One on one I hear you behind me.
Primal painting, panting, heaving, exaggerating, intensifying.
It does sound like you are having sex, sometimes attacking the canvas, angrily.
I can find it amusing once. But I won’t come back.
One on one with a man. You have to be very special to make that work.
He may be married, but really I am ‘the girlfriend experience’. I am a ghost of women he used to flirt with, date. But I won’t play. It doesn’t work for me energetically. It’s not why I’m an artist’s model.
Even if it’s a class; I prefer a woman leading. Very few men can approach this entirely professionally, so in the end you have to find them charming, otherwise it is obstructive. They give away what they think of you, how they find you, in subtle nuance. Like all interaction I suppose. But when you are naked, you can tell if they objectify you.
Sometimes I consciously acknowledge this with artists, so put myself at ease.
Another time – in a group of male and female older artists – where I know the men are in charge… I can’t help but do poses opposed to their girlish view of me. To fit the mould would be too cute.