From the Royal Academy of Arts to the Freud Museum, from Barts Pathology Museum to Somerset House, Art Macabre has staged sell-out creative events at prestigious venues across London. In the week from 18 to 24 May, they returned home to present a special group exhibition at the Round Chapel in Hackney.
In their own words:
Since 2010, Art Macabre has run ‘death drawing’ salons: theatrical life drawing events that invite participants to explore themes of death and dying through drawing and art. Art Macabre’s Director, Nikki Shaill […] wanted to curate an exhibition as part of Dying Matters Awareness Week to stimulate conversations about death and dying, inspired by the Dying Matters philosophy that the more we talk about death together, the more we dare to look it in the face and plan for it, the better our lives will be until the time will come for us and our friends, families and communities.
Art work has been selected from open submissions invited in March 2015 and the chosen art comes from artists across the UK, as well as artists from States and Moscow. All the art explores the themes of death and dying, survival and loss, memory and memorial; whether from personal experience of bereavement or illness, or trying to bring historical figures back to life, or personifying the universal figure of death. The exhibition can be seen as a collection of contemporary memento mori.
A ‘private view’ celebration event was scheduled for 6:30pm to 9:30pm on Thursday 21 May. I was invited along to view, contemplate, mingle and converse with other guests. Later, as the week drew nearer, I was also invited to life model as part of the evening’s diversions. I gladly accepted both invitations.
© Art Macabre, The Dying Art, 2015
My face was to be painted as a sugar skull so I arrived well before the 6:30pm start. Nikki was certain to be busy with all aspects of staging the event so I wanted to be ready and available for whenever she got a free moment. While waiting, I had time for my own private view – a pre-‘private view’ private view – of the exhibition.
Exhibition
This was not simply a succession of skulls, skeletons and the dead-undead. Although these were well represented, there was also much variety. It would be hard to imagine a visitor not finding anything unexpected, or failing to be held by any of the works and their accompanying stories. 25 artists were featured (26 including Nikki):
The Artchemist, Lauren Baker, Herald Black, Lozzy Bones, Laura Brett, Christina Rose Brown, Drucilla Burrell, Lucinda ‘Lux’ Chell, Olina Divisova, Rachel Harmeyer, Karen Harvey, Jason Alex Hill, Aaron Jacob Jones, Marie-Louise Jones, Inky Layla, Lizzie Learman, Clare Lowe, Valeriya N-Georg, Antonia Rolls, Nikki Shaill, Joanna Shears, Jo Tedds, Natalie Thomas, Linsay Trerise, Karina Yazylyan, Wolf Mask Art.
Self-portrait – Lucinda ‘Lux’ Chell.
© Art Macabre, The Dying Art, 2015
‘Hairy Mary’ – Marie-Louise Jones
© Art Macabre, The Dying Art, 2015
‘Skull Dolls’ – Karina Yazlyan
© Art Macabre, The Dying Art, 2015
‘Ann’s Corset Liver’ and ‘Nettie’s Phossy Jaw’ – Lozzy Bones
Amid the weird and wonderful, mad and sad, I was fascinated by the extraordinarily fine detail of three monochrome drawings by Lozzy Bones; I was warmed by the skill of Aaron Jacob Jones, who I rate high among the most exceptionally talented artists I’ve ever met; and I was touched by the work of Lux, an Art Macabre founder who died tragically young but whose name, artworks and memory live on as an inspiration and dedication for this exhibition.
‘The Red Shoes’ – Aaron Jacob Jones
© Art Macabre, The Dying Art, 2015
Edible Anatomy Posters – AVM Curiosities – given to 20 lucky visitors
Private view
Like a fine gourmet chocolate, I found the exhibition small, rich and delicious. On completing my view, I retreated to Nikki’s busy, colourful office to await her paints. While waiting I was joined by Gee, a fellow veteran of Art Macabre salons. Together we would provide the death drawing sideshow.
As the time approached 6:30pm, I realised London’s beautifully grim people would be arriving at any moment. They came as a trickle at first, but by the end of the evening they’d spilled out onto the streets. In total, 115 people and one small dog joined us for the evening. This was a hot ticket event.
© Art Macabre, The Dying Art, 2015
© Art Macabre, The Dying Art, 2015
© Art Macabre, The Dying Art, 2015
With breathless serenity, Nikki glided into her office and shut the door on the hubbub behind her. It was time for my face to be embellished – a speed-painted skull, if ever there was one, but Nikki has done this so often that perfection emerges in moments. Before disappearing again she taped an Art Macabre rosette to one of my nipples (I’d taped the other myself, thinking one was enough) and bid that I follow when ready.
© Art Macabre, The Dying Art, 2015
© Art Macabre, The Dying Art, 2015
© Art Macabre, The Dying Art, 2015
Death drawing
I was to start modelling solo, then Gee would join me a few minutes later. I waited a while to create an air of suspense that was probably apparent only in my own mind, then stepped naked from the office into the crowded main corridor of the exhibition. Not one eyelid batted: this was London, after all; this is Art Macabre.
© Art Macabre, The Dying Art, 2015
Nikki had created a pose space near the refreshments. A crimson sheet bordered with candles and guarded by ‘Stanley’ the skeleton marked our area. Some chairs, paper, and various other drawing materials had been set out but there was no announcement or ceremony to accompany our presence.
© Art Macabre, The Dying Art, 2015
© Art Macabre, The Dying Art, 2015
The philosophy was: if we build it, they will come. Nikki started the drawing as if to give permission for others to follow suit. Soon all the chairs were occupied and with Gee now posing too, we had a popular sideshow under way, entertaining for artists and onlookers alike.
© Art Macabre, The Dying Art, 2015
© Art Macabre, The Dying Art, 2015
There was no-one to call the start and end times for our poses. Gee and I altered our positions when the time seemed right. This could be judged either by the fidgeting of artists, or by measuring pose lengths against the number of track changes on the evening’s playlist.
© Art Macabre, The Dying Art, 2015
© Art Macabre, The Dying Art, 2015
We had been asked to model for only half an hour each, but why stop when things are going well? Gee took a break to chat with our mutual friends among the guests, while Nikki passed me some red wine. I was comfortable, people were still keen to draw, so I simply carried on.
© Art Macabre, The Dying Art, 2015
© Art Macabre, The Dying Art, 2015
As one comes to expect with Art Macabre events, wonderful drawings were produced from relatively short poses. Among those capturing us were a few of the artists whose works were exhibited. Artwork ranged from sprawling outlines on the floor to exquisite portraits in private sketchbooks.
© Art Macabre, The Dying Art, 2015
When all done, before returning to Nikki’s office I wandered behind the now-abandoned snacks table for a cheeky feast of sweets. This seems to have coincided with a brace of functionaries from the upstairs church descending to a store room and spying me through a doorway. Apparently they made some minor show of moral outrage, which was rightly greeted with blank indifference.
It had been a fantastic evening, way too wonderful to be diminished by self-righteous gatecrashers. The response to the exhibition from guests was universally positive; emotional at times, thoughtful at others, engaging throughout and utterly enjoyable.
Talking about death
Belatedly, on coming away from the event I realised I’d immersed myself in every way except that which the exhibition was intended to inspire: I had not talked about death. To make amends, I’ve shared some rambling thoughts below. These are personal to me and not intended to upset or offend.
© Art Macabre, The Dying Art, 2015
I have no religion. I do not believe in any form of god or afterlife. I believe death is a finality, not a transition. We leave behind a legacy of works and memories, and that should be enough.
For me, the most awful concept is that of reincarnation: starting all over again without the experience, knowledge or wisdom we’ve previously – often painfully – acquired.
Funeral rites are a horror to me. Everything that’s important to me about a deceased loved one is in my memory, not in their grave. I much prefer quiet personal reflection to collective social ceremonies loaded with behavioural and emotional expectation.
I try to be a good person in life and do the best I can within the curious psychological framework of limitations I seem to have constructed for myself. I have no pressing desire to face my own death, and certainly no urge to take my own life, yet on any given night I would be content simply to fall into a deep, black, painless slumber and never again awaken, as long as the circumstances caused no distress to others.
Sometimes human beings appear to be the most over-abundant commodity on the planet, yet an individual life can seem the most achingly rare and precious wonder in the universe. It’s likely that I’m nearer to the end of my own life than its beginning yet I still haven’t worked out how best to live it.
The meaning of human life is to achieve happiness, and the highest happiness is felt through love. Art, creation, invention, knowledge and laughter are what I have come to cherish the most. I love to be in the company of those whose lives burn brightest with these gifts.
Death is an end to our living existence; life is for the brilliance of moments.
Death means simply that we will have no more of these moments; let us share them generously, while we can, with those we love. Those we have loved and lost continue to warm us with their afterglow. Only death itself can take that from us so, ultimately, in a sense, we leave life together. Memories that stay happily with the loved ones who outlive us are our own warm legacy.
I’ll drink to that. Cheers.
© Art Macabre, The Dying Art, 2015
Their absence felt,
Their shadow cast,
Whilst memories melt,
Our relics last.Memento Mori.
Remember you, too, will die.
Death awaits us all,
In her arms we’ll lie.We dance with Death,
Swing from trapeze.
A tightrope walk,
Death’s long striptease.Death brushes past.
Death holds our gaze.
Death may arrive fast,
So make the most of your days.
– Nikki Shaill, May 2015
Now under new management: since my only previous visit to model at 47/49 Tanner Street, the life group has been passed into the care of artist Xanthe Mosley. Just as with my previous visit, however, last Wednesday’s booking was made only a few days before the evening itself.
As is my way when modelling for someone new, I sent Xanthe a text whilst en route and arrived plenty early to calm any possible concerns about myself as an unknown quantity. Our conversation about the session was thorough yet brief: we’d both done this many times before and quickly enjoyed a mutual understanding.
Everything about the pose space remained just as I remembered, with one positive difference: there were now twice as many artists in attendance. In fairness, this may simply have been the difference between bookings on a chilly November evening or in the light and warmth of mid May.
I started at 7pm with five lots of 5-minute poses, then followed with 10 and 10 minutes to our break. After a nice mug of tea I resumed for 24 minutes and finally 25 minutes up to 9pm. The artists sat as a circle around me so I changed direction throughout. Having a huge amount of space to work in, artists sometimes changed position too.
Feedback at the end was appreciative. It seemed my poses seated on the floor with angled or entwined limbs had been most popular, although keeping one arm raised whilst reclining had also gone down well. Reclining poses tend to offer least scope for variation, so elevated limbs can make a worthwhile difference to the challenge.
The evening’s art was very good all round. Hopefully I’ll be able to make a return visit in two or three months. It was a beautiful evening. I left Tanner Street to cross Tower Bridge in a serene mood, looking forward that future time.
“Can I get you a bowl of food?”, asked Mark during the break. I declined as I’d already eaten a sandwich on the way over, but as I left my posing space and passed the large cooking pot of steaming hot pasta in sauce, I was powerless to resist. I ladled myself a generous helping and put the kettle on for a mug of Earl Grey.
It was half-time at the Thursday evening life drawing group run by Adrian Dutton. Among the many groups for which I’ve posed, Adrian’s are unique in providing a mini buffet of snacks that often includes helpings of hot food. It’s the ideal accompaniment to a spot of relaxed socialising between periods of art.
We met on the stairs ahead of the 7pm start. He was leaving as I arrived. In our brief chat he let me know that Mark would be facilitating the group this evening. Five or six artists were already present; this rose to maybe thirty before the end of my first pose.
Mark called pose timings in a broadly similar arrangement to those favoured by Adrian himself. 10 minutes (while the latecomers arrived) to begin, then dynamic and medium poses: five of 1-minute, followed by 3, 3, 5, 5, 10 and 15 minutes up to the break.
The break could last for anything up to half an hour but I returned early in a 10-minute pose for those impatient to resume drawing. When everyone was back in their chairs, we finished with two poses of 30-minutes each. It was a mild evening and only for the last pose did I feel the need to accept the offer of a heater.
Mark looked after me well, and warm applause from artists at the end suggested they felt well catered for too. Works were set out upon the floor and kind words exchanged. As always, the most wonderful compliments are to be found in the art.
I couldn’t quite believe it: artists were pouring into The Old Dairy function room, three or four at a time. Seats had been set out along all four sides of the room; never before had I seen them all taken. Thirty artists in total settled down to draw. This has rightly become a popular group.
I’m always especially relieved to get a big turn-out when a group has used images of me on its social media beforehand. There remains the lingering paranoid doubt that I might deter more people than I encourage. Clearly not on this occasion.
With everybody ready, Julia – the group facilitator for the evening – started me on my first pose. It was the usual format for a Life Draw N4 session, one that I particularly enjoy: 5 minutes, 4, 3, 2, 1 minute, then 10, 15, 20 minutes to a break, followed by one long pose of 30 minutes to the finish.
It’s always important for a life model to alternate the direction they face between each pose, giving fair attention to all sides of a room. This is much more the case when the room is full and artists cannot freely change seat. Thus, I flipped around between each short dynamic pose and made sure to turn my head and twist my torso – widening the front-facing angle – for all the longer ones.
An artist once said to me that some models just sit there like a sack of potatoes. I’ve always tried to avoid slipping into that comfort zone.
My mind did not wonder too far while I was concentrating on each pose. A little lesson learned midway through the long pose, however, was not to dwell on the radio comedy I’d listened to the night before…
Geoffrey: My Auntie Joan had a budgie when I was little. It grew a lump, then it fell off its perch and died. I dug a hole in the garden for its grave. I made a little cross for it out of two lolly sticks.
Count Arthur Strong: Ooh, I expect you were one of the bloody pallbearers as well, eh? Did you read out the flipping eulogy at its funeral? Elvis John play the piano, did he?
…it’s not a good idea to make oneself want to laugh when attempting to be deadpan motionless.
At the end of the session, when I’d regained sensation in a numb foot, I accompanied Julia in chatting with artists and photographing their art. There was a strong selection this evening, yet it’s a group without pressure to produce masterpieces. People come simply for the enjoyment; I certainly did.
It had been six months since my last and only time life modelling at Candid Arts in Islington. On that occasion it was for an all-day oil painting course, with instruction and demonstration by Edward Wills. This time around was for a more conventional two-hour drop-in life drawing group.
The group was facilitated by Luca Indraccolo. On the evidence of his website, the man is a fantastic artist. For this session, however, he simply welcomed and called pose times for me and those who’d come to draw. Of the latter, there were nine.
One thing I’d forgotten from my previous visit was the stealthy filth of the floor. I took off my shoes and socks, walked ten metres to the nice white sheet on which I pose, and instantly covered it with charcoal-black footprints. The floor does not look unduly dirty but the unshod foot will always find what the eye cannot.
There were to be eight poses: four of 5 minutes each then 10, 15 and 20 minutes up to a short break, and finally 40 minutes to a finish. There was no music or muttering while work was in progress, so only Luca’s time calls broke the silence.
Artists spared their kind words for the end of each half. One offered to buy me tea at half-time, while others were complimentary about the poses or how still I was during the final 40 minutes. The latter comment was particularly welcome as I’m never sure the extent to which my tiny muscle shifts to spread weight, balance tension or ease pain, might be visible. Barely at all, it would seem.
As this was my début for the group I hope the positive feedback bodes well for future bookings. If so, maybe I’ll bring my darker sheet next time…
People of Hackney! If you rather fancy you’d enjoy a laid-back evening with a drink in one hand and a pencil in the other, sketching a nude human body upstairs at one of London’s trendier pubs, then why not saunter down to The Star by Hackney Downs on Thursday evenings?
I was there myself Thursday last week, not as a patron but as the nude human body. Upon arriving I was greeted by Catherine Hall. On Mondays she provides superb life drawing tuition at the A-side B-side Gallery in Hackney Downs Studios. ‘Drawing the Star‘, however, is purely for relaxation and enjoyment.
Next to arrive was Carla Nizzola, the artist who runs the group jointly with Catherine. Together they finished preparing the pose space, plugging in our evening’s music and setting out materials – included in the £7 price – for the artists. We talked through the pose times, looked at some inspirational pieces, and at 7:30pm we were ready.
I began with 10 minutes perched on the edge of a high chair in front of the five-pointed star of red and white light bulbs on the back wall, then continued with a pseudo-yoga cross-legged pose on the same chair. A fine glow of natural light cast shadows away from our side windows.
For 3 minutes I stood in a crucifix stance across the star itself, occasionally flinching my buttocks away from the hotter bulbs. We next went dynamic with three 1-minute and three 30-second poses, before finishing the first half with 15 minutes standing in the style of Rodin’s sculpture ‘Eve’.
After a break we completed our evening’s work with a 15-minute pose slouching in a small leather chair, and finally 10 minutes squatting before the bright bulb-lit star. All done, the entire floor became a carpet of drawings. This evening’s art had been of a particularly good quality. I reprised my yoga pose for photos in their midst before we cleared away.
We repaired to the bar and, with large gin and tonic in hand, I joined Catherine, Carla and the others outside chatting about art, the universe and everything. It had indeed been a laid-back evening, purely for relaxation and enjoyment. I do like life drawing in pubs; nice atmosphere, great people, good times.
With quiet admiration, I looked on whilst Aaron painted a delicate column of vertebrae down the inner curve of Louise’s nude back. Meanwhile, kneeling in front of her, Nikki applied an array of colourful digestive organs upon her model’s slender belly.
© Art Macabre
© Art Macabre
I too was naked, the front of my torso painted with half a ribcage, one lung, a liver and a knot of dazzling intestines. My face had the pallor of a corpse, and other patches of skin were given weird disfigurements, each one a minor masterpiece of Aaron’s. I was topped off with a blue turban while Louise had hair plaited and garlanded with flowers.
© Art Macabre
Together, all four of us were the Art Macabre half of a special BArt Macabre drawing salon, completing our final preparations within the curator’s office of Barts Pathology Museum ahead of posing for 50 Shades of Pathology on the main museum floor.
Having worked here once before for Art Macabre, I could vouchsafe that there really is no finer venue for death drawing. All around the walls on three levels of a single well-lit open space there are curious and bizarre specimens of the human body. Louise and I were to be life models among the anatomised deceased.
© Art Macabre
The event was a sell-out and the museum already packed with artists when we paced round the black iron middle landing and descended a spiral staircase to the far corner. We opened with a brief but intriguing presentation on ‘colour in pathology’ from curator Carla Valentine. Shades of death are not merely grey…
© Art Macabre
And so to art. Louise and I had first posed together with friends at our Babylon photo shoot last September and several times since, including this year in Holloway Road and Lincoln’s Inn Fields for photographer Natansky. This would be our first event life modelling together.
© Art Macabre
© Art Macabre
© Art Macabre
© Art Macabre
We were keen to try a few poses in combination but with so many artists seated in a large oval around us – three deep in places – we were forced to work separately most of the time. Dynamic poses of 1 minute, 3, 5 and 7 minutes started us off.
© Art Macabre
Our next pose of 10 minutes was to be our first and only connected pose – our arms linked about one another while I held hands with an anatomical skeleton. Afterwards I provided a solo seated pose for the 15-miuntes that took us up to a drinks break.
© Art Macabre
For the last half an hour we were once again separated to serve different ends of the oval. Louise is such a wonderful model that I did fear my pose might be a lonely vigil. Ultimately I was relieved to find my share of artists was outnumbered by a mere 3:2.
© Art Macabre
© Art Macabre
Rising to our feet at the end, we took our applause together, pulled on our gowns and began admiring the artworks produced. The theme of the evening was colour and duly we found colour aplenty all around, including some real creative gems.
Arguably some of the finest work of the evening had been painted onto our skin at the outset. It was with heavy heart, after we’d parted, that I returned home to shower it off. Another act of desecration. But what an outstanding event at which to showcase such art while it stood bright upon our bodies.
© Art Macabre
steve ritter 