An unseasonably sunny Sunday morning saw me return to pose Wanstead House. It was to be the first session in a new season of organiser Patrick’s Sunday life drawing classes, and only my second visit to the venue at a weekend. The warmth of the day was welcome as it took a while for him to find someone who could unlock the door.
We were joined by seven artists: one first-timer plus a few familiar faces, including one or two from the Wednesday evening group. Midweek classes are on the top floor but, with the building largely to ourselves, we were able to take advantage of a first-floor room that was flooded with natural light.
The session called for four poses: three in the first half and one in the second. I began with 10 minutes standing, elbows up, and hands tucked into a curl between my ears and shoulders. It’s a relatively new pose for me that I’ve presented at a few recent groups. It was followed by 10 minutes in a kneel, as if about to start a sprint.
A simple 40-minute pose sitting on the floor took us to our break. I was feeling utterly at peace with the world yet the artists captured my face in something of a scowl. The hardest posture to hold for any long period is a smiling face. It would be nice, however, if my resting face could settle into a slightly more cheery expression.
The length of pose after the break is always dependent on how much time we have left after the artists take tea. On this occasion it was nearer a half-hour than 45 minutes. I sat again, this time on a chair with my body turned right and face to the left. When we were done I was free to venture back out into the sunshine.
My bonus on leaving was the nicest words a model can hope to hear at the end of a session, from artist to tutor: “can we have him again, please?“
A quick recap of the plot so far…
I took part in my first handful of art nude and naked protest events between 2009 and 2011. I’d heard about most of these by pure chance after signing-up to the Spencer Tunick Experience forum. Then, in February 2012 came a defining moment: I was invited into the Mud Circles of Adam James.
Among the 14 other Mudhead glitterati that day were artist Alexandra Unger – who astounded me with details of her performances and creativity – and life model Clifford. It was my conversation with Clifford on that Bermondsey rooftop, while gazing across the infinite horizon of London’s skyline, that set me on my own path as a life model.
Jump to July that year. My life modelling was still in its infancy when I was invited to pose with a dozen or so others in Mortlake at a Spirited Bodies event, organised by Esther Bunting and Lucy Saunders. Looking back now I marvel at my good fortune in meeting such wonderful, talented, unique people at what was such a formative time.
I was honoured to be welcomed back into other Spirited Bodies projects, culminating with the triumphant Human Orchestration – Clifford also being involved – in October 2013. I’d even shared a naked bike ride with Esther that very summer. London was proving to be a tiny community of friends and familiar faces in the nude arts world.
Fast forward one year. A new Thursday night life drawing group had started at the Telegraph Hill Centre, south London on 18 September 2014. Clifford was among the first models booked; my début came soon after, on 2 October. The group was run by none other than Alexandra. I returned in November, and again this year in January.
The threads of life continued to twist and intertwine.
My next visit to Telegraph Hill was three weeks ago to see Esther and friends perform Girl in Suitcase. As I recounted shortly after, during that magnificent tour de force Esther confronted the life drawers in her audience with the challenge: “it’s time for the models to draw the artists.” At first only one woman rose to the occasion: Frances, a regular artist at, yes, Alex’s Thursday night group.
The present day…
And so, having drawn Esther during Girl in Suitcase, she returned the compliment by drawing me last Thursday at the Telegraph Hill Centre. We were first to arrive and be greeted cheerfully by Alex. While we chatted together about projects and plans, next through the door was Frances – who I had posed with so recently at Girl in Suitcase.
It was a lovely gathering of creatives, augmented further by the arrival of other regulars at this particularly talented group. I found myself feeling a momentary sense of extra responsibility… but among friends this soon passed and I set to doing my thing as I would for any group. We started with dynamic and mid-length poses in the first half.
Over tea and biscuits we talked more about shared experiences, and the perils and pitfalls of running life drawing groups. For the second half I made myself twisted yet comfortable for one long pose on a beanbag. Alex set a strong angled lamp to cast dramatic shadows, and the artists set to making art as a blues soundtrack rumbled.
I love my modelling work and the outlet for direct creative self-expression it gives me. As much as that, however, I love the superb people I’ve met along the way; brilliantly imaginative, strong-willed yet sensitive human beings; people I’m humbled to be able to consider friends, who have enriched my life beyond dreams.
It was curious to be the one observed holding stage on this occasion. I hope it won’t be too long till the stars in the room are back upon a stage of their own, challenging sensibilities, provoking fresh ideas and sensations, illuminating their audiences with light and wonder – audiences I can’t wait to join.
My first time back at Bethnal Green’s Garrett Centre in 2015 was also my first time this year working solo for Adrian Dutton. In my last two bookings with him I’d been paired with another model, either as a dynamic duo or to share my experience. On Wednesday evening I had 30 artists all to myself.
It can be daunting, knowing there are so many lines of sight to be considered and so many angles from which artists would be hoping for, ideally, the best view, but at the very least a good deal of variety throughout.
The format of Adrian’s groups helps in this regard as he mixes short and long poses both before and after the half-time break. I began with a customary 10-minute standing pose while latecomers arrived, then quickfire: 45 seconds, 2 minutes, 30 seconds.
Taking us to the interval were poses of 5 and 10 minutes, followed by an open-ended seating pose that probably lasted 25 minutes or half an hour. When told “Thank you, Steve”, I made haste to the kettle for quick mug of tea.
Artists partook of their own refreshments at length and leisure, but I was back in pose after a quarter of an hour for those most keen to draw. After 20 minutes seated we got dynamic again: 30 seconds, 1 minute, 15 seconds(!), 3 minutes.
To see out the evening I posed 15 minutes lying down – albeit rather contorted – and 30 minutes standing with hands on hips. Artists and Adrian made their appreciation known at the end, which was appreciated from such a large established group with high standards and expectations.
As always, a lot of first-rate art was produced. Good session.
Easter weekend was petering out. The spare room had been given two coats of paint, the garden got its aggressive pruning, I’d even published a couple of these blog posts, but there had been no life modelling in eight days. I felt dull.
Then, at midday on Easter Monday, out of the blue, an emergency call-out appeared. A fellow life model was looking for someone willing and able to cover his booking that same evening. I was game. Facebook messages, texts and a phone call all followed; by late afternoon everything was arranged.
Seven hours after the first call-out, I walked through the doorway at The Plough and Harrow pub in the High Road, Leytonstone. I was a half-hour early – always early for first-time bookings – but found the venue already set-up. Jenny, the group’s organiser, was sitting on a table edge, chatting with the first artist to arrive.
Warm smiles and handshakes were exchanged. They’d been speculating how I might look but didn’t give away whether they’d guessed right, or indeed were quietly content or disappointed. Arrangements were straightforward: we had Classic FM on the radio, materials for the artists, two heaters for me, and tea and biscuits for all. Splendid.
The only worry was that no-one would pitch up on a bank holiday. The group has had 26 artists attending at its busiest yet on this occasion we were relieved to get eight. I would be posing at the centre of a small circle of chairs in what was actually rather a big room. On the floor was a yoga mat covered with a red velvet sheet garnished with a small cushion.
Jenny asked me to provide four poses: two short poses of 5 and 10 minutes, followed by 45 minutes up to a break, and then a further 45 minutes after the break – although in practice this would be 40 minutes as our partaking of tea and biscuits overran.
I began with standing poses: first with both elbows high and hands curled down to my shoulders, tight beneath my ears; second with right hand on my belly and my left arm extended sideways. For the first of the longer poses I sat on the floor, left leg crooked flat and with both hands around my vertical right shin.
After the break I had a go at finding a semi-reclining position that would be suitable for all artist vantage points, but failed, and instead sat cross-legged with hands on knees. There were a few murmurs of surprise and doubt that I would hold this for a long pose, but I knew it would be relatively comfortable for my peculiar build.
We finished at 9:30pm. With everything packed away almost in the time it took me to get dressed, five of us then repaired to the adjacent bar for drinks and banter. It was a friendly group and I appreciated being made to feel so welcome.
Jenny books models way in advance so I know not to hold my breath while waiting for a return. Even so, without wishing another emergency on anyone, I hope this won’t be my first and only visit to Life Drawing at Leytonstone.
This would be my final session modelling for the students at Albemarle College before their final portfolios had to be submitted. As such, the focus was wholly upon meeting the specific needs of individuals. Two students asked to submit portrait work, so what was planned as a life session instead became a portrait session for those two only.
This last-minute change of intention was of no concern. For me, the wants and needs of the artists at any group or class are paramount. I appreciate a basic level of human respect and consideration for my comfort, but ultimately I’m there to provide a service. I will always adapt for the benefit of those paying to create art.
We kicked-off with 20-minute warm-up drawings. The photos below were taken from a peculiar angle and don’t really do justice to their work. These images were strong.
Afterwards we switched to using colour. This took us to our break. The students were capturing my likeness, but also weaving in their own idiosyncratic stylings. I liked the blending of the skin tones in the preparation below.
For the second half of the session we were down to a lone student who was capturing just half of my face and replacing the other half with… well, I shall say no more out of respect for his concept and portfolio. He has a good eye and skill in his technique, so I hope the final work – which, alas, I’ll probably never see – does justice to his talent.
Best wishes, students of Albemarle, both for your portfolios and for positive futures.
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.
steve ritter 