“Do you want to model in Romford next week?”
“Probably. 🙂 What day and address?”
Thus a new booking at a new venue came my way. A friend had found herself obliged to pass on the booking, and gladly I was able to accept it. The group’s organiser was keen too, so our date was set.
The life drawing evening at St Alban Church Hall is the quintessential small, friendly gathering of artists. The half-a-dozen regulars who came along to draw me were all on first name terms, and when a new first-time artist arrived just before the start she was made very welcome.
I would be providing four poses for them: 10 minutes standing, 20 minutes seated and 20 minutes standing, up to our break. After tea and biscuits I settled down to a single 45-minute pose reclining on a huge inflatable bed – rarely have I known comfort like it whilst modelling.
Our newcomer artist was none other than Amanda of Feel Good Painted, who had body painted me for the 2015 London Naked Bike Ride just the previous Saturday. It seemed fitting, after she’d given me my first ever half-day of body art, that I should pose for her first ever life drawing session.
I was grateful to be asked if I could model again after the summer break, and averred that I would be only too happy to return. A good time was had by all.
The London Naked Bike Ride: it’s a protest against oil dependency; a commentary on the visibility and vulnerability of cyclists; a celebration of body freedom. It’s among the largest of all the World Naked Bike Ride events. I had taken part in 2009, 2011, 2012, 2013 and 2014 – for the twelfth annual ride, in 2015, I needed to get organised.
I’d decided to buy (rather than hire) a bike, and I wanted to be body painted. Typically, I left myself less than a month to arrange both. The bike was delivered and assembled just in time to make its maiden road-trip at the event itself. I half expected the tyres to go flat, the gears to fail, or the front wheel to fall off… but somehow I got away with it.
In colours
For the body painting I was entrusted to Amanda of Feel Good Painted. Our mutual friend, Natansky – who was organising the Tower Hill start of the ride – brokered the arrangement. We exchanged design ideas and agreed to devote a couple of hours to the painting at Amanda’s house in the morning. I would then head down to Tower Hill and Amanda would go to West Norwood, where more riders awaited decoration.
My body art was to be vivid psychedelia. We began at 9am with a flower of glitter and glue on my chest. Next, with assistance from Amanda’s friend Ann-Marie, I had arcs and swirls and spirals applied simultaneously both to my front and back – upper body, arms and buttocks – plus a matching motif on my forehead. I don’t know where all the time went but somehow two hours turned into three. I was delighted with the results.
When the work was done, I posed for a quick set of photos to record the masterpiece before we went our separate ways. I had a little time in hand before I was due to meet Natansky and others at Tower Hill, whereas Amanda and Ann-Marie raced away with their paints, still hoping to embellish another seventy riders in one hour. Heroic stuff.
View from the Hill
Arriving at Trinity Square Gardens opposite Tower Hill station around 1:30pm, I found Natansky inside the Tower Hill Memorial having the last strokes applied to her own paintwork by body artist, Asha. With them were: ride marshal, Simon; the first of our official photographers, also called Simon; and a handful of other early-arriving riders.
Natansky gets her finishing touches
Initially I hadn’t recognised Natansky in her large black wig. As we chatted I could see she was shivering with cold – I was grateful to have had my own body painted indoors. The sky was thickly overcast, the breeze was chilly and there had been a fine spitting of rain. It looked set to be less than pleasant conditions, but no-one was backing out.
The formal gathering time was 2:30pm for a 3pm start. Friends and ride veterans, Cy and Chas, joined us, as did Adrian and James. Our second official photographer was Scott: another friend from bygone projects. And it was nice to meet newcomers such as Roberto, the Mexican chap who would be riding in his Zorro mask and cape.
About to hit the road – © Scott Hortop
At around a quarter to three, Natansky gave the signal for us to undress and move our bikes towards the junction with Byward Street. As the number of naked cyclists grew, so did the crowd with cameras. Respectful photographers are always welcomed, and it seemed there weren’t too many intrusive voyeurs. It was a good atmosphere.
Riders mustering for the signal to start… including Zorro, top right
Jumping the gun
We continued inching forward in anticipation. It’s odd that the cold we’d felt so keenly while in light clothes was suddenly absent from our minds when we had no clothes at all. We were lining up nicely when things went unexpectedly a bit pear-shaped. Those in front set off too early – no fewer than 8 minutes too early, in fact.
And we’re off! But too soon!
Natansky was still herding cyclists at the back of the pack when those in front made their move. Oblivious to the mistake, the rest of us simply followed. Halting scores of naked cyclists strung out over hundreds of metres along Lower Thames Street, music blaring, whistles blowing, is not an easy thing to do.
Emerging from under London Bridge, out on to Upper Thames Street
There weren’t many pedestrians by the roads leading down to the Thames, but those we passed greeted us with looks of astonished glee. Cheers intensified as we pushed further towards the centre of London. People on bridges waved as we streamed below them. Motorists on the opposite side of the road tooted their approval.
Signalling our arrival at Victoria Embankment
From Upper Thames Street we dashed through Blackfriars Underpass and emerged at the eastern end of Victoria Embankment. It wasn’t until we neared Temple station that Natansky finally passed me in blur of fluorescence and body paint, pedalling frantically to chase down our frontrunners.
“Cycle lane not in use” – but today that didn’t matter
When she’d caught up, her first job was to slow us down. The significance of starting at exactly 3pm was that it would synchronise us with other rides from Regent’s Park, Hyde Park, King’s Cross, Clapham Junction and West Norwood. Our ride would now have to be punctuated with pauses until we were across Westminster Bridge.
Playing the waiting game beneath the terrace of Somerset House
Still on Victoria Embankment we went under Waterloo Bridge and passed Cleopatra’s Needle – where last weekend I’d helped at one of Natansky’s photo shoots – before turning onto Northumberland Avenue. We caught our first glimpse of Nelson’s Column looming over the trees as we headed towards Trafalgar Square.
The Tower Hill riders are first to reach Trafalgar Square
At this point last year we had the joy of seeing riders from other starting points sweep before us as everyone converged according to plan. This year we waited… and waited. The tooting of a few tetchy motorists behind us in Northumberland Avenue showed we weren’t alone in missing the joy.
The waiting game… time for a selfie
Come together
Onwards we went, turning left into Whitehall, still shepherded by Natansky and Simon wearing their high-vis waistcoats and nothing else – this was unusual crowd-control at the heart of government. Nelson’s Column had been our marker before; now Elizabeth Tower – previously St Stephen’s Tower, but generally ‘Big Ben’ – was our target.
Naked people riding bikes along Whitehall
Natansky at Horse Guards Parade
Passing the Cenotaph – © Massimo Usai
At the end of Whitehall, before entering Parliament Square, we waited again. This time it seemed our numbers might actually have increased. The other rides had reached us at last. I spotted more friends – Camila and Chris – amongst us. We were now all set to push on as a single mass. As if to celebrate with us, the sun broke through.
Naked bike riders assemble – thumbs up to that
Seats of democracy – the Houses of Parliament
We turned left into Parliament Square. This has always been a part of the circuit most busy with tourists but this year was insane. As I headed towards Westminster Bridge, Natansky yelled to me: “Tell the crowds to get back!” I’d never seen anything like it.
Hundreds of onlookers had left the pavements and swarmed into the road, creating a narrow funnel for us to pass through. It was like the Tour de France. Yelling made no difference. I decided to keep my bike on a straight course so if they didn’t get out the way they would get hit. Simple. I reckon I got about a dozen.
Running the gauntlet – © Chrissie Judge
Familiar folk from last year’s ride, with encroaching photographers
Baring south
Turning off Westminster Bridge Road on to Addington Street, we left the throng behind us. There was to be no lingering in south London as we rolled along the length of York Street and then left on to Waterloo Bridge. If Westminster Bridge is where the tourists gather, Waterloo Bridge is where the wily photographers are to be found.
On Waterloo Bridge – well, driver, can you?
My Waterloo crossing – © Canonite Wink
Off the bridge… – © Scott Hortop
…on to Lancaster Place – © Scott Hortop
Justice
Back in north London we went from Lancaster Place, across the Strand – always lots of cheering here – and around Aldwych, rejoining the Strand to pass before the Royal Courts of Justice. One of our number separated here to stage a lone demonstration in favour of justice for Stephen Gough, the “Naked Rambler”.
Before the law – nakedness at the Royal Courts
We took a left into Chancery Lane, another left into Carey Street, and then a right into Serle Street, to emerge at Lincoln’s Inn Fields – our traditional rest area. After three-quarters of a lap we dismounted. This was a chance to escape the saddle and find the friends we’d lost sight of during our journey so far.
Entering Lincoln’s Inn Fields, the sun took another look at us
Out of the saddle – © Ðariusz
Enigmatic red-bob lady – a regular at every ride
Another location from a Natansky photoshoot earlier this year
West End
The one place I never dreamt we would try to pass through again on a naked bike ride was Covent Garden. After the bottleneck chaos of 2013, it seemed risky to attempt a return. Indeed, apparently we weren’t supposed to go back but somehow we were led there: Remnant Street, Great Queen Street, Long Acre, Bow Street, Russell Street…
Scene of the 2013 Covent Garden bottleneck – this year all clear
At least this year we got through cleanly, weaving around the crowds and apologising to buskers for hijacking their audience. We were now navigating a few less-celebrated streets of London’s West End, on our way back to Trafalgar Square: Henrietta Street, Bedford Street, Chandos Place, William IV Street…
Back we go – on Chandos Place
Aiming at the National Portrait Gallery – on William IV Street
William IV Street ran on to St Martin’s Place, from where we swung left on to Charing Cross Road to go around Trafalgar Square and beneath Admiralty Arch. Together with Westminster, this is one of the most intense parts of the ride. The better thing here is that the roads are clear and wide, allowing us to free-wheel through the cheers.
Majesty
My favourite part of the ride will always be the run along the Mall towards Buckingham Palace. The splendour, the majesty, the pageantry, the wide open road, and our ride’s anarchic frivolity pitched into its heart, all appeal to me hugely. It was a shame that by now I’d become separated from friends. I savoured the moment at a leisurely pace.
Putting the ‘great’ in Great Britain
Trooping the colour – © Ian Hollaway
Our last stop should have been the finish line, but it’s impossible to resist jumping off the bike in front of Buckingham Palace for selfie capers. Ride marshals were keen, in no uncertain terms, to get us pedalling again but, hey, I pay my taxes, it’s my palace too. No law was broken in the making of this photo.
The peasants are revolting
End game
As all ride regulars know, we usually turn up Constitution Hill and finish at Wellington Arch. Not this year, however. To thwart the more notorious voyeur photographers, this year we had a new unannounced finish line. In fact it was so secret that several riders went off to Wellington Arch anyway – some consolation for the voyeurs, perhaps.
The other twist this year was that the finish was not actually the finish. Those who’d set off from West Norwood or Tower Hill would be riding back naked to their starting points. Our return route was to be direct: Birdcage Walk, Great George Street, Spur Road, Bridge Street, left on to Victoria Embankment, then back the way we came.
Entering Birdcage Walk
A brief flirtation with marshal status – © Cy Wol
Lingering on Great George Street
Under Hungerford Bridge
We’d reached our finish line at ten past five, set off again at half-five, and finally arrived back to Tower Hill at ten past six. We’d been naked on the streets of London for more than three hours. Every year the ride is different, every year brings its own chaos and euphoria, every year we love it. Time for one last photo to celebrate.
Tower Hill naked bike riders, 2015 – © Natansky
Aftermath
When at last we dressed and wheeled our bikes away, I found that my right foot was in agony from some sort of strain. This was not useful as my day was far from over. I locked my bike outside Fenchurch Street station then caught the tube from Liverpool Street to Piccadilly, heading for the Royal Academy of Arts.
I was to be a volunteer at ‘The Other Garden Party‘, helping to guide people into the Art Macabre life drawing salon. In the Academy’s published dress code, guests were requested: ‘Please come wearing your finest floral dresses or brightly coloured shirts‘. I simply wore no shirt at all – and was thus brighter than most.
Some time after 10:30pm, the pain from my foot had become too much so I began the slow limp home, collecting my bike along the way. Gone one o’clock in the morning, I was indoors, washed, and down on all fours, wearily scrubbing out the shower. Was it really worth such trouble and discomfort? Just try to stop me doing it again next year.
Until next year, let’s continue reliving the 2015 ride through Cy’s 15 minute video:
“I could get you a stool to sit on,” said Tom, the facilitator for Adrian Dutton‘s Friday group, “but then we’ve had a lot of models sitting on stools lately.” As this was to be a long-pose session the choice of position was more significant than usual.
“How about reclining?” he asked.
“How about a standing pose?” I asked back.
There was no hesitation in accepting my offer. It meant I was priming myself for some otherwise avoidable pain and discomfort but it had been 16 days since I last modelled so I reckoned I might as well go for broke with this one.
We warmed up with short poses: 5 minutes standing with a twist; 5 minutes kneeling with a twist; 5 minutes folded forward with one arm extended; 7 minutes sitting on the floor with arms around one knee.
At 7:25pm I settled into my long standing pose. My feet were together at right angles so the right knee bent out a little; my left hand rested upon my left hip; my right hand held the top of a mop handle; my chin was raised. Thus I stood till our break at 8pm.
After tea and garlic bread I resumed the pose at twenty past eight. Before the interval my left hand has gone utterly numb and slightly off colour. I knew it was certain to do so again, up to our finish at nine-thirty. Tom gave me stretch breaks after 20 minutes and 40 minutes so I could at least shake a little life back into it.
Generous applause rewarded my discomfort at the end of the evening. That and some very nice art.
No body paint, no props; just two nude models. It’s quite the usual thing for models at life drawing groups to pose without adornment, but this was the first time I had been called to do so with Art Macabre.
The focus of this salon was artists and materials. After a six month absence, Art Macabre was back in collaboration with Cass Art for ‘Watercolour Revolutionaries’ at their Kingston store, an event presented over two successive evenings in May.
“Tableaux and techniques will be inspired by visionary watercolour artists such as William Blake, Tracey Emin and Egon Schiele. Experiment with the new Winsor & Newton professional Watercolour Markers which offer bright, vibrant colours, in an innovative form for increased versatility. The timeless medium has never been so dynamic.“
I had been booked to pose with fellow model Lily on the second evening, under the inspired guidance of Art Macabre’s Nikki, aka Raven Rouge. Our life modelling would be about the body in poses recreated from famous watercolour works. There would be no added theatrics.
I love to model for watercolour painting. There’s an extra freshness and vibrancy about the finished pieces that’s harder to find in charcoal or pencil studies. Ten artists joined us in the bright, summery upstairs space above Cass Art shop floor.
Tracey Emin
Our opening short dynamic poses were to be inspired by the blue, somewhat explicit, watercolours of Tracey Emin.
Lily opened up in a reclining poses with one leg raised and bent at the knee. She held this for 2 minutes then flipped position, presenting the same pose to the other side of the room for 3 minutes. A 4-minute pose followed, standing with one arm crooked over her head, then I joined her for 5 minutes, reclining at her feet with limbs raised.
William Blake
Our second inspiration was the radiant watercolour figures of William Blake. The first work that I would attempt to recreate was ‘The Sun at His Eastern Gate‘.
William Blake – ‘The Sun at His Eastern Gate’
The pose required both arms to be outstretched and unsupported. Nikki asked how long I could hold it and, perhaps rashly, I agreed to 10 minutes. After seven minutes both my arms felt like they were holding heavy shopping bags. I carried on, though I suspect Nikki may have called time a minute or two early – if so, it was a kindness.
The next work by Blake to inspire us was ‘Satan Watching the Caresses of Adam and Eve‘. An Art Macabre skull was to be our Satan.
William Blake – Satan Watching the Caresses of Adam and Eve
There was chuckling that, having met for the first time half an hour before, Lily and I were now being asked to pose for 20 minutes as Adam and Eve “caressing”. In fact it was enough for us be leaning together on the floor, not quite gazing into each other’s eyes. It may have looked like paradise but supporting it was tough on the wrists.
Egon Schiele
Finally, after a break, we turned to everybody’s favourite raw, twisted figurative artist, Egon Schiele.
Egon Shiele – Self-portrait
Lily and I would be seated separately on stools for a single 35-minute pose. I carried the main burden of being Schiele-esque – it’s what got me the booking after all – while Lily was sat partly draped with legs askew.
© Art Macabre
© Art Macabre / Sian Dowell, Cass Art
© Art Macabre / Sian Dowell, Cass Art
© Art Macabre / Sian Dowell, Cass Art
© Art Macabre / Sian Dowell, Cass Art
© Art Macabre / Sian Dowell, Cass Art
Afterwards, paintings were set out around the floor for general admiration. Farida, our friend from so many Art Macabre events, had made great art, while also distinguishing themselves were artists Natalie Thomas – whose work was displayed at the Art Macabre ‘Dying Art’ exhibition – and the fantastic Captain Chants.
Like my last modelling assignment for Nikki, at Woodley Library, it was a long journey home at the end of the evening. And like that occasion, and so many others, the art and enjoyment make it all worthwhile.
© Art Macabre
It almost didn’t happen. My first event outside London with Art Macabre looked sure to be scuppered by the immeasurably greater tragedy of somebody dying beneath a train near the very station to which we were headed. The previous evening I’d been at the Art Macabre ‘Dying Art’ exhibition, which carried the message: Dying Matters. Indeed it does.
An unholy trinity stood forlornly on the concourse of Paddington Station: Art Macabre supremo, orator and skull-painter, Nikki aka Raven Rouge; fire-brandisher, model and master of transformation, Maya; and me. We had to reach either Twyford or Reading, from where a driver would take us to nearby Woodley in time for a 7 o’clock start. As the clock ticked towards 5pm, the departure boards remained in chaos.
Suddenly we were given hope: an announcement came that the lines were clear and services would resume shortly. Nikki dashed for tickets while Maya and I headed for the next departure to Bristol, calling at Reading. The three of us just about managed to crush on board with Nikki’s two huge bags of props. We were moving at last.
Our problems were far from over, however. The car that should have been meeting us at the other end had apparently broken down… Thus at Reading we queued patiently for a taxi. Much relief was felt when finally it pulled up to Woodley library, our venue for the evening. We had just enough time to prepare our stage and make-up.
As we were on virgin territory, Nikki could reprise some classic global curiosities from her bygone death drawing salons. First Maya would be Mayan. Did that mean I would be Steven? Apparently not. I would start off Mexican, with one half of my face painted in sugar-skull style.
The librarians of Woodley had prepared a magnificent spacious platform for us to pose on, just beyond line of sight from the building’s wide glass façade. Seats in front of our stage were soon occupied by artists. Nikki welcomed them all, shared some historical context and then introduced Maya for her opening warm-up poses: 1, 3, 5, 7 minutes.
I joined her on stage to symbolise Mexico inheriting the Mayan legacy – a 10-minute pose with Maya leading and me following, holding her hand. Maya then departed and left me dancing with a golden skull in a longer pose that would take us to our break.
© Art Macabre
© Art Macabre
© Art Macabre
When I rejoined Maya behind the scenes she was all but naked, midway through her metamorphosis into the goddess Kali. Shortly before, a cleaner had wandered in and been startled out of his wits. My own transition simply entailed swapping the Mexican garland of flowers in my hair for a black crow’s wing fastened to the side of my head. I was now a male Hel.
© Art Macabre
© Art Macabre
Once again Maya began solo and then I joined in for a duo pose to close the evening. The event had been an artistic success – full credit to Woodley library for showing the courage and innovation to host it. We had time to admire the artworks before packing away in haste to catch the taxi that would begin our long journey home.
Maya had managed to remove most of her blue Kali face paint, but I’d run out of time. Train, tube, tube, train – I returned home half skull-faced. We live in an age, however, where passers-by afford such sights little more than phlegmatic sideways glance. As for me… I just enjoy making my Art Macabre moments last that little bit longer.
© Art Macabre
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.
steve ritter 