Three months on from my first visit to Bridge House, I was back posing for Anerley and Penge Life Drawing. It being mid-springtime, our natural light lasted longer, the ambient temperature was well warmer, yet the ambience of the room was every bit as friendly as it had been in late winter. Ten artists had come along to draw, and I was to present them long poses. “Long” in this instance is a relative measure as, rather than lasting hours, these poses would range from a quarter to half an hour.
I began standing with hands behind my head for 15-minutes, then followed it sitting on the floor for 15-minutes with my face buried in the crook of my elbow upon a chair – a current favourite pose. After this I sat on said chair for 30-minutes, taking us up to the break. For the second half of the session I stood for 20-minutes with legs crossed and one hand on the back of neck, and closed the evening’s work with 25-minutes back in the chair, lounging with my legs across one of its arms.
There was just time for me to check out the artists’ efforts before having to dash away. It’s amusing, when one has sat fully naked in front of a crowd of people for almost two hours, to see nearly half the artworks created were portraits. In the group’s small side room, however, there’s barely a couple of yards between the model and those drawing so it’s understandable they might not capture the full figure. Most importantly, they all seemed to enjoy themselves. I certainly did.
“That’s Glynis!” – We were walking along the sunlit saffron sands of Lido di Venezia when Esther recognised a voice calling her name. Sure enough, seated nearby on the beach was our performance artist friend, Glynis Ackermann. We hastened across to exchange a whirl of hugs and kisses. Having met unexpectedly in Venice a couple of months earlier, all three of us were back in town to perform as part of ‘Contemporary Venice: Architectures of Identities‘ at Palazzo Cà Zanardi. It would be special.
That serendipitous rendezvous with Glynis on our first trip to Venice had introduced us to the It’s Liquid group and their art events at Cà Zanardi. On returning to the UK, Esther had responded to their next call-out for artists, and been accepted. She would be performing a specially shortened version of Girl in Suitcase (with a little help from me) on the festival’s opening night. Only three days before flying out did we learn the excellent news that Glynis would be performing there too.
Festival doors were to open at 6pm on Saturday 30 April. Esther and I disembarked from our Alilaguna water bus at the Arsenale jetty about 48 hours before. We were met by Elena, our AirBnB landlady for the next five nights, and shown to our private apartment. Once we’d moved in, we practised walking our route to Cà Zanardi, then settled down for pizzas at Bar Cupido on the waterfront by Fondamente Nove. The sun was out, the sky was clear blue; we were in a good place on many levels.
Friday 29 April
Late next morning, we boarded a vaporetto from Arsenale to Fondamente Nove with our heavy loaded suitcase for Esther’s performance. We found the Cà Zanardi team busy with their preparations for opening night, but they allowed us time and room to have a full (clothed) rehearsal. I was given an area in one corner to set up our laptop and speaker for music, whilst Esther took centre stage on the ground floor between four pillars. The space and the acoustics were good. We left in a mood for posing.
After a late bruschetto breakfast-lunch at the nearby Tortuga pub, we headed across to the Lido for an afternoon in balmy sunshine. There Glynis spotted us and not only greeted us warmly but also invited us to participate in her own performance: Mobilé. Quickly we agreed, and were thus set to be part of two nude art pieces on Saturday. Esther celebrated in sunshine with naked handstand poses; there could hardly have been a greater contrast with the rain-swept nude poses of our last time here.
Heading back across the narrow Lido island, we popped into the magnificent Grande Albergo Ausonia & Hungaria hotel for an impromptu clothed pose and to admire its historic décor, then bumped into Glynis again while drifting back to the vaporetto jetty. As we crossed the lagoon, the sun set beautifully behind Venice’s sea-facing façade. That evening, after a frustrating hunt for local restaurants, we relaxed over fine dishes of linguine and gnocchetti at Osteria Ale Do’ Marie. Another good day.
Saturday 30 April
Relaxation continued into Saturday as we passed the time idling and writing near the Sant’Elena end of the island. By evening, however, as we arrived at Cà Zanardi for the performances, I was starting to feel a little tension. Not nerves, but a strong sense of responsibility and a desire to make the best impression. Glynis found us before 6pm and gave us a very short run through the moves for Mobilé. In no time at all, we were undressing beneath the blue and white paper art of Veronica Hodges.
When the gathered mass of art lovers had hushed, the three of us stepped forth, each holding an empty white picture frame. I stood centrally with my back to our audience; Glynis and Esther faced outwards, such that we were aligned at 120° angles. As the video and music of a previous Mobilé performance projected onto our naked skin, we lifted the frames and plied them in gentle motion. The piece lasted 10 to 15-minutes and felt wonderfully serene. I had a superb view of shadowplay on the wall behind us.
We were greatly appreciated, to the extent that Glynis led us out afterwards to take a second bow. One chap offered his congratulations and asked Esther and I to sum up in three words what it represented. I said: ‘beauty, movement, feeling‘. Still he wanted the core concept, so I referred him to Glynis. The next scheduled performance artist had not arrived, so Girl in Suitcase was to follow in 15 minutes; there was no time to lose. Esther went upstairs to undress while I positioned our suitcase and props.
The performance was refashioned from Girl in Suitcase at the 2016 Telegraph Hill Festival with two main differences: first, it had been cut down to 20-minutes from the original hour; second, Esther had learned all its lines in Italian. This incredible woman never ceases to astonish me. We had assistance in the form of Veronica, who would hand out life drawing materials to the audience, but otherwise we were self-contained. As the crowd bustled below, I joined Esther to wrap her in bandages.
When she was suitably swathed I led her slowly downstairs and, concealed beneath my gown, she descended into the suitcase. I withdrew to my sound desk and, when those present had quietened, I began playing ‘Sanvean’ by Lisa Gerrard. This was Esther’s cue to emerge, graceful and slender, removing the bandages to stand nude and reborn before those watching. As I lowered the sound levels, she addressed the audience in their native tongue: confident, strong, with great presence.
She finished on cue at the end of Sanvean, and immediately I changed the mood by kicking into ‘Smoke in the Shadow’ by Lydia Lunch. Esther put on her red fetish stilettos, g-string and lipstick to pose with her tickling feather. She was portraying a journey of self-discovery, and the audience got into the drama of her performance by capturing these elements in their drawings. Only for 1-minute, however, as I lowered the volume once more, and Esther announced: “Here is the news.”
As at Telegraph Hill, Esther began reading a shameful list of global violence against women – only now translated into Italian. This was the cue for my first appearance. Dressed all in black, I knelt by the standing figure of Esther; I removed her stilettos, removed her g-string, slapped a rope down on the floor, put a bridal veil on her head, and held a large knife against her thigh, pointed at her vagina. I was the villain, but almost as quickly as I’d arrived I was dismissed with a sharp feminist broadside.
Esther tore off the veil, held up the knife, and delivered a last impassioned monologue in Italian while the audience captured her form on paper. She then explained that their next life drawing opportunity would be a movement pose – very slow at the outset, but speeding up considerably. I started playing ‘Free Money’ by Patti Smith and Esther started moving. I had about two minutes till my next transition, so I took the chance to do a little filming.
By the time Esther’s dance came to its frenetic conclusion, I was standing naked at the laptop. After taking a few seconds to control her breath, Esther reached carefully with her fingertips to remove her Mooncup. She inverted it, shrugging to show it was empty. I started ‘You are the blood’ by Sufjan Stevens, then walked to the centre of the room and folded onto my elbows and knees. Meanwhile, Esther took from the suitcase a small pot of recent menstrual blood and created art with it upon her legs…
I still regard this as the most raw and powerful part of the performance, representing a total reclamation of the feminine. Esther posed with one foot upon my back while the audience drew this extraordinary tableau. About 4-minutes in, the music segued to a section of ‘The Song of the Butterfly’ by Estas Tonne. We both stood and I picked up a tray of paints, which I would offer around so the audience might create their own art on Esther’s body.
Purely by chance, the first person I walked towards was Glynis. She understood what was required and boldly made the first marks – a perfect ice-breaker. Other audience members were a little more restrained but several stepped forward, took a brush, and applied their chosen colour. I contributed a few swirls myself, while Glynis returned to try finger painting. As Estas Tonne faded out, Esther paused a moment, then quietly said ‘Thank you’… and took her richly deserved applause.
Our audience placed their drawings on the floor. Poses had been quite short so there was little time for the creation of figurative masterpieces, but some of the more loose abstract work was fascinating. We could see the audience had clearly been engaged with ideas and challenges presented by the performance, and I felt their work was the strongest vindication of its validity. It took us a long time to clean up and pack away, which meant when the time came, we were last to leave Cà Zanardi that evening.
Glynis had waited for us, and together we went to a restaurant at Fondamente Nove. We sat outside and talked the night away over a meal. Esther was subdued, as she often is after giving so much to a performance and having to process the emotions it inspires, but Girl in Suitcase had been superb and our evening made more wonderful by the opportunity to support Glynis. Very generously, she paid for our meal and we hugged our goodbyes, dearly hoping to share another event some day.
Sunday 1 May
Before leaving Cà Zanardi, we’d put all our props and equipment back in the suitcase and brought it with us. It was a literal drag, wheeling it back to our apartment through the dark Venetian alleyways, but we happened upon a magic shortcut that somehow got us home quicker than expected. This closure meant we had the whole of Sunday and Monday in which to do whatever we pleased. Sadly, after three gloriously sunny days the forecast was for rain, but it wasn’t too bad by the time we got moving.
Originally our idea had been to escape the rain by viewing some art. We walked along the waterfront from Arsenale, passing Piazza San Marco, through alleys and across bridges to the Gallerie dell’Accademia, the Peggy Guggenheim Collection, and Santa Maria della Salute. The museum queues were ridiculously long, however, so we changed plan and instead went to the sedate rustic island of Sant’Erasmo. There, on a spur of lagoon marshland, I had my own mini naked photoshoot.
We’d seemed to be in complete isolation, yet no sooner had I returned to my clothes and pulled up my trousers than a couple of locals wandered by. What must they have thought of this scrawny naked Englishman posing at distance, being photographed by his performance artist partner? Ha. It had been nice to escape the crowds of tourists. The only disappointment had been our failure to buy veggies for a home-cooked meal that evening, so we returned to Bar Cupido for pizzas.
Monday 2 May
For our last day in Venice, we used the vaporettos to visit islands we had hitherto not explored. In the morning – after buying our veggies – we headed to Fondamente Nove, initially somehow walking in a completely circle – thereby proving that no matter how familiar we had become we this city, we could still go astray in its labyrinth of narrow paths. Once waterborne, we embarked on a mini tour of the northern islands: Burano, Torcello and Mazzorbo.
The numbers of other visitors, coupled with a persistent light drizzle meant we weren’t moved to indulge in further spontaneous random nakedness. Instead we talked about the performance, places we could make art, blogs we would write, our futures and our pasts. That evening we dined in and drank out before falling to bed early, ahead of our 4am departure from Arsenale for the airport next morning. We had enough veggies left for a cooked breakfast – to the very last, everything worked out pretty well.
After all
Back in the UK, we were excited to find a taster of Girl in Suitcase images published on social media – we now wait keenly to view the full set of official photographs from It’s Liquid. Having been so busy cleaning up after the performance we missed out on hearing direct feedback from the organisers and our audience, but reaction since has been favourable – Esther has been invited to return for further events. Girl in Suitcase is now an international artist: have suitcase, will travel.
I awoke in Venice with Esther at the equivalent of 1:45am, UK time. At 8am our flight touched down at Gatwick airport. I was home by a quarter to one in the afternoon. Shopping, showering and unpacking followed, after which I tried to grab some sleep but managed just an hour’s worth before being disturbed by the phone. Failing to drop off again, I did some computer stuff, prepared a light tea and then, at 6pm, headed off to Hackney for a spot of modelling.
After so much travelling, and such little sleep, I feared that exhaustion might catch up with me at some point; that in extremis, I might even nod off. I need not have worried, however. It’s such a lively life drawing group at The Star by Hackney Downs that I felt alert and in pretty good form throughout. Furthermore, it was the busiest I’d ever seen it, with perhaps as many as sixteen artists managing to draw comfortably in a relatively small space.
Catherine Hall called the pose times and suggested whether poses should be on a high stool, low stool, chair or the floor. It was pretty much all short and dynamic work, something I had been relying on to keep me awake: 5-minutes, 4, 3, 2, then three of 1-minute, three of 30-seconds, two of 10-minutes, a break, and finally 10-minutes and 20-minutes to a close. I felt I’d travelled far in the day, until Catherine told me she too would be visiting Venice at the weekend. It is, of course, a small world…
This life session blew hot and cold. Not in the sense of mood or atmosphere, or the comfort or appreciation of my poses, but in a rather literal way. The English spring climate had decided to have one of its throwback-to-winter days, and the one heater provided by Toynbee Art Club in the Dellow Centre’s art room was on a thermostat. This meant it decided intermittently – and incorrectly – that I could do without warm air for a while.
That aside, it was an enjoyable session. In the first half I went 5, 10, 15, 20-to-30-ish minutes, flowing from standing-stretching, to standing-lower, to kneeling, to sitting on the floor. After a tea break I was sitting on a chair with one of my feet on its seat for a single hour-long pose. Last time I modelled here I shared body warmth with Esther. My next booking here is in August, by which time hopefully we can rejoice in summer heat with open windows.
The Moon and Nude at The Old Dairy remains the only drawing group for which I’ve stepped in to act as a facilitator rather than model. On that occasion the model was called Edward. Fast forward almost two years and it was my own turn to be modelling at The Old Dairy for a stand-in facilitator… called Edward. I wondered whether it would turn out to be the same chap but, no, this Edward was the partner of Julia, one of the regular co-organisers.
I had been told that when my booking was announced to the group a week before, the news was greeted with a couple of “woos”. I interpreted this as enthusiasm rather than sarcastic dismay, and arrived full of encouragement for a good session. Pose lengths adhered to the traditional format in the first half: 5-minutes, 4, 3, 2, 1-minute, then 10, 15, 20-minutes. There must have been 20 to 30 artists present – not the largest crowd I’ve seen here, but still very good numbers.
Julia looked in unexpectedly during the interval, which was nice, but all was going well with Edward at the helm. She set us straight that the final pose should be 30-minutes rather than 45, and I felt inspired to close out the session standing. Afterwards, I took photos of drawings and, as always here, enjoyed having a chat and some laughs with the artists. I very much look forward to returning here at the end of June for duo poses with Esther. It remains one of my favourite places to model.
Two vivid red footprints remained on the white sheet. Ten perfect toes and two perfect soles, all drenched in human blood, formed a lasting impression of ‘Girl in Suitcase‘ at the 2016 Telegraph Hill Festival. I was a ticket-holder and, briefly, an impromptu participant at the Telegraph Hill performance in 2015; this year I was significantly more embroiled.
Esther is Girl in Suitcase, but she has reinvented and refreshed her signature work of performance art theatre unceasingly since its inception in 2009. She has collaborated with many talented people during that time, yet now she asked to work with me. I had reservations; I’m a life model and a nude art performer, but not a performance artist or actor. It was an offer, however, I could hardly refuse.
Preparation
In the weeks ahead of show time – 19 March – we discussed concepts and practice. It was a fascinating, immersive process to conjure with so many ideas and watch as they transformed into something tangible. By the end of our late February vacation in Venice, Esther had coalesced the strongest elements – some classic, others brand new – into a solid, coherent whole. Over the next fortnight she fashioned our script.
It was to be a play of a dozen segments. I was required to learn the lines of one; read lines for another; and be a physical presence towards the end. I had not tried learning lines since a primary school play almost forty years ago. Lacking a formal disciplined approach, I found it a struggle, and could only look on with huge admiration as Esther recited with passion her entire hour-long performance.
Upon the brink
On the day itself, our first challenge was to transform the erstwhile Old Library space in the Telegraph Hill Centre; gaining access at 4pm, we had three hours to turn an empty hall into a playhouse. Chairs were put out, a stage assembled, screens stood in front of doors and windows, a backdrop taped to the wall, props and art equipment placed in readiness, and a music desk set up with laptop and speakers.
All appeared to go well, although I was sorely vexed by inconsiderate parents who let their three little kids run feral around us whilst we were trying to work. Fresh air in the adjacent park eventually cooled me down. Esther, meanwhile, remained astoundingly serene. The early arrival of ticket holders meant we had no time for one last rehearsal. The moment to perform had come.
Segment 1 – suitcase / bandages
Our audience was hubbubbing into its seats; our friend Alessandra was poised at the laptop, ready to make music; and I was in the kitchen area wrapping naked Esther in bandages. A last kiss and hug, then I covered her with a large coat and escorted her to a suitcase on stage. She climbed in, I closed the lid, and we waited for everybody to quieten. When the time was right, Esther emerged…
No music accompanied the entrance; this was one woman’s raw ritual struggle to free herself from her entanglement, whilst sharing with the audience intimacies of her past. “I was born wrapped in many layers…” – I’d watched this scene develop, and it was a joy now to see it for real – “a migrant’s migrant… it might be hell for a while… learning about sex… in many circumstances… You now have a chance to draw me.”
Segment 2 – model and tutor
The audience was encouraged to try drawing Esther’s poses throughout the play, and no more so than in the ‘model and tutor’ scene – a Girl in Suitcase favourite. I was to play a dodgy old-fashioned art tutor who objectifies his model, and in doing so makes himself ridiculous. I had been given free rein to tweak a few lines to my own style, but essentially it was a familiar section. I just had to avoid being genuinely ridiculous.
I had recited these lines to myself so many times, over and over during the preceding weeks, yet even now I managed to have a minor brain freeze shortly after beginning. It seemed to last forever but, watching it again on video, I see it was merely a couple of seconds. Tricks of the mind. Once back on track I held my nerve, and Esther held her gritted pose to the bitter end.
Segment 3 – g-string and stilettos
I departed, leaving Esther to speak of her objectification and the hypocrisy of a world that sexualises nakedness and then feigns to be scandalised by it: “No breastfeeding in public! No nipples on Facebook! No nudity before nine!” – these words were made especially apt by the presence of a woman breastfeeding her baby in the audience. I returned briefly to chide Esther with legal guidelines.
Stoically hearing my insistence that she leave something to the imagination, Esther duly dressed… albeit in possibly the most revealing underwear that money can buy, with fetish stilettos, lipstick and a tickling feather. Thus she posed while Alessandra played ‘Sheela Na Gig’ by PJ Harvey – “you exhibitionist!” Both Esther and I had been indie kids in our very early days and still harbour a soft spot for Polly Jean.
Segment 4 – violence
“Here is the news.” Now for weightier stuff. Esther put down the feather, sat by a desk and read her bulletins: under-representation of women among world leaders, domestic abuse and rape in the UK, sexual abuse in childhood, hate crime against transgender people, women victims of honour killings, female genital mutilation. Meanwhile, I took away her erotic clothes and stood over her, toying with tools of violence.
The denouement saw Esther look up, as if noticing me for the first time, and direct a steely, belittling rebuke of dismissal. It may have garnered a snort or two of laughter, but the message contained in this scene was core to the whole performance. Esther had previously read the piece at a women-only Spirited Bodies event, where models felt quite moved by its juxtaposition with their own personal bodily concerns.
Segment 5 – bridal veil
Donning a white bridal veil, and picking up the knife that I’d left behind, Esther recited her vows before commencing a soliloquy of empowerment. “What do we sisters share underneath… this power, this pleasure… repressing, oppressing and hunting cunt… woman is too big to be boxed up… when she could be roaring and crashing through the universe!”
Throughout this scene, and those that preceded and would follow, images and videos were captured by a photographer friend – www.instagram.com/smokysushi – who’d kindly offered her services in exchange for support with a project of her own. When the monologue was at its end, Esther struck a suitably dramatic pose for the life drawers; cue ‘Girl on Fire’ by Alicia Keys.
Segment 6 – movement
“You now have the opportunity to draw a movement pose. I will begin to dance, slowly at first, but becoming faster.” This was Esther’s favourite part of the performance, I’m sure. As ‘Free Money’ by Patti Smith belted out, she abandoned herself more and more to the moment, becoming ever more free and wild… yet I missed it all as I was busy changing in readiness for the next segment.
Segment 7 – recycling
Ahead of the most dramatic scene, Esther – breathless from her dance – delivered a short monologue on recycling. “I try to use everything to the limit; old food, clothes, junk I find in the street, blood, boyfriends…” – the last bit being where I came in. If I was to be a recycled boyfriend, I suggested this would be most effective if I returned naked and meekly crumpled up to serve as a bench.
Sitting upon my back, Esther talked about things she uses to an obsessive extreme because she can’t bear to waste anything. Like much of her performance work, this piece was highly autobiographical; I can personally vouch that she lives her art with unquestionable integrity. The final item on her list was blood. Esther does not waste her blood. Anyone of a squeamish disposition should look away now.
Segment 8 – covered with blood
She stood, put her fingers inside herself and removed her Mooncup. From my folded position I could hear only a delicate suctioning squelch. “I had hoped that I would be bleeding today, but came on just over a week ago so there’s not much left here, but fortunately I saved my earlier blood from the week and I’m going to make art with it, and share the secrets and the smells of my old menses blood with you.”
As ‘You are the blood’ by Sufjan Stevens played to a hushed hall, Esther poured menstrual blood over her legs. Much ran off onto the stage, so she gathered it afresh with her palms and smeared it around her skin. When satisfied, she sat down on me in a defiant pose for the artists. After a couple of minutes she stood with one wet foot on my back. Her bloodening was captured beautifully on video.
Segment 9 – body painting
Having created art with her own blood, Esther next invited her audience to participate in this process by applying paint to her body. After the discord of Sufjan Stevens, the gentle guitar of ‘The winds that bring you home’ by Estas Tonne lilted whilst one, two or three at a time, people stepped forward to take a brush and make their marks. These were serene moments.
Segment 10 – drawing the audience
Whilst body painting has become a regular feature at Girl in Suitcase performances, possibly the favourite audience moment is when Esther invites them to step up and pose naked themselves. We wondered whether one or two people might have come here simply to enjoy participating in this bit. Esther vacated the stage, and no fewer the nine people came forward to join me in posing.
As Esther became the artist she asked her five female and five male models to show their exhilaration. ‘True Faith’ by New Order kicked in. I raised my arms as I often do for a 5-minute standing pose, but I suspect the chaps next to me who did likewise slowly came to regret it as the track played on. Nonetheless, I think everybody loved their moment of shared nude performance joy.
Segment 11 – competitive women
After our naked ensemble returned to their clothes, Esther addressed her audience one last time. “All this empowerment! All this energy! All this freedom!” In a closing monologue from the heart, she shared personal fears: “We women have more power than we’ve ever had in recent times, and yet I worry about what I might lose – what might be given away, slip away or be taken away.”
It was rather heart-wrenching for me to watch this unique woman that I love dearly, in the penultimate act of a powerful performance, standing strong in a war paint of blood and art, sharing so openly her fragility and self-doubt: “I worry more about how I might fall behind – how others blossom while I remain tied in knots… I have found freedom from the world; now I must find freedom from myself.”
Segment 12 – rope / suitcase
And so to the final act. Having tied herself in knots metaphorically, Esther invited two women from the audience to rope her physically before she returned to her suitcase. Fittingly, the final piece of music was the beautiful ‘Sanvean’ by Lisa Gerrard. For me, this track has become the definitive sound of Girl in Suitcase. It never ceases to have a moving effect.
Esther descended to the ordinary piece of luggage from which such an extraordinary performance had emerged an hour earlier. When she was curled up inside, I walked past slowly and lowered the lid. The last bars of Sanvean played out, to be followed immediately by a din of applause. Esther rose and shared her own appreciation with an audience that had engaged with her performance throughout.
In the aftermath
Esther and I, both still nude and bloody, mingled with her audience and chatted with friends. The original idea had been to record video interviews but, come the moment, Esther rightly felt that it was better for everyone simply to relax with glasses of wine and enjoy being in good company. We took greatest pleasure from seeing drawings that had been produced throughout the evening.
Slowly people departed, with the wonderful Alessandra being last to leave. Despite no preparation, she had done a flawless job at the sound desk – and then went the extra mile in cleaning away most of our mess – a true friend. Esther and I hadn’t wanted the evening to end, but the time had now come; we switched off the lights and lowered the shutters on a great occasion.
With all the paraphernalia of the event now rammed into the suitcase, we trundled off down Kitto Road to get a bus home. No showbiz glamour here; this was performance art: heart-on-sleeve, raw and bloody, honest and real. But the Girl in Suitcase journey doesn’t end at a south London bus stop. Not when she could be roaring and crashing through the universe…
“Perhaps you might indulge me to try something a little less strenuous?” My humble plea elicited chuckling and murmurs of consent all round. Upon request I’d spent the previous half-hour sitting side-saddle on a chair with my back to a horseshoe of eight artists; my face rested upon my folded arms on the chair’s back, while my body was partially twisted to face those drawing me.
For the following final 25-minutes of the evening I sat on the floor with one leg hooked beneath the other and my arms resting on a low ledge behind me. The pose took me to the end of my first booking at the Civil Service Club (no civil servants among the artists, mind you). Despite the occasional over-exertion, I had thoroughly enjoyed life modelling in its warm environment for an engaging group.
I’d begun with five 2-minute poses, continued with two 10-minute poses, and finished the first half of the session with three 15-minute poses. A fourth 15-minute pose after the interval preceded the two long closing poses, described above. Thirteen poses in three hours had allowed for plenty of variety, and resulted in some good quality art. I look forward to a second visit in mid-July.
steve ritter 