The hour had passed midnight. On the top deck of a night bus from Oxford, Esther and I shared warm white wine from a small plastic water bottle. It was a complex road spanning generations that had brought us together at this time. Now, as we looked forward into the unseeable blackness, we were in celebratory mood. Our first evening of life modelling together had been a triumph.
Part 1 – in which the scene is set
Oxford loomed ghostlike in our respective pasts. I’d gone up in 1987 as a naïve undergraduate studying physics; the first from my family and, indeed, school to attain the supposed privilege of an Oxbridge place. A combination of too much fun and too little intelligence, however, meant I came down again empty-handed just one year later. Even so, the impression formed by those days ensured I would jump at any likely excuse to return.
Esther, by contrast, was born to a family steeped in the Oxford tradition. Yet whilst she had abundant intelligence and the willing hand of destiny to guide her, she lacked the appetite to conform. Her spirited body and singular mind were starred for freer, wilder living; to shape her own unique life, unfettered by the chains of expectation. Nonetheless, the spectre of Oxford still resonated within her, most recently inspiring visits to ancestral colleges.
Two people – two life models – two dreamers with unfinished business amid the proverbial dreaming spires had, on this night, found fulfilment. Meanwhile on parallel tracks, a London-bound train was transporting the angel of darkness who had made this evening such a huge success, both for ourselves and hundreds of enthusiastic artists. Nikki, a.k.a. Raven Rouge of Art Macabre, had brought Death Drawing to the internationally renowned Ashmolean Museum.
© Ashmolean Museum
The opportunity had arisen from the latest in an occasional series of ‘LiveFriday‘ events staged by the museum. Every few months its doors are opened from 7pm to 10:30pm for theatrical performances, creative workshops and lashings of interactivity. Appropriately, the October event was re-branded ‘DeadFriday‘ since it immediately preceded Halloween and Day of the Dead weekend. And, of course, no such festivity could be complete without an Art Macabre salon.
Part 2 – which brings forth the models
Through autumn’s afternoon colours, Esther and I arrived at London Victoria a little after one o’clock. We armed ourselves with cappuccinos and snacks, then waited patiently for the 1:20pm coach departure to Oxford. Our journey was a joyful blend of reminiscence, anticipation and savouring the ‘now’. Some time after three, we stepped out at Gloucester Green coach station, barely a couple of minutes’ walk from the Ashmolean Museum.
Having first established where we needed to be that evening, and with a few free hours to kill, we went for a walk. As the city swelled with a heaving hubbub of tourists we sought refuge with a leisurely stroll through Christ Church Meadow, down to the college boathouses by the Thames. Ducks and squirrels, horned beasts of pasture, rowers and lovers; all were our companions as we sauntered along the tree-lined gravel pathway.
We lingered a while then backtracked, following the water’s edge as far as the Head of the River pub, before returning once more to college grounds and out into the throng. When life models meet it’s usually indoors, often in urban settings, so it was refreshing to share some clean air and wide open spaces for a change. In the city centre we ravenously devoured pasta and pizza at Bella Italia – building our strength for the work ahead.
A text message from Nikki told us she expected to be at the museum around 5:30pm, but that we were OK to relaaax until six. Hard to imagine we could have been any more relaaaxed. In due course we went to the museum’s front desk but were asked to check-in through their St Giles’ entrance instead. After a brief detour around the wrong building, we eventually found the right desk in the right building. Pink T-shirted people put ticks against our names on their printed lists. We were in.
Part 3 – in which preparations are made
It was no mean task to locate the basement Education Centre where we were due to model; directions from the Pink T-shirts had been vague at best. On arrival we had the place to ourselves so we settled down to wait in comfort together on a couch. It wasn’t long before Nikki joined us, having been delayed by some traumatic transfer from the train station. As always she was weighed down with umpteen bags of accessories for us to pose with.
Nikki described the five themes she wanted to incorporate into the evening, along with the props and body paints she intended to apply for each. We would be presenting: Death and the Maiden; Ancient Egypt; Kali; Hel; and Day of the Dead. Many a change of headgear, drapings and paints was anticipated. To begin with, however, I removed my shirt so Nikki could paint me a traditional skeleton face and neck. Esther, on the other hand, would start her maiden Art Macabre poses in pure unadorned nakedness.
Increasingly we were surrounded by other folk who would in some way be DeadFriday participants. Many were face-painted and clad in ghoulishly Gothic attire. Several were rehearsing scripts from the plays and performances they were to present. Lines from Keats seemed to be particularly recurrent. As the time neared 7pm they encroached more into our space, even to the extent of shifting around the chairs we’d carefully positioned for our artists. Nikki quickly nipped that in the bud.
With a minute or two remaining till our scheduled start, the actors and role players filtered away to wherever they needed to be; we never did see anything of their live work, nor indeed of the museum itself. Even Nikki had disappeared to apply her own macabre make-up, but not before describing to us the first pose she wanted: Esther was to recline opposite a seated skeleton on the couch while I loomed over her from behind. We had undressed and were now naked and alone.
Part 4 – wherein the life drawing commences
If two people pose naked and no-one is around to draw them, are they modelling? Esther and I contemplated this philosophical conundrum after a motionless minute in an otherwise empty room… then decided we could ease off. It wasn’t long before the doors opened, however, admitting our first visitors; two tastefully black-clad women entered. We hastily got back into character.
They acknowledged us amiably but confessed they had come simply to browse rather than draw. We gave them permission to take a photo of us, and they in turn agreed to forward it to Esther. Thus we had a souvenir of our début pose together. As they left, so Nikki returned, resplendent with a new deathly pallor, extensive scar-face make-up and a long red wig. Two new visitors joined us and became our first artists. Then two more followed, and then another two…
By the end of our first 10-minute Death and the Maiden pose, all the seats in the room had been taken. Fears that no-one would find us behind the closed door of an obscure basement room proved unfounded. For our next 10-minute pose, Nikki had us embracing in a dance of death. More people entered and were now standing or seated on the floor. It felt both intimate and exhilarating as visitors streamed in relentlessly to draw our combined nakedness.
© Art Macabre
Nikki was on top form: marshalling, educating and entertaining with clear, purposeful authority. She put us together in one more 10-minute pose before separating us for two 15-minute poses. The latter brought to a close our Death and the Maiden section. Artists left the room and we took a moment to savour the sublime hedonistic joy of sharing this work into which we throw our all, and which we each love so dearly.
© Art Macabre
Part 5 – in which new themes are introduced
Our next presentation was to be Ancient Egypt. Transformation would be subtle as Esther and I would still remain essentially nude. Nikki draped a dark material over my head and fastened upon it a golden mock-pharaonic crown. Esther, by contrast, was enshrouded in white gauze and given a gold skull mask to slide over her face. When the doors reopened we watched in gratified bemusement as scores more artists poured into the room.
© Art Macabre
© Art Macabre
Our poses were shorter to begin with – 2 minutes, 5 minutes – and steadily increased in length, but neither this section nor any of those that followed would be as long as our opener. Esther and I connected gleefully; sometimes with dynamism, at other times tenderly. We were in the ‘zone’ and so were the artists – they approached every session with a party mood rather than the quiet discipline of a traditional life class.
© Art Macabre
© Art Macabre
When we’d finished as Egyptians it was time to summon the goddess Kali. Our original plan had been to change our body paint at regular intervals – for example, Esther was to be painted blue at this point – but by now the event had become so fast-paced that we found ourselves confined solely to costume changes. Esther got an exotic headdress, a necklace of skulls and skirt of severed arms; I got a new dark crown and a pair of femurs to hold aloft.
© Art Macabre
© Art Macabre
With Esther standing on the couch, me directly behind her and our arms crooked in alternating diagonals, we unified as the goddess of time, our hands slowly lifting and lowering mid-pose. After this I lay on the floor with my raised head resting back between Esther’s wide open legs. For this, our birthing scene, Kali the destroyer became creator. The room pulsated with artists. Such was the clamour that Nikki abandoned plans to conjure Hel of the underworld as our fourth theme, and instead decided on a reprise of Death and the Maiden.
© Art Macabre
© Art Macabre
Part 6 – brings the triumph to completion
Our fifth and final theme was to be an old Art Macabre favourite: Day of the Dead. Nikki’s playlist for the evening began serenading us with Mexican classics. During our penultimate pose, as Esther and I stood back-to-back holding hands, a particularly infectious piece of festive music kicked-in and it became irresistible not to sway in time from side to side. The artists, who by now were in glorious glamorous disarray, laughed along with us and reflected the vibe.
© Art Macabre
© Art Macabre
© Art Macabre
For the last pose, Nikki generously gave us a free hand to do whatever we liked. I sank to a carefree sprawl upon the couch while Esther lay across me with comfortably louche abandon. Lost to the world, we held each other until our time ran out. The work was done. Nikki asked the artists to show their appreciation for our efforts, and I reciprocated in summoning richly deserved applause for Nikki. Three and a half hours had flown by.
© Art Macabre
© Art Macabre
The artists filtered out – one stopping to ask if we might be available for future work in Oxford – and once more just the three of us were left in the Education Centre. It was estimated that up to 350 people had passed through to draw us, with another 200 queuing but unable to get in. The chaos and debris around us bore testimony to what had occurred, and for a time we were content simply to bask in the atmosphere that had been created.
© Art Macabre
© Art Macabre
The mood was comically shattered when a security guard strode in and brusquely announced: “We’re closed, you’ve got to leave right now!” In a single moment we had a new high-water mark for the worst treatment by any institution. Astonished, Nikki pointed out: “But… they’re naked!” And faced with this irrefutable bare fact, the guard turned on his heels and left, but it’s sad to say that we got no thanks, no farewell, no acknowledgement of any kind from the museum when finally we quit into the night.
Part 7 – is not the end
Esther and I helped Nikki with her bags to the taxi rank in St Giles’. We hugged warmly and bid her a safe journey on the train back to London, then walked round a couple of corners to the coach station in search of our own conveyance to the capital. We’d missed the 11pm bus by five minutes, so with 25 minutes spare till the next one, we popped across the road to The Red Lion for a large refreshing glass of white wine each.
It took longer to get served than we had time left for drinking, so Esther emptied a water bottle and we poured our remaining wine into it as take-out – we are after all, nothing if not classy. A double-decker bus was waiting to return us south, so we ascended its stairs and occupied a long front seat. Maybe two or three other people joined us elsewhere on board but they were out of sight and out of mind. We were in a happy place.
In the afterglow of what Nikki later described as ‘gorgeous duo posing’, our minds were full of what we might do next. The possibilities seemed limitless, given time and opportunity. As we left the city that had lent colour to our pasts, we both revelled in the ‘now’ and looked together to the future, forward into that unseeable blackness. We were in celebratory mood. Our first evening of life modelling together had been both a triumph and – we hoped – a beginning.
Esther writes – thoughts from the day after…
Last night I posed with Steve, in front of an audience, a rolling queue of hellishly made up artists, eager to share the jollity and ambience of our cryptic ensemble.
Steve was a skeleton, again! With whited face and blacked out eyes, enormous teeth, and a few ribs. I was the maiden; nude, just myself, with flowers – reaching out to my deathly amour. I played with another skeleton, who was hanging out with considerable poise on our sofa. Then I danced with Steve, an elegant display of our combined collection of bones. He naturally tried to seduce me into his otherworldly clutches, and if I resisted at first, I soon forgot my reticence once his fingers lightly touched my skin, brushing me with the shadow of death!
I was attracted, tingling with anticipation for our next ghostly step, and immediately ready to roll with him. He wrapped himself around me, gracefully guided me, and even hid himself a while behind me, just lending arms for my Kali shift. For our next turn, I gave birth to him, his head emerging from my cunt as I squatted luxuriously, relieved to have this enormous baby now out of me!
In an Egyptian scene I skulled up too, in gold, with a shroud as well. Now we shared an ancient tomb, as we remained affectionate in death.
It is a privilege to feel so close to another model, and allows for more intimate poses, with authentic connection. I really can stare into his eyes continuously for quite some time, always held by his gaze. I feel held by him in many ways. Being able to share our life modelling passion opens up our world to a bigger picture we are still dreaming into existence.
It’s always a shade disconcerting when, quarter of an hour into a 25-minute reclining pose, one cannot be fully certain whether one has just woken oneself with one’s own snoring, or whether some external sound had impressed its illusion upon a wandering mind, or whether perhaps the whole thing was merely an improbable dream.
Only very rarely have I lapsed into sleep whilst life modelling, but this may have been one such occasion, at The Beehive pub for Tottenham Art Classes. I’d left myself susceptible with just four hours’ sleep the night before after an evening that included, amongst other things, trying some life drawing of my own. Life drawing, life modelling, life catches up with us all in the end.
Nonetheless, aside from the one possible drowsy aberration, this was a good focused session for fourteen artists. We began with three dynamic 1-minute poses followed by 2-minute, 5, 10 and 15-minute poses. The last pose before a break was the 25-minute recliner. In the final session, I passed 10-minutes standing on one leg, and 30-minutes seated upon the floor.
After this evening I faced the prospect of two intense days travelling up and down the country for some extraordinary life modelling and much splendidness in between. The likelihood of sleep seemed more remote than ever, but it’s a glorious way to burn out. Even as I made my way towards Tottenham, I received two further bookings by email. These are the days…
Two large glasses of dark wine. Upon invitation, I conveyed them to the table of three artists who’d been drawing me earlier. We were in the main bar area of The Cambria pub. Having provided short poses upstairs the previous week, I’d returned for the long pose session and – I hoped – a nice little drink to round off a pleasant fortnight.
Within a minutes the second glass was held by Tatiana – organiser of Camberwell Life Drawing. She’d been packing away and, whilst it had been moot whether my earlier attempts to help had been more of a hindrance, we certainly reached a point where the most useful thing I could do was get the drinks in. We all clinked glasses and bantered.
The session had been comfortable, which is never taken for granted when the poses get longer. My only affliction had been one numb arm during the final pose. In truth, none of the poses had been tremendously long. We warmed up with three 2-minute poses, then went 15-minutes (seated frontways), 20-minutes (seated sideways) and 15-minutes (standing) up to an interval.
The final pose after the break lasted precisely 37 minutes – all the time that was left until our 9pm finish. As pose times increased, so had artist numbers. When the first 2-minute pose began, we had but one artist in attendance. Fairly quickly this rose to six, but it was nonetheless briefly a matter of concern for Tatiana. Artists seem to be evaporating across London.
Downstairs everybody could relax. For Tatiana it was another ‘job done’; the artists for their part had produced fine work and seemed rightly content; I was pleased simply to have my freedom of movement restored without a legacy of aches and pains. Together we enjoyed our cups. Aside from the satisfaction of creativity, life drawing can provide a grand night out. Have you still not tried it? You really should, you know.
“I’ve never tried it that way round before, in all the time I’ve been drawing.” Thus spake Catherine Hall who, with Carla Nizzola, co-organises Drawing the Star – Tuesday night life drawing at The Star by Hackney Downs. We were sitting with beer or wine in hands at one of the pub’s outside tables, preparatory to our 7:30pm start.
We would be tinkering with the fabric of time. The established order of pose lengths here begins 5-minutes, 3, 2-minutes, then three of 1-minute and three of 30-seconds. The plan this evening, however, was to reverse that order entirely and begin with the super-quick 30-second poses. How would the artists cope with being thrust in at this pace? We would discover.
At the appointed time, the three of us and six artists took our respective places in the pub’s small function room upstairs. Catherine put on her Kronos Quartet soundtrack, and I took off my clothes. So… 30 seconds. I got down on one knee, twisted my body round and reached both arms upward towards the ceiling. I reckoned I could hold that for 30 seconds.
Amusingly, what ensued instead was a 30-second debate about whether to start with 30-second poses after all, or if would be best to put the 1-minute poses first. The call for 1-minutes carried the day, and this became official with the announcement: “Right, this is a 1-minute pose.” Time is a fickle companion for life models.
What followed was a mixture of standing (dynamic or passive) and seated (on a high stool, a low chair, or the floor) poses. The session in its entirety only lasts for an hour and a half – including a break in the middle – instead of the more common two-hours, so no pose exceeded 15 minutes. The preference of the group was for shorter work.
Afterwards I dressed and, as is customary, all works were spread upon the floor for general admiration. I love it when groups do that, and I believe that artists generally find it a positive act of sharing too. We took photographs and then retired downstairs to resume at the outside refreshment tables. I’m in a good place right now, and this was a good evening in good company.
The night air outside was milder than I expected. On the platform at Loughborough Junction, I greedily devoured a large tray of chicken fried rice with sweet and sour sauce, bought from the Wang Fa takeaway just outside the station. I felt warm and satiated inside. My train arrived on time and my journey was smooth. It had been a good evening.
The occasion was a return visit to The Cambria for two hours’ worth of short poses. Artist numbers were down slightly on previous visits, with just nine here to draw, but the ambiance was engaging and relaxed. As always, it was a pleasure to work with Tatiana, organiser of Camberwell Life Drawing – one of London’s long-established model-run life drawing groups.
I began with three dynamic standing poses of 2-minutes each, followed by a further two of 5-minutes. For the next 5 minutes I dropped to a kneel, then tried a 10-minute inversion draped over the front of a sofa. This was immediately counter-posed with a forward-folding 10-minute seated pose. Finally, 15-minutes standing with elbows up took us to our interval.
After the break I settled down for 10 minutes squatting like a frog upon the sofa, then held 15 minutes in casual standing stance, and closed with 15 minutes sitting on the floor, my limbs intertwined. I hoped these would offer sufficient angular variety to keep the artists suitably challenged, and incorporate enough restful balance to maintain my comfort throughout.
It’s quite the usual thing to join some of the group afterwards for a drink downstairs in the main bar, yet tonight everybody seemed to need an early night. Instead, while we packed away, I chatted with Tatiana variously about our shared enthusiasm for travel and the London life art scene. I would be back for long poses next week and perhaps would partake of a large red wine then; for now, a fill of Chinese food would suffice.
More than ever before I feel appreciative for everything that participation in the arts has brought me. Not only the internal satisfaction and outward self-expression that comes of life modelling, but also the joy of being in company with creative people. Whether it be from the simple sharing of common interests or the profound pleasure of realising a deep-seated connection, there has been – and is now – so much to cherish.
Five days after my booking for The Moon and Nude at The Old Dairy in Crouch Hill, I was posing at their sister venue in Clapham – The Sun. So much life had unfolded between these life modelling dates, yet here I could relax into familiarity if I so wished. Familiar space, familiar pace and indeed a familiar face, as group co-organiser Aless welcomed me back.
As at Crouch Hill, pose lengths during the first half were 5 minutes. 4, 3, 2, 1-minute, then 10 minutes, 15, 20 minutes. Extra time is available here after the break – it is a standard two-hour booking instead of an hour and three-quarters – so we followed with 35 minutes and 4 minutes. I could relax into familiarity, yet still preferred a challenge.
I tried to make all the short poses a bit stressful, either with tense or extended limbs that encouraged me to focus on the body rather than the mind. Even a semi-reclining 10-minute posture incorporated strains and stretches. The cumulative effect of these mild exertions clearly had an impact as my legs seemed to shiver beneath me while I stood for the next 15 minutes.
Sitting upright on the floor during the 20 minutes that followed, I intertwined my limbs for added stability. After the break, Aless encouraged me to lay down for the longest pose; not to take my ease but because apparently it’s popular with the artists. Even so, I raised both forearms and one knee to give the pose fully three dimensions, and hopefully create a more original challenge for those who were drawing me.
The final 4 minutes standing raced by in a blur, as did the subsequent packing away and exiting. Artists disappeared so quickly that I had no time to see any works from the second half. Indeed, within five minutes of finishing I too had dressed, bid Aless farewell and was heading home. Such efficiency, so easy in the telling, and yet still beneath it all there remain the preoccupations of the mind.
Two hours is a long time to be a motionless invisible human being, lost under intense visual scrutiny devoted largely to the physical. No matter what might be experienced at that level, the mind will always discover its own spaces. In stillness it can process, settle, absorb. Often I am aware of spontaneous smiles; private smiles in a crowded room. I take them to be a healthy sign, and these to be good times.
As October arrives, so life modelling effectively enters its winter season. Those of us set to spend hours posing naked and motionless in a sunless room naturally turn our attention to whether or not a heater will be provided. Venues without them soon earn a poor reputation in the community of models. How pleasing, therefore, to discover The Moon and Nude at The Old Dairy making an extra special effort:
“Got the hot water bottle ready for you Steve.”
I didn’t know exactly what this meant when Julia, the group’s co-organiser, posted the message while I was on my way to the venue. Upon arrival, however, I was shown her simple stroke of genius: she’d filled a hot water bottle with boiling water and placed it amid pillows under the sheets on the floor. This was in addition to a traditional electric heater standing to one side. So thoughtful – and it worked!
Having thus been spoiled, the onus was now on me to deliver an interesting sequence of poses for the 21 artists that surrounded me on all sides. Timings would be as per the usual format here: 5 minutes, 4, 3, 2, 1-minute, then 10 minutes, 15, 20 minutes to a break, followed by half an hour to finish. It’s possibly my favourite arrangement.
For the short poses I stood, sat in a lotus position, stood again, cowered and planked. For the medium poses I stood, sat on the floor and lay down. Finally, I set a bar stool centre-stage and sat upright with a slight body twist for the closing pose. That twist is important for a longer pose as it means at least three-quarters of the room should see (hopefully) an interesting profile, whereas a front-facing pose may serve only half.
Time flew. It is a lovely group organised by genuinely nice people. Within myself I am enjoying life, so I was posing with a becalmed body and a mind swimming with happy thoughts. We switched on the heater during the second half, and the hot water bottle served me well throughout, but ultimately on this night it was the positivity in the room and in my own spirit that warmed me most.
steve ritter 