Shooting the Model

http://www.flickr.com/photos/londondrawing/5727009438/

http://www.flickr.com/photos/londondrawing/5727011910/

These are from May this year when London Drawing asked me to rip my clothes off in the style of a suffragette losing her mind.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/londondrawing/5727009366/

http://spiritedbodies.com/2011/05/16/suffragette-revealed/

The Art of Magic

Chaosphere; symbol of chaos magic

The first step to a magical state of mind, according to a Chaos magician’s handbook, is to still the body. It suggests finding a comfortable position and at first attempting motionlessness for 5 minutes, which is not easy when executed completely. One is then to build up gradually to half hour periods of stillness, practising daily. Should any unexpected occasions for stillness arise in one’s day to day life, then it is advisable to take advantage, if you want to maximise your potential as a chaos magician.

The joker in me thinks chaos magic people could do a recruitment drive among life models; most of us have definitely mastered step 1, and are probably well into the next levels too, although not being conscious of this might make a difference.

Breathing has to slow right down and get really deep. Tick.

Not-thinking: this is what I understand meditation to be; regarding one’s tempest of a mind and hauling it in, not wandering off with the pull of any divergent tangent. When successful this leads to trance, and you know you’ve risen above it all when you feel the glow in your third eye and in the crown of your head. It’s a warm tingle, very pleasant, and the lightness and euphoria I get enable me to transcend discomfort of the pose, because unlike chaos magicians, I’ve cut off my circulation, got a crick in my neck and all my weight is on my right heal. Do I get extra points? No, I’m way behind on the theory!

Also when in a trance, thoughts do still come up, but they all seem to make me laugh, except usually it just induces a smile. Occasionally I do crack up in hysterics much to the artists’ bewilderment; generally I can’t explain the joke or it’s just too dirty… I mean I like my job, and just them knowing that what my comical mind has yielded is off the menu says enough.

There is another state of hyper sensation I get; stronger emotions but with an extra awareness of them, like I’m watching them. So I might get on a sad one, may even draw a tear, but it’s like it’s from so deep inside, there’s an awesome release, so that the sadness is accompanied by elation.

That brings me to another of the chaos magic themes: emotions and their opposites. Apparently the root of every emotion is in its opposite, and a wheel is drawn: sex and death, love and hate, fear and desire (to begin with, it gets more complex too.)

Object concentration, as part of achieving a magical state of mind (from which who knows what is possible) means the fixed gaze during motionlessness. In my work this is most common and necessary whilst modelling for portrait. A fixed point in one’s vision must be picked, and held for hours, days, weeks on end. It is hard to stop the mind from distorting what one sees, but after a while, I have found, of looking thus in the same direction, everything looks different anyway, like you are seeing all that you could have missed with a more casual look. I practise this too when life modelling as it is part of what brings about the high I enjoy. All my worries vanish – what to do with that guy who pretends he doesn’t want to date me but when we meet that’s what it feels like… will other people apart from my boyfriend like my new script, do my friends still like me after I didn’t turn up to… is my brother mad at me!

During half term I didn’t have a lot of work and Aaron asked if my powers would diminish with hardly anyone worshipping me! I have been thinking this is a great way to think of my job, and love that Aaron sees it this way. Instead of thinking, ‘Oh no I’ve got to get up for work’, I’m like ‘Gonna go to the temple to be worshipped’!

Crazy Cousin

10 years ago I heard through my family, that a second cousin of mine had been sectioned in a mental hospital; he was only 18 and I didn’t know him. I did know what his Mother was like however, and my ears pricked up. I suspected immediately that rather than insane, he had simply been misunderstood. His Mother was very over-protective and any normal teenager might be deemed crazy by the reactive backlash her overbearing may produce.

I paid him a visit and felt confirmed of my theory. He had been driven to some minor violence and locked away. Oh and experimented with hard drugs, which were now more available to him than when he lived at home. He was of course drugged up on prescription pills, and had a new set of friends on the ward, who were troublesome enough to help keep him sane. We became firm friends; I knew I could fill a unique role where other relatives would fail. Having gone off the rails myself I knew that if I hadn’t had the freedom I’d had in those formative years, I could have ended up in the scary place he was. As it was I was able to find the best possible place and friends with which to share that experimental time. My crazy cousin was no more mad than we had been, except that a duality of a loving/repelling relationship with his Mother blocked his potential to find commune elsewhere. In this light my own Mother’s seeming hatred of me was a blessing; she’d had no problem freeing me.

Growing up became a big ordeal for my cousin; there were several episodes in hospital, rounds of medication, sheltered housing, therapy. Other people in the family didn’t know what to make of him, but I remained constant. He grew enormous for a few years on the drugs, and let his hair and his beard get longer and wilder. His room was a state of filth with quantities of porn, piled, scattered. But he did learn to cook and sometimes accommodated my non meat-eating ways, even if he threw a steak on his own plate to balance the vegetable overload.

He was shy of women as girlfriends, but comfortable as their friend. Most of the people in his family were women, and when he was housed with lots of people I saw many girls come to him for counsel. When he got better his sisters invited him to stay for long periods.

Confidence takes such a long time to establish, and normal work has eluded him. He is much better now though and been off the meds for some years. He looked like a new man when last we met in the Summer, much slimmed down and clean-shaven. He was doing some voluntary work and about to begin a course in Autumn. He wanted to take me out for a meal, he has ever been grateful to have a kindred spirit to talk to. I remember nearly 3 years ago, he came to see a show I performed with a friend, and in the opening scene, I climbed out of a suitcase, naked. I had not warned anyone prior to performance of the nudity, and it was my cousin who decided never to come to one of my show’s again! At least he always asks now if there will be me naked in the show and on finding there will be he declines invitation. I guess it just feels wrong to see one’s family naked for some.

My cousin took a picture of me in Highgate Wood

I met my cousin when I was in the middle of a long relationship with an Italian, and had become somewhat estranged from friends of my wilder youth. My cousin was not dissimilar to some of the men I used to know, and I guess being away from them made me warm to him the more; he bridged a gap, and did not arouse Massimo’s jealousy! I grew very fond of my cousin and he laid down a lifelong foundation in me for a love of bears – men who are big and gentle, kind and strong.

A New Man & a Kitten

It is said we attract the people we do in our lives for a reason; they are right for that time. Today I modelled for a gentleman, alone. It is a while since I modelled privately for an artist – most who seek models are men, and navigating the politics of what they really want, even if never expect to get, is bothersome.

A good life model friend of mine refers to this ‘gentleman’ artist as ‘improbably sexy’. What she means is he has exceptionally well defined features, is classically good looking, but very awkward with it. He hides himself and his work in an aura of uncertain dishevelment. When she heard I would model for him, she wanted me to find out his mystery; what lies beneath his stammering, unfinished sentences?

I was never worried about this appointment; he seems the opposite of the troubled bravado so apparent in several male artists seeking inspiration from their naked models. He may be awkward but he has a kind demeanour and is as considerate as the demanding constraints of his class allow, where I met him before.

Blackheath’s studio receives brilliant light in the morning, he says it reminds him of his first studio at art school in Edinburgh. Yes, how bright the light there. His usual reticence shrouds his easel, but without the sapping attentions of his class, he does open up, voluntarily. I am still a little sleepy and grateful to be lying down, but during breaks he asks of my education and origin. I hear of his family and the difficulty of choosing schools, if there is a choice.

I want to ask more about his work, but the fact of his moving the easel to face the wall every time I am up or he leaves the room does beg a softly softly approach. I cannot even see him as he works because he is stationed behind me. My guess is he is a very sensual, sensitive man who best attracts what he wants by being unassuming. As my friend says, normally men who are that good looking have a confident manner with women. But if this man was to display grand charm or seduce his class and models, they might not trust him so well. I might have made my excuses, and a showier muse may have taken him up.

I still trust him; he is one of the few with that ability to make me feel at ease when I am naked being myself. And there is an unsatisfied curiosity because he is not someone you get to know in a morning. It has been my wish to meet more of such men, so thank you world!

Here is another creature I recently attracted;

This little kitty refused to be turned away as I arrived home one day, so I let her come in to play. She toyed with drapery and nosed at mouse hide-outs, then slept peacefully till I had to put her out. I can’t imagine she isn’t loved by someone, but I hope she comes to visit again.

In The Midnight Hour

A dark basement which is also a corridor, recorded in the midnight hour for Charles Hayward‘s installation.

A congregation of pipes, a gas meter, a large china basin and an iron door to a noman’s land. Windows partially blocked, a concrete floor. Lines demarcating a work zone, a stairway above and a garden outside. How did the room wish to be displayed?

Charles felt moved by the room. He sat in it and waited until he knew when and what, how to record.

Time is accelerated and slowed in the final take, and passing by, my own time is overlapped with The Midnight Hour.

a basement, Art House Lewisham

Taking Time For Ourselves

At the first meditation meeting of the Women on Fire, most of us were tentative about speaking up, coming forward. Judith had some salient advice; many of us, whether by nature or nurture who knows, feel drawn to helping others a great deal. All too often to the detriment of looking after ourselves. I don’t know if this message came to Judith from spirit, as they say in shamanic circles, or if she just felt it intuitively. I felt its resonance.

I am not sure if people around me in my life would especially notice whether I take enough time for myself. Not having children, other dependents or a regular full time job means I am more likely to be taking time for me. The way I reflect on Judith’s advice, is to consider more, how many years I have given over to trying to nourish the impossible. In other words, relationships with men which were mighty troublesome.

I am so happy and grateful to be in more favourable circumstance now. It has perhaps been in trying to establish where my priorities lie in friendship that I may have felt myself spreading a little thin. It is needs part of the process of finding out how different friendships fit.

The regular meetings with the writers workshop in the theatre are already providing valuable structure. I have to present an idea, pitch a project and I am unused to doing this in such a group. Whether I come up with the right project or not, I know I won’t be satisfied unless I have given myself the appropriate amount of quiet and private time in order to realise whatever ideas I may.

At the Women on Fire meeting I tell them I am there because I want to root myself more, so that I may build my work more effectively. I am in good company.

Fire Power

Judith Seelig invites us womenfolk to join hip to hip and connect with the Earth in a circle. Breathing is deep, focused and poured out with sound; the song of the fire from deep down and within.

The Women on Fire recognize a stronger position for women ahead, and are about empowering women to become important decision makers, because too few have that power now. This imbalance is their, our cause.

We are asked to give voice to our projects which we would like to be energetically underwritten by the strength of the group. I know that Spirited Bodies belongs in their camp, although still I am tentative to take up air time – they aim to reach a wide audience, cross-cultural, and the nudity I espouse may be jarring for some, so I will bide my time. Also, it is important that I let the work speak for itself; it is not about me but for other women.

So uniquely silence is felt and tasted among those women. We are listening to each other and our environment, not only words but spaces inbetween as well.

At their launching celebration in April, a wide range of inspirational women spoke. Nigerian political activist Hafsat Abiola-Costello, Polly Higgins the lawyer pushing for the crime of ecocide to be the 5th law against peace (so far only crimes against people are included), Kids Company director Camila Batmanghelidjh; scientists, artists, many types of activists and a shaman.

I look forward to getting to know Women on Fire more.

Uneven In Uxbridge

It took over 2 hours to get here, felt like the middle of nowhere. When a bus moves here, it travels far in a short time. Miss your stop means a lot of backtracking.

It felt provincial – in the end I stopped asking bus people directions as they couldn’t agree, well at least they replied. Looked in Google Map instead.

Finally down a country lane I find the school. Must sign in, and then a special runner takes me to art.

I am their first life model ever! So appreciation is not short. They used to trek to the nearby university, but cuts have forced a new trend.

I am given plenty biscuits for my trouble and allowed to feel relaxed. But I know this is the wrong thing really. A student from Hong Kong who walks me to my bus stop enquires if I am a dancer. I explain what is physical theatre, again. She asks if I have a show and I am positive. Back to my real work.

Breaking Up In Scotland – a dream

With Massimo. We had been staying with Andy and his theatre company but after a row, Massimo walked. I was left with a friend of his in our mess of a room. A stash of photos in a corner, memories. We discussed what to do and my heart almost turned – “call him, go after him,” but why wasn’t I offering to fetch him myself?

I worried about returning to my home alone; I didn’t seem to know anyone. The guy with me offered to introduce me to his friends, but my instinct rejected that.

Two women came by, part of a school where we stayed, explained how very soon, plays would be shown in that room. New plays where the audience would draw. 4 plays over a month. How excitable! My companion volunteered me, and we shared my connection; the friendly women prodded our enthusiasm. I could stay and be in the plays which were written by students.

I would let go of my place in London for another month, forget about Massimo. Here with Andy and the theatre for me. When Andy walked over he smiled at the news, opened his arms.