandoning all care and throwing ourselves into poses with spontaneous vigour. The opening one was a typical example as we knitted our bodies together in a judo-like clinch. The second pose was slightly more gentle as we both stood and I cradled Esther’s buttocks. The third pose, however, went all wrong. We maintained it well for the artists, but Esther knew almost immediately that she’d picked a bad position for herself.
It looked innocuous, but for nearly quarter of an hour Esther lost the circulation to her left leg. She was a bit shaky when finally she stood at the end, to the extent that she might even have whited-out. After pausing for three or four minutes, we continued in a sensible manner that allowed full recovery, with Esther laying comfortably on the floor and me beside her, cradling her head and holding her hand. It actually made for quite a beautiful pose, despite the circumstances.
For the final half-hour we both lay down head to tail. with limbs linked. It was an easy pose to sustain, affording good views from all sides for the artists who surrounded us. Without that brief scare in the middle, this would have been the wholly divine session I’d hoped for. Friendly artists created works far superior than my camera records, and it was lovely to see The Moon and Nude organisers, too. I hope we can do it all again at The Sun some time soon… football permitting.
My friend Natansky is rarely content simply to participate; sooner or later she will feel compelled to organise. Within two years of her first London Naked Bike Ride she was organising a fresh start, at Tower Hill. Having both trained in photography and been a photo model, she started co-organising collaborative Arty Shoots. Through being part of ‘Public Bodies‘ outdoor guerilla-style shoots organised by Matt Granger, she was inspired to begin her own ‘Project Naked‘. So after several years’ life modelling it was inevitable she would eventually have her own life drawing group.
Together with her sister, Estelle, Nat has taken over the running of regular sessions at Fairkytes Art Centre in Hornchurch. The previous (male) organiser had never booked male life models, having once had a “bad experience”, so it was something of a minor breakthrough moment when I was booked to be their first nude man. None of the eight artists seemed phased by the prospect, however. Indeed, they were all friendly, merry and talkative right from the outset.
As an opening challenge for them, Nat called for four poses of 2.5-minutes, conveying a different emotion each time: angry, happy, sad, calm. I hadn’t been expecting to test my acting skills but it was a fun icebreaker – I snarled fiercely, stood open-armed with joy, bowed my melancholy head, and finished cross-legged in a lotus position. Slightly more conventional poses of 10-minutes and 20-minutes took us up to an interval of tea and assorted biscuits.
For our second half the artists decided on poses of 20-minutes and 25-minutes rather than a single long pose taking us to close of play. I asked if they might like to choose my postures; they opted for one seated pose and one standing. Good-natured banter continued through to the end of the evening, making it a particular pleasant gathering to be among. Male nudity had presented no problems for them. I was pleased to have rehabilitated my gender.
Esther and I finished our drinks at the Troubadour pub, in Old Brompton Street, and walked round the corner to The Finborough Arms. We prefer Troubadour for a quiet drink as it doesn’t have a TV blasting out a constant stream of live sports; for us, the magic of The Finborough Arms lies downstairs in The Cellar, which hosts a film club, open mic nights, live music and – now on Saturday afternoons – life drawing.
We’d both posed here individually for The Moon and Nude at their Sunday evening slots, but now we were honoured to have been booked together for their first session at the new time of 3pm on Saturday. Aless and Mandy were organising, and already had set out drawing materials for the artists, along with a table for cheese and wine. Seven artists joined us by the time we started our poses of 10, 15 and 20-minutes.
The football fans upstairs were making a racket, watching Switzerland play Poland at Euro 2016. Downstairs all was serene, however, as we concluded after the break with poses of 15-minutes (a reverse Pietà) and 45-minutes (seated hip-to-hip). The artists were happy and so were we. Hopefully the numbers will pick up and this will become established as another great group on the London life drawing circuit.
I’d been booked again for successive Wednesday sessions at Morley College, and this one was part two of two. The previous week I started off with short poses, then commenced a long pose that I would resume this evening. We changed it a little this time around, beginning with two poses of 15-minutes rather than three of 10-minutes; angles and Schiele-esque positioning were again the desired qualities.
For the second pose I adopted arm positions direct from one of Schiele’s works but it may not have been noted. More directly in our collective awareness was the college’s head of department who was present with us to ‘assess’ the group’s tutor, Gillian. I’ve never heard the artists – all mature – express anything other than full appreciation for Gillian’s approach, but these are routine rituals that beset our modern institutions.
After the warm-ups, we got the furniture and me as close as we could to the positions of last week’s long pose, whilst the artists did likewise with their easels and materials. Some resumed works, others started afresh, but all were attentive to their method and composition. I sat for about 90 minutes, with a coffee break and a couple of stretches. As ever, I found the finished works diverse and strong. Hope to be back in autumn.
I’d made my first appearance at Morley College over two successive Wednesdays in March, and was back for more of the same this month. Once again I was working for a group of five students, plus their tutor, Gillian. Once again the plan was to start off with short poses and then hold a single long pose that I would resume the next week. After some debate, it was decided I should begin with three poses of 10-minutes each.
Gillian was quite clear that she wanted angles and twists, with Egon Schiele being the familiar reference. I am used to this and grateful that tutors and group organisers see the potential in me as it brings me regular bookings. Even so, twists and angles equal pain, and I can’t help but be envious of colleagues with a fuller-figure for whom the request can be just comfort and curves – no disrespect to hard-working models!
My third pose of the session – sitting down with one knee raised and hands locked in an arch – was well received, so I was asked to provide a modified version as my main pose. I found a sustainable equivalent and settled down, first for half-an-hour up to our coffee break, and then another 55-minutes to a close. By the end of the evening there were already some strong compositions emerging.
Work on this pose would be finished next week so Gillian took reference photos as an aid to getting both me and the moveable furniture back in position. To be continued…
I emerged from Sainsbury’s on Tower Bridge Road with two cheese ploughman’s subs and an orange juice. Esther was waiting for me beside the doorway, sheltering from a steady downpour. Together we looked out grimly at dark grey clouds that hung heavily with yet more rain. It was hard to believe that in little over half an hour we would begin a 13km mass nude cycle ride around central London.
Maps data © 2016 Google – 13km route from Tower Hill to Wellington Arch
We remounted our bikes and pressed on over Tower Bridge. Assuming we went ahead as hoped it would be my seventh London Naked Bike Ride – after 2009, 2011, 2012, 2013, 2014, 2015 – and Esther’s first time since her début in 2013. The World Naked Bike Ride spreads to ever more towns and cities but London remains the biggest and best. We were headed for the most easterly of its six start points: Tower Hill.
London assembly
Shortly after we joined the assembled riders sheltering within Tower Hill Memorial, the heavens opened with renewed vigour. It didn’t look promising at all, but there was no suggestion of quitting. In a clear statement of intent, Esther stripped and lathered herself from neck to ankles in silver paint. She then decorated me with blue and pink handprints, and we daubed random colours on each other’s faces. We were ready.
Silver rider – Esther saddles up in Tower Hill Memorial
All around us, riders were ignoring the cloudburst and finalising their own preparations. Our friend Natansky was once again the main organiser for the Tower Hill start, whilst another friend, Cy, was helping on marshal duties for the first time. One of the regular ride marshals, Simon, stood beside us with a gadget that displayed real-time weather charts. He prophesied lightning ahead, yet outside the rain seemed to be easing.
Simon on the left, Cy on the right – our all-weather marshals
At 3pm, we got the signal to move out. Incredibly, the rainfall had all but stopped. The universe loves naked people, it seems. More and more nude bodies on bicycles rolled out from the memorial and lined up for their mass exit via Trinity Square. Other friends were now with us, including Calu of Naked Movement, and Paula the Nude Nomad. Anticipation was building but there was to be no repeat of last year’s false start.
Feathered freedom, on the wing and the road
Calu ready for some two-wheeled naked movement
We waited patiently for almost ten minutes. All around us tourists, photographers and bystanders had a field day, ogling at our bizarre spectacle. We would have been easy prey for the seedier voyeurs but I didn’t notice any problems. As ever, the atmosphere was more like Mardi Gras: music was playing and we were buzzing to hit the road. At 3:09pm – according to my camera – we finally roared out to Byward Street.
We begin – naked cyclists go west on Byward Street
Police intervention
Our first 2 kilometres along Lower Thames Street, Upper Thames Street and beneath Blackfriars Underpass were fairly low key. The early bad weather meant there weren’t many pedestrians to cheer us along, but a few fellow cyclists had pimped their bikes with impressive sound systems so we were not riding in silence; plus we found more old friends to banter with, like fellow naked performance regular, Chas.
Top-hatted Chas and silver Esther before Blackfriars railway bridge
Along Victoria Embankment, we had the River Thames to our left, heavier traffic to our right, and more onlookers all around. Aside from being a lot of fun, the naked bike ride is a protest against oil dependency, a commentary on the visibility and vulnerability of cyclists, and a celebration of body freedom – without anyone to see us, our message goes nowhere. Individual cyclists took the opportunity to promote causes of their own.
Solidarity with the ‘Naked Rambler’, Stephen Gough
From the Embankment we turned right into Northumblerland Avenue. Our plan was to ride its full length toward Trafalgar Square, but halfway along our progress was halted unexpectedly by the police. Our lead marshal conferred with them for a minute or two, and then led us left on a detour along Great Scotland Yard. We didn’t know what their problem was, but coolly we complied, emerging on the southbound side of Whitehall.
Naked cyclists pulled up by the fuzz in Northumberland Avenue
Funnelling past a concrete roadblock across Great Scotland Yard
The Tower Hill group usually converges with the those from Hyde Park, Regent’s Park and King’s Cross around Trafalgar Square. On this occasion, however, we joined them part way along Whitehall. I assume we met the Clapham Junction and West Norwood groups at the far end, on Parliament Street, but it’s hard to visualise the complete ride when one is a mere individual amid hundreds of naked bodies on bicycles.
Coasting down Whitehall with The Victoria Tower in our sights
Marshalling a London red bus on Whitehall – © Alisdare Hickson
A selfie with Cy, on the corner of Parliament Square
Dub reggae rider – this year’s finest sound system
Southern comfort
The turning from Parliament Street into Bridge Street for the crossing of Westminster Bridge is traditionally our first major encounter with large hoards of people. These are mainly tourists, natural spectators, who crowd the pavement edges and beyond; they narrow the road and close in on us to get the best photos. This year was no different, although for once we were able to stream across the bridge without hindrance.
Esther runs the gauntlet on Westminster Bridge
I’ve enjoyed it in the past when pressure of numbers has meant we’ve been held up for a few minutes on Westminster Bridge. There’s a weirdly entertaining communion with the masses that yearns to spill over into a party, but mostly remains a self-conscious stand-off. We free-wheeled off Westminster Bridge Road, round Addington Street, and into York Road, from where we inched slowly into Forum Magnum Square.
Time for that cheese ploughman’s sub – © SL50AZ
We reached the square at 4pm and stayed 10 minutes to allow time for riders from all six starting points to gather and continue as one group. Esther and I climbed from our bikes, finished our cheese ploughman’s subs and loitered while strangers took photos of us. Our mass departure from the square seemed to begin and then be halted again, presumably by marshals who wanted to make sure no-one was left behind.
Spotted whilst waiting to leave Forum Magnum Square
Cruising down Belvedere Road – © AntwoneWalters.com
We completed our trip south of the river on Belvedere Road, turning right into Concert Hall Approach, and then looping round onto Waterloo Bridge. This is a favoured place for dismounting and getting souvenir photos as there are no crowds on its pavements of the kind we encounter at Westminster Bridge. Esther and I joined in taking a quick break before returning north.
Pausing for a souvenir embrace on Waterloo Bridge
Field of dreams
Saddling up once again, we exited Waterloo Bridge a little after twenty past four, then pedalled down Lancaster Place, onto The Strand, arced around Aldwych and back on The Strand to pass by the Royal Courts of Justice. Somehow at this point Esther and I became isolated from other cyclists as the ride became a tad strung out. There were just enough naked bodies still in view for us to follow.
Leaving Waterloo Bridge, about to hit the north
Esther peering forward, me grinning behind – © infp69 Photography
I didn’t go barefoot this year, but Paula did – © infp69 Photography
Breezing past the Royal Courts of Justice
From The Strand, we made it barely fifty yards up Fleet Street before turning left on to Chancery Lane. The next left took us along Carey Street, and a right sent us up Serle Street, leading to Lincoln’s Inn Fields. We cycled three sides of the broad central field before coming to a halt amidst a mass of nude humanity near the public toilets. It was half-past four; the rain had held off and now we were even treated to some sunshine.
Natansky, fluorescent vest removed, body paint revealed – © Noctiel Alvarado
An ocean of nakedness at Lincoln’s Inn Fields
Our extended break at Lincoln’s Inn Fields lasted fully half an hour. We used the time to answer nature’s call and encountered some more familiar faces. One of those was Dermot, a fellow life model, who kindly took us another souvenir photo. Come 5pm, it was time to set off again along Newman’s Row and two more sides of the field, being heckled fiercely by a couple of homeless guys on the way.
Saddled up and loved up – © AntwoneWalters.com
The ubiquitous red-bob lady – always present
Street life
Now we were onto some of London’s less celebrated highways: from Remnant Street to Great Queen Street; then Long Acre, Bow Street, Wellington Street, and Tavistock Street taking us to Covent Garden; Southampton Street next, then cobbled Henrietta Street, Bedford Street, Chandos Place and finally William IV Street taking us back to tourist territory at the southern end of Charing Cross Road.
Can’t resist a reflection selfie – this at All Bar One on Remnant Street
Boxed on Great Queen Street, Dermot on the right in the green hat
These roads are much narrower and always busy with pedestrians, meaning there is less space between us and our public. Progress was stop-start, but the atmosphere almost always upbeat – not least when we passed the inevitable hen party. Only one unsavoury incident came when a drunken lout decided he wanted to cuddle a guy on low-ride cycle. Last I saw, the rider had pulled over and was headed for a showdown.
J-J-J-J-Juddering along the cobbles of Henrietta Street
Always a picture – Esther in front of the National Portrait Gallery
A different Mall
A combination of traffic lights and much more traffic in the vicinity of Trafalgar Square meant we were halted on St Martin’s Place for a few minutes. Happily, however, here we met another friend, life model and life drawing group organiser, Matt. We bantered and exchanged photographic favours until the roads opened before us, and at last we could pick up the pace, with crowds cheering all around.
Esther and Matt at St Martin’s Place
Photographing Nelson’s Column, but getting an evil eye from the woman in front
Disappointingly, this year we were unable to enjoy a magnificent ride along The Mall as it had been set aside for the Queen’s 90th birthday celebration. I rather rather felt our own celebration of body freedom was every bit as worthy, but there it is. Instead we detoured along Cockspur Street (tee-hee), Pall Mall, St James’s Street and onto Piccadilly. At this point we had a choice: a quiet finish, or photo voyeur bedlam…
Esther and me, photographed by Matt
Heading towards Admiralty Arch but not destined to pass beneath it this time
On Pall Mall – there’s a baby in that little trailer
The silver streak continues, passing The Ritz on Piccadilly
Click click
I’ve no idea where the quiet finish would have been, but we were following the masses to our traditional end point at Wellington Arch. We rounded Duke of Wellington Place and passed beneath the arch at ten to six. We had been on the road for almost three hours, and now had to face the awaiting grubby voyeur photographers. I pushed away the camera of one who was blocking the road. He called me a lanky twat. Yep.
Wellington Arch, the final frontier
Underneath the arch, across the finish line – © Ðariusz
In fairness, not all the photographers are bad. A few respectfully asked permission to take pictures, and this was much appreciated, while others captured the joyful mood of the occasion rather than trying to zoom in on genitals. Esther and I found a space, lay down our bikes, rested a while, hugged and kissed, then dressed sooner than we would have liked as the dodgier photographers closed in once more.
A rest… – © planetnd
…and a hug… – © planetnd
…and a kiss – © planetnd
Unlike last year there would be no naked ride back to Tower Hill, so all that remained for us to do was track down the friends we’d lost along the way and say our farewells. Chas, Cy and Natanksy had all made it to the end. As ever, Cy had recorded the ride on video and would soon share with the world. Gradually we drifted away and as if to prove how lucky we’d been with the weather, it started to rain. We’d been blessed.
steve ritter 