“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
My first time life modelling for Art Macabre was as Egon the skeleton clown in their 2013 Circus of Skeletons. That day also happened to be my birthday, and in many ways each Art Macabre booking since then has felt like a cause for celebration. Last Saturday with them at The Book Club in Shoreditch I was a clown re-born.
Indeed, I was to be one of four clowns. Mary Beth Morossa would play the role of Pierrot, FiFi Croissant would be Colombina, and I would be Harlequin – all famed characters derived from the Commedia dell’arte. Our fourth clown was la magnifica direttore di arte macabra, Nikki aka Raven Rouge.
Pierrot © Mary Beth Morossa
Colombina © Art Macabre
Harlequin © Art Macabre
Raven Rouge © Art Macabre
There was to be lots of body and face painting so we all arrived early. Although this was their first time with Art Macabre, both FiFi and Mary Beth regularly adopt clown personas for other cabaret performances. They settled down and deftly transformed themselves with the most beautifully observed, complex visages.
For me the process was less exquisite but more thorough. Nikki began painting multi-coloured diamonds from my clavicles, down the front of my body to my knees and my elbows; then down my back to my ankles. I received a face-painted black mask and was topped-off with ruff, cuffs and hat.
All set, the artists were let in to collect drawing materials and gather into comfortable arcs around our little platform. Nikki stepped forward and first challenged everyone to take one minute to design their own macabre clown face. She then set the scene for the poses we would be presenting.
Foremost in our afternoon’s work would be the Commedia dell’arte’s seven primary emotions, considered universal across all cultures: joy, grief, fear, anger, surprise, love and laughter. First Nikki summoned Mary Beth’s Pierrot to begin with delicate interpretations of ‘grief’ and being ‘in love’ over two 2-minute poses.
While Mary Beth emoted, FiFi skipped and danced backstage. I wondered how she would manage to stay motionless for the artists. When her turn came, however, she faced them down firmly with fists on hips as ‘anger’ incarnate for 5 minutes. I would be next, emotions still to be declared.
First Nikki asked for five minutes of ‘surprise’ – but what kind of surprise? I decided against a joyful surprise, like bumping into a long-lost friend, as joy would come later. Instead I opted for a recoiling shocked surprise, as though an animal was jumping at me. It would make for a more dramatic, dynamic pose.
Next would be five minutes of ‘joy’. This time Nikki was looking for an open front-facing standing pose, so that’s what I presented: upright at the centre of the stage with arms outstretched as if trying to sweep up the whole room into a single joyous embrace.
When I’d finished spreading joy, we welcomed back FiFi and Mary Beth for our first group tableau. Harlequin, with little red ukulele, would be serenading Colombina while a jealous Pierrot sat unhappily alongside. FiFi and I would be gazing into each other’s eyes for 10 minutes…
Normally I would direct my stare slightly over the other model’s shoulder as some find prolonged eye contact a bit awkward. FiFi, however, is never off duty on stage. She winked, flickered her gaze, smiled… I responded in kind while gurning a big ugly grin throughout. We continued our mini expression performance through the whole pose.
At the end, Nikki spared Pierrot any further emotional torment and left Harlequin and Colombina to complete the first half of the session with a 15 minute duo pose. After a break for refreshment and costume tweaks, Pierrot returned for 20-minutes solo.
Mary Beth’s solo pose was the day’s big crowd-pleaser. Fast-forward to when we had finished and Nikki invited everyone to lay out their favourite drawings for all to admire, there were as many of this pose as there were of all our other poses put together – a reflection perhaps of its inspirational pathos, beauty and elegant simplicity
For the final 15 minutes the three Commedia dell’arte clowns were united once more. Nikki called for us to glare menacingly out at our audience. I sat cross-legged on a table, elbows on knees, staring fixedly over a pyramid of fingers. It was FiFi’s cold coquettish look askance, however, that captured most artists’ attention.
At close of play there was generous applause from all quarters. Art was shared with enthusiasm and received with warm admiration. Before disappearing to get changed and wash off our make-up, we all posed for a final few photos – permanent reminders of our impermanent body art.
© Art Macabre
Artists dispersed and we set to clearing away. It had been yet another successful Art Macabre Drawing Salon; the latest in a succession of highly popular, usually sold-out events. Nikki has created something wonderful, and she continues to overflow ideas, each one to be meticulously researched and refined on its way to becoming a rich, riotous reality. Such genius, such moments to treasure.
© Art Macabre
What lies concealed behind walls within walls? Peel back the unremarkable red brick façade of the Andaz Hotel in London’s Liverpool Street and you will find an elegant five-star residence with full modern leisure facilities for its guests. But there is more. This hotel has an unusual history.
Opened in 1884 as the Great Eastern, it was one of the city’s original railway hotels. After enjoying early popularity its glory faded until, almost a century after opening, designer Terence Conrad set to work. During restoration, his workers knocked down a wall and revealed a curious wood-panelled antechamber.
Upon pulling back the antechamber’s heavy ornate doors they discovered one of the most grandiose masonic temples in London. Hand-carved mahogany chairs, bronze candelabras, marble columns, marble floor and walls, blue and gold domed ceiling… in short, a treasure.
And if that wasn’t remarkable enough, it has now been discovered as a venue for the extraordinary aroma rituals of Odette Toilette – ‘purveyor of olfactory adventures’. Her sensual events are part lecture, part dramatic re-enactment, and offer exotic tastings and perfume-sampling to guests.
Re-enactment requires re-enactors, and that’s where I came in. A complex formative back-history intertwines Odette Toilette with Art Macabre, and this in turn has led to Art Macabre sourcing models for Odette Toilette. When they were short of one man, I was fortunate enough to get the call.
The cast assembled early to prepare for our 7pm start. Naïvely I imagined this was a new experience for all involved, but then slowly I realised in fact it was only me who hadn’t participated in a previous aroma ritual here. There would be six rituals in total this evening, of which I was to be the central figure in the first and third:
- HONEY MAN – Honey Jelly
- THE EGYPTIAN QUEEN – Flower-Infused Wine
- INCENSE AND SACRIFICE – Smoked Chocolate
- INTO THE UNDERWORLD – Pomegranate Sorbet
- ANCIENT GREEK MYSTERIES – Sweet Barley Arancini
- ANOINTING OIL – Orange Blossom Donut
My fellow performers were regular Art Macabre stars: Maya and Amy. In different circumstances we would be largely nude, save for body paint and wisps of costume. As this was a corporate event, however, Odette decided a modicum of modesty might be in order. Preparation centred on costume.
Maya is a virtuoso genius when it comes to any form of make-up or costume-based transformation. Similarly Amy knew exactly what was required for her roles. I, on the other hand, got a 10-minute walk through my two rituals and was then prepared for the first by Nikki, Art Macabre’s very own visionary magician, a.k.a. Raven Rouge.
First my face was painted gold, then golden honeycomb patterns were added to my torso, which was finally overlaid completely by sparkly bronze. I was dressed with a gold bandana and sparkling loincloth that from a distance looked like Kylie Minogue’s hot pants. I was ready.
The seats were full and Odette, in her magnificent red gown and wreathed hair, was already addressing her guests when Nikki led me to the temple doors. The sound of Odette’s gong was the signal for me to walk slowly, solemnly, yet willingly up to her sacrificial altar.
As Odette explained the mummification of mellified men, her handmaidens fed me a dozen or so spoonfuls of honey. The first was huge and oozed down my chin, but the portions then got steadily smaller. Once filled, I was led around and laid flat upon the altar, where I was smeared with more honey and duly regarded as sacrificed.
After motionless moments I was then permitted to be considered reanimated, and slowly made my exit from the temple. Well! That had been straightforward enough, and all rather enjoyable. While Maya and Amy continued with the Egyptian Queen ritual, Nikki prepared my next appearance.
I was to be Mesoamerican, once more for the chop on the sacrificial altar. Different headgear, different loincloth, additional wristbands and some black lines for face paint. No honey this time, but I was garlanded, handed a flute – which I played tunelessly in a single lap of the temple – and laid out flat again.
My eyes were closed. I could hear Odette talking about a knife, and then felt a thud on the centre of my chest. Mercifully nothing sharp; I believe I managed not to flinch. Once my “body parts” had been divided among the guests I was bidden to leave, and just made it out before my loincloth fell off completely.
That was me done but I waited while Maya and Amy went Greek, and finally Amy was anointed in the guise of King Charles II. It had been a grand tour of the senses and the imagination, which Odette had woven skilfully and coherently into a clever, interesting and pacey evening of entertainment.
Upon completion of the final ritual we were all invited to return and take an ovation. We seized the opportunity of our final costumed presence in the temple to snap some vanity photos. Our model professionalism fleetingly gave way to childish enjoyment of this extraordinary situation.
From being drafted in relatively late, and having no full rehearsal before diving straight in, I had no real sense of how competent I’d been – if at all – but Odette was warm in her thanks and seemed genuinely pleased with the night as a whole. The guests left with big smiles, which is the main thing.
As for me, I’d been bowled over by the entire event. The vision, the presentation, the attention to detail as waiters brought in tray after tray of fabulous delights, the setting and the theatre of it all; it struck me as utterly unique. It had been a genuine privilege to be involved.
steve ritter 