In the cold concrete kitchen of a former warehouse on the east side of Birmingham, Esther and I huddled naked around a small sink. We doused our faces, necks and chests with barely-warm water until, after repeated soaping, splashing and shivering, we had removed the last traces of body paint. We were chilly but happy. Our painted skin had been skeletal… we were once more on assignment for Art Macabre.
Part 1 – an invitation
Our début Death Drawing duo poses had been for DeadFriday at the Ashmolean Museum, Oxford. As we returned to London that evening, our minds were alive with dreams of how we might next work together. Little did we imagine that within just four days we would be offered a new opportunity to model farther afield with Art Macabre. Director-supremo, Nikki – aka, Raven Rouge – wrote to us:
Wondering if you’d be interested in being my deathly duo again? This time an event at Vivid Projects in Birmingham. Friday 27 November, modelling 6:30pm to 8.30pm. Arriving for 6pm to be ready. Some duo poses, some individual. All with a deathly theme…
Diaries were adjusted and the gig confirmed; we would be part of This Mortal Coil.
Part 2 – Birmingham
It had just gone half-three in the afternoon when Esther and I stepped off the train at Birmingham New Street station. For both of us this was a first-time visit to England’s erstwhile second city so, with a couple of hours to kill, we went walkabouts. Midway along New Street itself we found a colourfully festive Christmas market that reached as far as the eye could see to the east and west. Eastwards was our instinct.
We paused to partake of a little glühwein at the far end then sauntered further till we found a side alcove of St Martin in the Bull Ring church in which to rest discreetly for a while. Retracing our steps, we continued to the market’s western end. Twilight and rain had begun to fall as we took shelter with fried potatoes, mushrooms and of course, more glühwein, until it was time to find the address we’d been given.
Part 3 – Vivid Projects
Our host for the evening was Vivid Projects, based in the Warwick Bar complex of one-time factories and workshops that now accommodates services, industry and the arts. Google Maps faithfully delivered us to 16 Minerva Works, Fazeley Street, where we buzzed for admittance and were ushered through to a vast interior. It was cold and dark and moodily Spartan, but we were glad simply to be out of the rain.
Nikki was already on the scene and well advanced in constructing an elaborate pose space for us. There was a main stage, a side room for longer poses, and a backstage area for our preparations. Heaters were many, but of limited effectiveness in such a cavernous building. She introduced us to our fellow model for this event, the wonderful Geeta von Tease, and in due course painted me a skull-face. We were ready.
Part 4 – Death and the Maiden
As we neared 6:30pm, the warehouse began filling with patrons. Nikki emerged at the appointed time to set the scene for our evening’s entertainments and to get the artists warmed up by asking them to draw visions of death from their own imaginations. After this, Esther and I stepped forward in our robes for the first sequence of poses. It would be a reprise of the Death and the Maiden poses we’d presented in Oxford.
© Greg Milner Photography for Vivid Projects with Art Macabre.
© Greg Milner Photography for Vivid Projects with Art Macabre.
For 5-minutes we embraced in a twisted dance of death, each with one arm around the other’s body and our other arms high, holding hands. Next, for 7-minutes Esther feigned sleep while I hunched over her in sinister fashion, clutching a scythe. Finally in this sequence, Esther was seated for 10-minutes while I stood behind her, holding one of her arms; it was to remain ambiguous whether I was pulling or she was reaching.
© Greg Milner Photography for Vivid Projects with Art Macabre.
© Greg Milner Photography for Vivid Projects with Art Macabre.
© Greg Milner Photography for Vivid Projects with Art Macabre.
© Greg Milner Photography for Vivid Projects with Art Macabre.
Part 5 – Kali
As all this unfolded, Nikki was painting Geeta’s face blue in readiness for the following poses. Geeta would be Kali – the Hindu goddess associated with empowerment. She began with a 5-minute standing pose in which one arm was crooked upwards and the other downwards. After this, she posed for 10-minutes seated upright with both hands holding an Art Macabre finely-painted black clay skull on her lap.
© Pete Orman.
Meanwhile, Esther and I had retreated to the long-pose space as it was equipped with a better heater than our backstage area. With just one chair available, I sat beside the heater and Esther sat on my lap. When Geeta started her second pose, Nikki joined us to give Esther a painted skull-face to match my own. For the second part of this evening we were both to be Santa Muerte – the Mexican personification of death.
© Greg Milner Photography for Vivid Projects with Art Macabre.
© Greg Milner Photography for Vivid Projects with Art Macabre.
Part 6 – Santa Muertes
Once more there would be three poses in our sequence: 5-minutes, 7-minutes and 10-minutes. For the first of these we both stood: Esther as red Santa Muerte upon a black-covered bench; me as white Santa Muerte with one foot on the floor, the other on the bench behind Esther. At the end came a catastrophe; as I lowered my raised foot, I accidentally kicked the hitherto unseen black skull and shattered it on the floor.
© Greg Milner Photography for Vivid Projects with Art Macabre.
First gasps, then silence. I felt devastated but the show had to go on. Nikki remained composed and readied us for the next standing pose, in which I was the green Santa Muerte of luck – I couldn’t quite believe how bad mine had just been. In the long-pose room, oblivious to our drama, Geeta sat for a smaller group of artists. Our final pose of the evening was a tender Sante Muerte version of ‘Pietà‘ by Michelangelo.
© Greg Milner Photography for Vivid Projects with Art Macabre.
© Greg Milner Photography for Vivid Projects with Art Macabre.
© Greg Milner Photography for Vivid Projects with Art Macabre.
© Greg Milner Photography for Vivid Projects with Art Macabre.
Part 7 – an appreciation
As is customary at the end, after warm applause all around, the artists set out their works upon the floor for general admiration and for us to photograph. Notwithstanding the ill-fortune of a broken skull, everyone was relaxed and uplifted. The Vivid Projects people kindly furnished us with complimentary wine as we mingled and chatted and shared our mutual enthusiasms. It had been a good session.
Before Geeta, Esther and I disappeared to divest ourselves of draping and wash away our face paint, Nikki took photos that recreated our Pietà and captured us generally enjoying the moment. After our chilly wash in the kitchen we found that time was all too soon a-pressing; we had seats reserved on the ten past ten train back to London, with a twenty minute walk ahead of us first.
Part 8 – noodles
It was with deep regret that we bade farewell to Nikki as she still had much packing away to do. Her ticket was valid for any train, whereas ours could not be transferred. We left her in the capable care of the Vivid Projects team and returned once more to rainy streets. Outside Birmingham New Street station we paused to buy noodles from the Wok Your Way noodle bar before toiling to locate our platform.
© Greg Milner Photography for Vivid Projects with Art Macabre.
© Greg Milner Photography for Vivid Projects with Art Macabre.
© Greg Milner Photography for Vivid Projects with Art Macabre.
As if to double our pain at leaving Nikki, it turned out she missed our train by only a few minutes. Her timing had been constrained by how long it took Vivid Projects to lock up and shuttle her to the station. Even so. We exchanged fond text messages and looked forward to our next adventure together. Maybe for 2016 we’ll collaborate in London – who knows? For now we love taking death drawing across the UK.
A minute to spare. The timeliness of my arrival at room 133 of The Bartlett School of Architecture could not have been cut much finer. It’s not my usual practice to leave it so late when making my début in a new building, but on this occasion I’d been undone by train failures on the Metropolitan line and the haphazard warren of rooms that is the school itself.
If the group’s organiser, Cova, had been anxious about me showing up at all, it did not show in her warm greeting. This date had been her third attempt to book me, so I was deeply grateful for her patience on more than one level. About half of her small band of artists was still to appear, so our time wasn’t quite as tight as it might otherwise have been. I spread my white sheet on the floor and changed into my robe.
When we got underway, our pose sequence was: 7-minutes, 2, 2, 1, 1, 1, 5, 5, 7 and 10-minutes up to an interval – a fairly dynamic opening session but comfortable in our little room. After the break we completed the second half with two 25-minute poses. It was a cosy, well-run evening with tasteful music playing throughout. I was glad finally to have made it here.
Of the various discomforts that might afflict a life model in late November, over-heating is rarely one of them. Nonetheless, it was a mild evening and before leaving the house I had dressed heavily for deep mid-winter. When I reached the heart of the city, I found myself being funnelled through crowd-control at Bank tube station, and then crammed aboard a claustrophobic carriage on the Northern line. Temperatures were rising.
On ascending the escalator at Angel, I craved the first waft of outside coolness. There was scant opportunity for savouring the night air, however, as soon I descended stairs to the basement life drawing room at Candid Arts Trust. Barely had I settled for a few minutes to chill when all too quickly it was time to pose. I slipped from my lightweight gown and stood naked upon a central raised platform.
Models’ needs are properly catered for here, with two ceiling-mounted electric heaters radiating warmth towards the pose space. Ordinarily these seem like a rare treat, but on this occasion I needed a breeze. Standing six feet four inches tall, it felt as though my head and upper body were being lightly roasted. After the first two 5-minute poses I sought lower altitudes for relief.
Learning from experience, I mixed and moderated poses so that gradually I could find a more balanced body temperature yet still enjoy working through a variety of stances for a crowded room of 23 artists. By the time I reclined on my back with head pointed towards the centre of the room I was comfortable in my own micro-climate. Even so, I contrived somehow to give myself a numb hand.
At the end, when fully composed, I checked out a few works and then retreated to the toilet sinks where – as is always necessary here – I scrubbed generations of charcoal dust from my feet. Upon re-emerging I found the room had been quit by everyone save for our facilitator, Luca. I signed his paperwork then returned to the dark streets, cosy and satisfied as I vanished into the autumnal ambience… job done.
“That’s never happened before,” said Catherine when the fire alarm started ringing at The Star by Hackney Downs. I was ten minutes into my first 15-minute pose after our break.
“I’m not going anywhere till someone tells us it’s real,” said one artist.
“They don’t usually have fire drills in pubs,” noted another.
“I’ll check it out,” Catherine offered.
“Steve’s not flinched,” came an observation.
“It doesn’t count,” I replied, “unless it’s Catherine’s phone.”
The timer alarm on Catherine’s phone was our sign that each pose had completed its allotted time; that alone was my cue to move. As we rightly imagined, the fire bell cut out without further ceremony after little more than a minute or two.
Notwithstanding such uncalled for diversions, this was one of my most enjoyable sets of poses in a long time. The group’s organiser, Catherine Hall, offered some direction on possible poses for me to try, but I was largely at liberty to exploit my long limbs to create interesting shapes according to each moment’s inspiration.
We commenced with poses of 5-minutes, 4, 3, 2-minutes, then went to six quick-fire poses – three of 1-minute, three of 30-seconds. Two poses of 10-minutes completed the first phase of our evening’s work. After the interval we finished with two 15-minute poses: the first after Rodin; the second in the style of Schiele.
The first half fairly sailed by. Rarely have I felt so at ease in presenting a succession of quite taut postures. The second half was more challenging, requiring both balance and tension, but nothing unmanageable for quarter of an hour at a time. The six artists and Catherine kindly gave of spontaneous applause at the end. I was a happy model.
As is traditional, art works were spread upon the floor for general appreciation. In my humble opinion, they combined to form the highest-standard complete body of work from all artists present that I’ve seen this year. I guess we must have all been feeling it. I next look forward to posing for Catherine at The Russet in December.
The Finborough Arms in Earl’s Court has become a third home for The Moon and Nude life drawing group. I’d posed for them many times at The Old Dairy in Crouch Hill, and The Sun in Clapham, but curiously my first visit to the new venue was not to pose but to see pictures of myself at their October exhibition in the Cellar.
In less than a month I was back as a life model, welcomed by Aless and her partner, Ollie. Just as at their other venues, the pose times were planned to be 5-minutes, 4, 3, 2, 1-minute, then 10, 15, 20-minutes to an interval and 45-minutes to the end. One of the regular artists suggested variety, however, so a couple of subtle changes were introduced.
We started 5, 3, 1, 5 – dynamic poses, twisted with limbs accentuated. I was naked on a raised spotlit platform equipped with a backless bench covered by pillows and a sheet. Scattered between tables around the Cellar, thirteen artists observed me from behind their drawing pads. I stood with arms raised for 10-minutes then took it easy, sitting cross-legged on the bench for quarter of an hour.
For the two longest poses of the evening I unintentionally put myself through a certain amount of pain. For 20 minutes I sat upon the platform with legs bent underneath me and body twisted backwards across the bench, straining my sides. After the break, I went 30-minutes seated on the bench with one knee raised – easy on the floor, but a back-aching balance on a narrow shelf of wood.
I finished with an uncomplicated 10-minute standing pose, hands upon hips. After the preceding two efforts, this one felt like a recovery position. When we ended at 8pm, I quickly dressed and admired the works by artists who weren’t too coy to share them. Having also modelled in Wanstead earlier that day I felt pretty shattered, but would happily return to pose at The Finborough Arms again.
After years of simply modelling at art classes, this year I decided to practice a little life drawing. It began almost by chance through attending Esther’s Girl in Suitcase performance at the Telegraph Hill Festival in March. Esther returned the compliment by drawing me at Telegraph Hill in April. I’ve subsequently drawn models at one of Adrian Dutton’s meet-ups, and more frequently with the East London Strippers Collective.
Since those innocent unsuspecting moments of spring, my relationship with Esther has changed significantly. When I next drew her in October, I was observing her with the adoring gaze of a love-struck partner. And just as in spring, Esther was drawing me again within a matter of days. In her own words here, she describes perfectly the frustration we models sometimes feel when endeavouring to capture the poses we so readily present for others…
Esther writes – thoughts from the day itself…
If I had a new year’s resolution this year, it was to go to life classes and draw, regularly. I utterly failed in that mission, succeeding finally in going just three times so far. Once to draw Steve in Telegraph Hill in April, once to pole dancing life drawing early in the Summer, and now again drawing (or attempting to) Steve, this time in Wanstead House.
I want to understand better what it is like to draw the model. I want to create drawings I am proud of. I think I succeeded least in that today, of the three times, partly due to tiredness. Recently Steve and I started dating, and last night I didn’t get so much sleep! While he got some zeds in, I was in fact catching up with blogging.
I am more naturally verbally inspired, and I find Steve a perfect muse for my words. He also has delicious bones and curves to draw, but my technique, sadly is not there yet. I immediately want to be expressive, ignoring many of the rules of measuring and perspective, to create something more striking. I want it to look appealing very quickly, and while I don’t care for accuracy, I want it to hold together cohesively as an image, with a style.
I muster a few lines, but I am feeling really frustrated today. It doesn’t seem to flow. The angle of his jaw is too awkward from my direction, and so far away from me. I have to tell myself it doesn’t matter. Just here to practise. But I am with my partner, and I want to do him justice – I want to be able to draw him unashamedly.
He begins with a very tricky pose, way ambitious for ten minutes, somehow resting on a knee and an ankle in some unlikely contortion.
The second pose he is standing tall, again I have a profile, and he has a forearm outstretched. I really just want to capture his face, and charcoal is not being my friend. Crude marks emerge, and I have renewed appreciation for the many artists who draw me each week. They make it look easy, though they do tend to practise regularly.
In a twenty minute seated pose I have his face towards me and grab the opportunity. Some simple advice from Patrick whose group it is, helps to make the nose within the scale I have set, and the mouth as wide as it ought.
In the break I embrace Steve, not so eager for him to see my work! The other artists fortunately have produced better, more complete images. I had felt cross with myself for not knowing how, but I know it’s all state of mind, and another time, in the zone, even without training, I am capable of appreciating my own style.
Finally a reclining pose, and I move to a different seat to see him from the front. This time my first attempt goes some way towards producing a sense of satisfaction in me, but Patrick spots a mistake. I have over-accentuated the dip in Steve’s waist, to create a more Schielesque line (which I think fits Steve so well). He corrects my drawing, rendering the rest of the figure out of proportion, enlarged in width, quite unlike my sleek, angular partner!
I am perturbed, quite out of my comfort zone, and for a while I try to alter the piece to Patrick’s new line, but, I am no longer feeling it. I turn over, trying to recapture my more expressive line, with just five minutes to go, but that too, as now I am thinking about it more, is not happening.
A fairly unsatisfactory result, but, I am very pleased that I went. Not only to appreciate Steve’s fine form from a different aspect, or to regard more highly the work of other artists, but also because, doing this I understand that I might follow my own intuition with drawing, more singularly in future. That’s not to say I don’t want to learn the ‘correct’ technique, but there is the right time for that, and a lazy, tired Sunday morning ain’t it.
Meanwhile, as Esther and I connected in spirit through our struggles with artistry and over-ambitious posing, the other artists in the room quietly got on with their drawings. Esther’s portrait was from my third pose; here I am in the work of another – pose one, two and four:
First and foremost in this world of life drawing, Esther and I are models. We are also art lovers, and we aspire to improve as artists. We both know we will have to commit more time if we are ever to create on paper such images as we see in our minds, but we’ll be sure to enjoy our efforts together while doing so.
A curious revolution of fortunes precipitated my involvement at this life art session. Back in June, I’d put it in my diary as merely a “provisional” booking – the group’s organiser, Lisa, felt artist numbers were dwindling and that she may need only one model in one room rather than the usual two working in adjoining rooms. With less than a fortnight to go, the status changed from “provisional” to “cancelled” – there would indeed be only one model, and it was not to be me…
A few days later I was nosing through the bookings diary of my partner, Esther, and saw she was due to model in Herne Hill on the evening of Wednesday 11 November. It seemed a staggering coincidence but, yes, Esther was the lone model who would be working on the date I had lost. We’d been itching to do more duo poses, however, so Esther contacted Lisa to ask if she would consider taking us both after all, and using us as a couple.
The response we got was much more than we’d bargained for. Following an accident involving a ladder, it seemed Lisa wasn’t feeling sufficiently mobile to run the session and had been intending to cancel it entirely. If, however, together we could not only model, but also set-up and facilitate the whole proceeding for SketchPad Drawing, she said we were welcome to work as a duo. We readily accepted the challenge.
Come the evening, upstairs at The Prince Regent pub we opened the door of Lisa’s storage cupboard and stood briefly in amazement. She’d warned us it was crammed tightly with art equipment, and sure enough we found an astonishing tangle of easels, lamps, boards, papers, boxes and bags that even a ferret might have struggled to get amongst. Nonetheless we’d been provided with a clear list of instructions so together we began the delicate procedure of unpacking.
We had been told to expect between 10 and 14 artists, so we fully prepared one of the two adjoined rooms and set-up a handful easels in the other, just as a precaution. The first artists began to arrive… and then came a few more, then even more, and… with dismay we realised there were so many that we would not be able to model together after all. We had no fewer than 23 artists in total – never before has success felt like such wretched luck, but Lisa would have been delighted.
With heavy hearts, Esther and I commenced our posing, out of sight from each other in separate rooms. Esther set the timer on her phone and called to me whenever its alarm sounded our signal to change pose. Regular artists had given us a steer as to the pose lengths they would prefer. We began with four 5-minute poses; then moved to two of 10-minutes; and followed with one of 20-minutes, taking us to the end of the first half.
During the interval we indulged in a brief hug. One or two artists enquired whether this was to be the long pose for the second half – ohhh, if only there weren’t so many of you! But alas, no. Instead we swapped rooms and saw out the evening each with a single pose of 40-minutes. Come the end, our efforts were appreciated by the artists, and in kind we appreciated their efforts at capturing our forms.
From the start I had been daunted by the prospect of somehow returning Lisa’s mass of equipment to the storage cupboard, in its original complex configuration. Before we had time to worry in earnest, however, the regulars had sprung into action and got the work done for us. I’m not wholly certain they’d replaced it exactly how we found it, but we were immensely thankful to them for their generosity.
Downstairs we relaxed quietly with glasses of wine before heading off into the night. It had been both tantalising and frustrating to be modelling so near and yet apart. Even so, we could be grateful to have been given the opportunity in the first place. We had already posed together for Art Macabre in Oxford, and at Esther’s Spirited Sound event on London’s south bank, so we had good reason to believe other opportunities would yet come. Our anticipation remained.
steve ritter 