Slender fingers slide timorously from a black cocoon. The top of the suitcase that lies flat upon a small bare table begins to lift. Slowly, gracefully and utterly naked, the girl within emerges. She stands, stretches, moves lithely, luxuriously, like a new butterfly unfurling its wings to feel the sun’s warmth for the first time.
She poses, strong, she addresses the people before her; she is one and she is all.
She is Esther Bunting, and I am of the audience for her all-new visionary presentation of ‘Girl in Suitcase‘ at The Telegraph at the Earl of Derby, part of the Telegraph Hill Festival. Like everyone else here, I have paper and pencils – this is performance, presence, art and life drawing combined.
A small: “Ahem”. Esther has company. Ursula says, “I’m supposed to be the model!” “Oh, sorry.” Esther dresses, Ursula undresses, and now it is Ursula standing nude in pose upon the table while Esther has become the callous art teacher. She objectifies her life model with heartless detachment. We draw.
Transformation. Esther is now Mary, mother of Jesus. She decries the systematic erasing of women from our myths, our religions, our history. And again we draw.
Goddesses come forth. Sabine – third of the performance trio – emerges as Isis from beneath gossamer wings. In her Egyptian azure belly-dancer costume she dances to music with measured elegance. Then Esther becomes Artemis, armed with bow and arrow, directed towards the audience for a piercing monologue. She too dances, slow at first, then quickening to a techno blur. And we draw faster.
Transformation. Esther and Ursula are once more nude. They smear silver paint upon each other, then pink, then blue – soon will come the blood. Black paint and brushes are taken. They paint swirls and lines upon their torsos, while Isis offers up a brush to the audience. Several of us make our marks upon the goddess-canvases. Esther and Ursula hug in colours, and we draw.
There is a final transformation: into winter. Sabine, Esther and Ursula become elderly, they recite their roles, the universality of women; the roles we recognise, the roles we forget and roles we never knew we took for granted. They stand in a line and writhe as the goddess Kali, six-armed, empowerment embodied. Music rolls as it has all night, weaving a mood through the soliloquies of Esther and the poems of Ursula.
© Stephanie Flower
© Stephanie Flower
The performance climaxes as Esther, her face bandaged, her body shrouded, returns to sit huddled and meditative in her suitcase womb. The goddess and poetess mourn. It is over, and when next they stand we applaud warmly and loudly. It has been a rich, complex, compelling performance. And we have been engaged…
…but audience engagement hadn’t been restricted to life drawing and a few indulgent paint daubs on the performers’ bodies. During the second half Esther had announced it was now time for the models to draw the artists: who would stand and step forward to pose naked for them? She’d barely uttered the words when I started kicking off my shoes… but then I paused, thinking: “no, I’ve modelled before, this call is for others.”
One woman – an artist I knew from local life drawing – rose from the crowd and began to undress. For a while, despite continuing calls from Esther, it seemed she would be alone. Esther asked, “Where are the men?”. OK! I stood and undressed. Three others followed me and together the five of us linked with arms around shoulders and waists.
As Venus played, we posed; me second from the left. The audience drew us from the front…
…while Sabine and Ursula drew us from behind – myself chalked large…
…and this was supposed to be my night off!
I count myself lucky; to do this thing I enjoy whilst enjoying such a special event. Yet I’m luckier still to be able to count Esther, Sabine and Ursula among my friends. And in the company of friends, with a nice Rioja, life drawing, life modelling, dance, music, poetry, mythology and performance… on this night the world was better.
Girl in Suitcase is unique; intense, immersive, personal, phenomenal. A rare gift.
The phone call came at ten past five. It was a root canal. Mercifully not for me; rather one had been inflicted on the model due at the A-side B-side Gallery from 7pm that evening. Apparently they were in no condition to pose, so the gallery asked if I would step in as a last-minute “life saver”. A quick check of train timetables showed I could just about make it. The gig was on.
This turn of events was doubly unexpected as I’d modelled for the A-side B-side only the week before. I’d left at the end of that evening with a spring in my step, and the hope that I might get another booking perhaps as early as May. Little did I imagine it would be seven days later.
As per the previous Monday, we kicked off with a spot of collaborative drawing. Each artist drew for 3 minutes at their easel and then moved leftwards to the next adjacent easel, continuing the work they inherited there for another 3 minutes, and so on.
As ever, Catherine Hall was our effervescent and informative group tutor. Differences she brought to this week’s collaboration included: use of brown paper; having drawing materials stay with the easels rather than the artists; and limiting the exercise to just four rounds. Afterwards everyone returned to their original easel and we resumed with more traditional work, starting with a 15-minute standing pose.
A 15-minute seated pose took us up to an interval. Somehow I’d contrived to direct a disproportionate amount of body weight onto my right leg during the first three poses, so I made a mental note to go easy on it during the second half of the evening.
After refreshment and al fresco cigarettes for the artists, we had about 45 minutes for our final session. It would be divided into two poses, with Catherine opting for lengths of 15 and 30 minutes. I would be standing for the first 15 minutes (on my left leg).
The final half-hour was once more seated. For variation I angled my body one way, my face another, and cradled one crooked leg with hands locked on the shin. This longest pose of the evening probably looked the least comfortable but I was perfectly balanced with no danger of aches or numbness.
Pose done, the artists started drifting home. For the first time since I began modelling at the A-side B-side, a little over a year ago, it was a full house: ten artists and not an easel left to spare. I’ve said before that this is a group deserving of success, so it was particularly pleasing to find it at maximum capacity.
I’m the official ‘first reserve’ model for the gallery next week. I’ve said to Catherine that I sincerely hope they don’t have another model dropping out as there might be mutiny amongst the artists if they had me for three weeks in succession. Equally sincerely, I do love modelling here so hope it’s not too many months before I’m back again.
Gymnastics, legal advocacy, mixing drinks… there are various forms of employment that can draw one to working at the bar. Thursday night at The Pigeon Hole café in Camberwell, however, was my first time called to the bar as a life model.
Life modelling in a café: what a brilliant idea. It reminded me of the opening scene of Pulp Fiction with Tim Roth asking fatefully, ‘People never rob restaurants, why not?‘ So, why not do life drawing in a café? I’ve modelled in community halls, libraries and pubs. Anywhere is suitable if there’s sufficient space, curtains or blackouts for doors and windows, and enough local people who want to draw.
Space is all The Pigeon Hole lacks in abundance. Hence I would enjoy the novelty of posing mostly from the top of the café bar. I rather relished this as a challenge; being six foot four tall I was pretty sure I wouldn’t be standing upright on it, but I should still set out to deliver as much variety as possible in my poses.
This group is a relatively new spin-off from Camberwell Life Drawing – both are run by Tatiana Moressoni. Although still in its infancy, it has enjoyed enough enthusiasm already to make it viable. We had three artists seated and primed when we started at 7pm, and the number doubled before our 9pm finish.
It’s not uncommon to begin a session with standing poses and end it reclining. In this curious set-up, however, I fancied going the opposite way. My first 2-minute pose was horizontal on a cushion and sheets spread over the whole bar. The artists were barely a couple of metres distant.
The pose sequence for the first half of the evening was 2 minutes, 2, 2, 5, 5, 5, 10, 10 and 15 minutes. From starting at full stretch I rotated through a set of sitting, kneeling and squatting positions, facing a different direction after each change.
During the interval that followed I perused the café chalkboard and treated myself to a glass of Malbec. As I wouldn’t be operating any heavy machinery, I didn’t feel too bad about drinking while working. I kept the glass on the bar within easy reach and took a hearty sip when changing position throughout the second half.
My remaining poses were 5, 5, 15 and 20-minutes long. I started out reaching for one of the globe ceiling lights and ended with my only pose not on the bar, standing erect upon the floor directly in front of it. At the end I gulped the last of my wine, put on my gown and followed Tatiana in photographing some of the artists’ works.
Fair play to The Pigeon Hole and to Tatiana for the fantastic innovation of café culture life drawing. It feels right and deserves to take off in a good way. I hope they continue it with every success, and more cafés are inspired to follow suit.
Numbness – an occupational hazard for life models. The greater the pose length, the greater the likelihood of it occurring. As such, with the second of my two successive Wednesdays at The Cambria being devoted to longer poses, I might have reckoned upon a slight loss of sensation at some point during proceedings…
I’d thoroughly enjoyed my evening of short poses for Camberwell Life Drawing last week. No pose was longer than 15 minutes, yet each gave the artists enough time to produce some sterling work. By contrast my second visit would have no pose shorter than 15 minutes; excellence would duly result. There would be four poses in total.
Consistent across both sessions was the efficient management of Tatiana Moressoni. No detail was omitted in the set-up, with newcomers and regulars equally well looked after; and me too. As an adept life model herself, Tatiana knows all the right calls. I’m sure there’s something to be said for artists and group organisers trying life modelling at least once in their lives to better understand its joys and demands.
It was important to offer variety across the four poses. The sequence I went for was:
- 15 minutes standing with arms and fists raised
- 15 minutes seated on the floor with torso angled onto a couch
- 30 minutes seated upright on the edge of the couch
- 45 minutes reclining along the length of the couch
The last of these was the only pose after our half-time break, and ought to have been the most comfortable. Indeed, I was comfortable as I settled down, but the first signs of numbness began seeping and tingling into my right arm about a quarter of the way through. The problem was twofold.
Firstly, on a previous visit I reclined towards the rear of the couch and had a couple of artists tell me afterwards that their view had been obscured by its panelled arms. This time I set myself along the front edge, but it meant I needed my limbs held in balance rather than being wholly relaxed.
Secondly, I’m tall. Certainly too tall to fit on the three little base cushions. My left foot was dangling off one end, and my head was tilted at 30° on the opposite arm, cradled heavily on one palm. This meant my right arm was crooked, elevated and squashed. I should have known numbness was inevitable.
Ever considerate, Tatiana had given me the option of having a stretch halfway through, even before I’d chosen my reckless position. When the time was upon me, however, I knew that a minute spent waggling my arm would make little difference, so decided to stay put till the end.
Come the end, I sat up and found I’d lost every last vestige of feeling and control in my stricken limb. My hand flopped around with a heavy dullness. Only after a few minutes had passed – during which I sat demurely flexing on the couch – could I even begin to think about dressing myself.
At least my self-inflicted difficulty wasn’t to the detriment of artists’ work – The overall standard was very impressive. When we were all packed away I retired to the bar with Tatiana and others to partake of some red wine. It was a civilised end to an evening of great art and great company.
The creativity inspired by this session did not end there. Unbeknown to me two artists had used a camera mounted like an angle-poise lamp to record themselves capturing me in pose. The first 15 minutes, plus two interpretations of the final 45 minutes, were edited together into a single 3-minute video. It’s a fascinating insight into technique.
Although I’m no stranger to the A-side B-side Gallery in Hackney Downs Studios, Monday’s visit was my first time modelling there surrounded by art. ‘Unbroken‘ was the title of the exhibition. On a couple of previous occasions I’d arrived just as works were being packed away, so it was good to turn up this week and find the walls fully occupied by pieces from Kimberley Beach, Helena Collins and Jamie Shaw.
Kimberley Beach – ‘Progressive Pain‘ (2014), video and screenprints
The artist amid all this art was our group tutor, Catherine Hall. Her gift for proposing new, interesting challenges each session would this time see us begin with a spot of collaborative drawing. Six artists at six easels would draw for 3 minutes then move to the easel on their left, continue its work in progress for another 3 minutes, then move again, and so on until after six rounds every artist had contributed to every drawing.
I’ve modelled for this type of exercise before and, as on those occasions, the finished artworks were surprisingly coherent and accurate. It’s as though no-one wanted to let the side down – everybody made a strong contribution.
Collaborative drawing – six artists contributing
Although the exercise went very well I think it may have been with some relief that the artists continued thereafter with medium-length poses and an easel all to themselves. 15 minutes standing and 10 minutes seated took us up to our break.
Afterwards, Catherine asked the artists if they would prefer to draw a single long pose or to divide this second half of the evening into two poses. The expressed preferences were for the latter: two seated poses, 20 minutes and 23 minutes, through to our 9pm finish.
As ever, Catherine offered tips and techniques on a one-to-one basis throughout while chilled music played in the background. It’s so easy to pose in such conditions. Time floats by, with the mind both fed and soothed. Artists departed with smiles at the end of the evening, and so did I. Life art once more dispels the Monday blues.
I entered The Cambria pub and looked about. Having been here twice before I knew I would be modelling upstairs yet I couldn’t remember the way up. I wandered in an arc around the central horseshoe-shaped bar, searching without success for a staircase. And then I noticed the walls…
All around the walls were life drawings – beautiful life drawings. I scrutinised each one whilst I pondered my next move, even recognising a few of the models as friends. The simple outline curve of a woman’s back was bold and unmissable beside the fireplace. Even more striking to me, however, was the smaller drawing just beneath it.
It was the first time I’d walked into a pub and found a picture of myself on the wall.
In the modest light I needed three or four attempts with my phone’s camera to snap a satisfactory picture. This prompted raised eyebrows and speculative muttering among nearby patrons. I’m not sure if they thought I was more or less of a weirdo when I told them it was me in the drawing.
This wonderful memento of my first visit to The Cambria brought memories flooding back and, feeling emboldened, I opened a nearby door marked ‘PRIVATE’ to discover the missing staircase. I ascended to the world of Camberwell Life Drawing.
Standing centre stage was multi-talented Tatiana Moressoni – group organiser, artist, photographer, life model, traveller and all-round stupendous person. She was midway through instructing a fellow artist in the science of setting up the room, so after some early banter I retreated to the sidelines and let them be.
Tatiana books life models for two successive weeks at a time. The first of these – this evening’s session – is for short poses. It’s my favourite as there’s more possibility for variation. It’s clearly also popular with artists as by the time we started there wasn’t a spare seat anywhere at the semi-circle of tables and chairs.
We began with four 2-minute poses: three standing, one crouched down, all featuring an attempt at dramatic arm gestures. Next came three 5-minute poses: two standing and one making use of the bright red couch behind me; an exotic item now looking a shade more worn than I recalled, but then I probably look a shade more worn myself.
Three 10-minute poses took us up to a short break and a first chance for me to admire some of the artworks that had been produced. This is a particularly talented group, not with grand pretentions as such, simply a happy coming-together of gifted people.
Three 15-minute poses completed our evening: first perching on one arm of the couch, reaching along its back; second, perching on the front of the couch cushions with one knee on the floor; third, a simple standing pose with hands on hips, chin tilted up.
All done, I covered up and followed Tatiana in photographing artworks. The one I kept returning to was an extraordinary watercolour that I confess – if it’s not too vain to do so – I fell in love with. It was based on the second of the 10-minute poses though the artist continued developing it throughout the evening.
Strong lines and striking colours that the artist used on the figure, contrasting with the blast of paints added afterwards as a backdrop, appealed to me hugely. If it joined the ranks of artworks on display downstairs I might be moved to put in a bid for it myself.
Instead I put in a bid for drinks at the bar and settled down with Tatiana and artists to chat away the remainder of the evening. And the model in that drawing just above the one of me on the wall – the bold outline curve of a woman’s back? Tatiana herself.
We chatted for so long that by the end I’d left myself a sprint finish to catch the train home. All to the good, however; this is a place I would gladly run to model at again. I count myself blessed to be returning next week.
A familiar face in an unfamiliar place: I had arrived for my first time life modelling at the Rose Lipman Building in Islington and was just embarking on a circuit of its exterior to find the way in, when I spotted Adrian Dutton. As I was there for Adrian’s Tuesday night life drawing group, he was just the man to follow.
Inside, we prepared the main hall with help from regular artists. I placed orange plastic chairs in a square arrangement with about ten on each side. Wooden frames were put in front of these for artists to rest their boards on. Art materials were stacked on a pair of tables that had been unfolded near the door.
I was to model with a chap by the name of Ray. He had made his life modelling début, first time anywhere, at the same venue just a week previously and could now use this follow-up as a chance to see an experienced model posing. In a way I felt a degree of responsibility, although the most useful thing I could do for him would be to treat it as nothing out of the ordinary.
We were spoiled with no fewer than four electric heaters: two heavyweight units at the corners of the square farthest from the door, and two smaller ones nearer the carpet of yoga mats on which we would pose. With a good turn-out of artists seated and primed to draw, Adrian introduced us. We slipped off our robes and started our first 10-minute standing poses.
A sequence of shorter poses followed: 1 minute, 30 seconds, 2 minutes, 3 minutes, 5 minutes. Another 10-minute pose brought us full circle before a 20-minute pose sitting back-to-back on the floor took us to a half-time break. As always at Adrian’s groups, hot food, hot drinks and snacks were free for all.
We resumed with a 15-minute pose, followed by another quick-fire round: 30 seconds, 45 seconds, 3 minutes. To close the night, Adrian suggested Ray pose for a half-hour while I do three sets of 10-minutes. Somewhere halfway through, this mutated into me posing twice for 15-minutes, while Ray did 20 minutes and 10 minutes. So be it.
Afterwards I shared a few random tips with Ray: extending limbs for the short dynamic poses but keeping them supported for longer poses; alternating to face all sides of the room; pacing the poses throughout a session; items worth bringing along in a kit bag; and so forth. Ultimately every model has to learn from what their own body tells them, however.
Before I slipped away into the night there was time enough left for me to photograph a selection of drawings that artists had placed on the floor. New venue, new model, new faces, familiar faces too, and the joy of life modelling continues.
steve ritter 