Life

Story of Life Modelling ~ part 2

It might have been Pratts (most excellent name for a life drawing group ever) in Twickenham where I saw Lucy first, if not The Mall Galleries, as we posed from opposite ends of the hall. I saw her before I spoke with her. Across the room, the largest model I’d ever seen, by far. A completely different animal to me, sprawling majestically along the bench. She was quite loud too; I could hear her negotiating her pose with the artists, or explaining it. And she laughed, she was jolly. I could tell she meant business and had plans for me, but I wasn’t sure if I wanted to be involved so I didn’t come forth at first. She was approaching with a notebook and pen and I sensed that she wanted my contact details and to do something awkward like connect! Although I was about 30 I was still pretty shy socially in certain settings, my work place included. I could give it all in the poses, but I didn’t need to make friends yet… We were surely very different and I was trying to write a play.

As I spelt out my email address to her she was adding it to a list. There were quite a few already on the scrap of paper which was nestled in her pad. Where did she find them and how long had she been collecting them? What was she going to do with it? It might have been a few months later I received her newsletter. It was long and rambling and I think she’d suffered from a lengthy uncomfortable pose with a dubious organiser. She wanted to share her experience with us, random models who probably didn’t know each other. She was gathering us in person too, only I couldn’t make it. These emails would appear and she would offer up tutors’ contact details, though I don’t remember following any of them up. I was already well booked, and learnt early that jobs which approached me directly tended to work out better for me than when I wrote to them.

Over time however, the value of this list resource became apparent to all of us. If one became ill, or needed to attend a rehearsal, a quick email could solve one’s inability to fulfil a commitment personally. You could tailor it – ‘slim dynamic female model needed to cover me!’ Luckily for me this category is well catered for amongst life models, and I came to know who was best suited. The trick was finding someone who the artists wouldn’t prefer… as that was something the list couldn’t legislate for. Not only have you let the group down, but also the stand-in is better! That probably happened to all of us at some stage, as well as conversely being the favoured stand-in. Equally important was that the stand-in was reliable and didn’t upset the group (unless you didn’t really like them of course). So the list had to be quality controlled. Tricky situations included being ill and the only available model is nothing like you. They go along to the job, and they receive a comment which could be racist. Obviously being white, I hadn’t experienced that from those people (though could imagine it, it’s not totally out of place). It becomes necessary to ditch that group, but the racism isn’t clear-cut enough that you can easily out them publicly. It was a flavour of what other models may more often encounter.

Round the corner from Heatherleys was a tower block estate on the edge of Chelsea. There was a squat inside where Brazilian circus artists and migrants who did not have the right to work in the UK lived. They made excellent models for the ladies who lunch, and Chelsea folk refining their drawing technique. A French male model was supplying drugs to the rest of the models, and one Autumn there was a climax of models breaking down and spinning out. The models were absent, collapsing and in a state of chaos. This energy of disruption was affecting the whole school, and while some students were deeply infatuated with their exotic muses, the uncertainty of the models’ presence pushing their artwork further, it couldn’t go on. Outside of the models’ clique who could tell who was behind it? A change in the system took time to embed in the school, necessitating longstanding models to reapply for the job, submitting various forms and official documents (actually this happened at all the colleges over a number of years). By the end of that process drug sharing was no longer so rampant, and the model pool was less interesting; more limited. Even among those who were legal, the job became less desirable. To maintain the former edge required finding different work, as yet unscathed by an increasingly intrusive bureaucracy.

This description of that earlier cohort of models (predating ‘The List’ in fact) highlights how applying excessive red tape to art schools and departments affected life on the ground. I was around just early enough to experience the different species we used to be. When we were edgier and less acceptable, we came from underground, on the fringes of society. We were unafraid to be strange, in fact committed to it. We were exiles and runaways, freaks who embraced our eccentricity. What became a nice job for people who were already quite comfortable, once nudity wasn’t so demonised, had previously been the domain of the brave and the unusual. Some of the pool hasn’t changed; we’ve always been actors and dancers or artists ourselves. And I am not being negative about the changes; I helped to create them. I think it’s good that more people have the chance to try our profession and explore themselves that way. I like that nudity becomes more acceptable – and we still have a long way to go.

Different currents coexist; while many of us are more comfortable with our bodies, others are swept up in pursuing an eternal youth, fed by late capitalist overdrive, if not sunken in self loathing, very distant from loving their own form. Multicultural inclusivity in fact threatens areas of our liberation, whilst a real fear of perverts escalates the problem. The hope is that we realise part of what makes our land so desirable, is our cultural freedom and openness to accept diversity. We welcome you in all your magnificence, and reciprocity is the only appropriate response. Of course I’m not speaking of the cruder elements encroaching – the far right becoming popular. However naïve I have faith in the light and will always follow it. The news does not have an interest in how many of us are waking up to love ourselves more, and it is this powerful drive which may turn the tide on the negative influences still besetting us.

Regardless of the bureaucratic shift, our culture permits personal exploration and individuation. This is really important. I don’t fully know why, but in some other countries it seems people are less willing to stand out and evolve themselves. Perhaps their laws and systems reflect this, but it’s also part of their national psyche. The possibility of pursuing art in later life, whether you initially trained in it when you were young or not, is so vital for growth. Freeing ourselves from the idea that only people who are naturally gifted may create art, is also key. Letting go of judging ourselves too harshly comes into it, and actually pervades an awful amount of our lives. Being open to making a mess and having fun is vital, whether through an artform, cooking, or walking in the woods. Leaving behind the straitjacket of social convention needs to happen if we are to expand into our greatest version of ourselves. Extricating ourselves from herd mentality and instead being ready to follow our individual callings is where the magic happens. To know what that calling is you oftentimes have to slow and quiet down, listen inwards. That voice is there but you must give it the right conditions.

lines drawn on Lucy’s face whilst posing for sculpture at Kensington & Chelsea college

Long before the rise of fashionable life drawing in recent years, there were ever groups of older (and sometimes not so old!) people round the UK meeting up to draw nudes. On a Tuesday morning in suburbia, or a Wednesday afternoon in the home counties; wherever it is be it church hall or community centre, someone’s garage or above a pub… this has been going on for decades! It crosses the class system I was delighted to find. Working class artists are at it just as much, even if fewer of them may afford the likes of Heatherleys or other traditional art schools. In these groups, the social aspect is valuable too. It’s about community and what makes life worth living. Older members die off and new ones must be recruited, so the group is open to those who haven’t done art before but would like to try now. Not always, but I do see that.

The models have always been very international, it’s part of our pedigree and makes us more interesting. We bring more relaxed attitudes, or escape authoritarian ones. We feel freer to express ourselves on foreign soil, away from family judgement. Being secular is what makes British life so available. Over the years I have been friends with several models, British and from elsewhere. Sometimes an assumption pervades that being born British life must be easier for one, but I don’t think it’s so simple. Often those who make it here from elsewhere are strong to have made that move. Whether they escaped, or chose a culturally advantageous location, there is strength in upping roots to make a new life in another country. Many people can’t, and I know I was limited in my earlier years by such predicaments. From addiction to being caught in abusive relationships, these circumstances hold one back, wherever you are.

Being a model can be a leveller, a means by which a new arrival to the UK may obtain work easily, without knowing much of the language, and purely by the magnetism of their character, ability to turn up on time and hold still, play on a reasonably level playing field with their British sisters and brothers. Most of my model colleagues have been foreign, and from the EU, which has not become distant as was feared, since Brexit. Many pass through modelling on the way to something better paid and more specialised, as well as Motherhood. More arrive and emerge. We are constantly renewing!

This series of posts about my life modelling journey is also featured on the Newington Green Life Drawing group’s site.

A Story of Life Modelling – part 1

Portrait of me by Celia Montague at Heatherleys School of Fine Art in 2008

Back in 2007 I began life modelling for a handful of artists my sister put me in touch with. She had modelled as a student and handed her contacts over to me when she emigrated not long after leaving college. Peter Hall was and still is an artist and model who ran a few groups and his small friendly Vauxhall session was my first. After that I knew I could do it and was pretty good as well, even as a brand new model. I had trained in physical theatre and was working as a jobbing actor. In the past I’d worked in various states of undress in adult entertainment shall we say. I’d also learnt how to meditate a few years before. So making shapes whilst nude and holding still for an audience of artists was not a problem in the slightest, in fact very enjoyable.

Another contact was a watercolour life painting tutor at the CityLit college, so I got employment there, and also at Heatherleys School of fine art. Once I got acquainted with Heatherleys I realised this could be a full time job. It was very easy to quickly be booked there all day everyday and possibly evenings too, plus weekends. It wasn’t in one’s best interests for mental health to be there that much however*, and in any case there was plenty of other work coming in too from all sorts of directions. I hadn’t fully appreciated at the time how it happened that I became a life model just before an enormous upsurge in the popularity of life drawing was about to take place. It was intersecting with a few cultural zeitgeists all at once. The British taboo/fascination with nudity; a trend in the art world swinging back to embrace the tradition of life drawing; and a soon to be emerging movement for body acceptance as well as personal empowerment. Little did I know those last ones would be very significant for my career in a few years.

Other factors affording the incredible proliferation of the life drawing scene in the UK since about 2009, include a flexible bureaucracy enabling people to easily start up their own groups – to hire spaces and book models. Such a system does not exist in France or some other places on the continent for example, so even though they have very important art centres, there are curbs on innovation and the pursuing of individual projects. I have always valued that relatively relaxed state of play we have, making it possible to realise one’s dreams in quite simple ways. It was even more relaxed when I first began as at that time, an undocumented migrant could work as a life model in many of the institutions who still paid cash. That has changed. There are also more safeguarding procedures now in art centres making it incumbent on organisers and models to have certain certificates, whether DBS for working with children or vulnerable adults; or public liability insurance; sometimes for first aid; as well as getting any electrical equipment safety checked.

From 2010 life models began to get together in a Facebook group called Life Models Only. It was very exciting, the first time we were connecting with each other not only with other models in the same city, but across the UK and sometimes from other parts of the world. A tandem group for life drawing artists and models which is still going is called LifeArt. That was always a very international space, but more artist led. Prior to and alongside the Facebook groups some of the London models had been gathered together in an email group by model Lucy Saunders. I met her at The Mall Galleries (Hesketh Hubbard) since they would book 4 models each Friday evening. She was keen that we should join up, share jobs, and organise to raise the pay and improve conditions. A union!

She arranged meetings in person as well, and shared life model news via her newsletter. We would offer jobs to ‘The List’ as it was known if we couldn’t make them ourselves. It was extremely helpful, and we could warn each other too, if an artist had crossed a line, which was generally an experience that female models faced. It wasn’t commonplace, but it did happen sometimes, and then having these groups was instrumental. Once we were on social media, it was possible to effect change almost immediately. It wasn’t such a big scene, so if someone was misbehaving, soon everyone would know.

More often it was to warn of a venue which was particularly cold, or didn’t offer enough breaks! Or the changing space was unsafe, or the artists demanded very challenging poses unsuitable to the model. In this way we would learn about each others’ circumstances, and how the job was a bit different for another kind of model. For example, some gigs were only booking female models, and some were only booking dancers or slim young female models. Others loved more variety. There were fewer fat models so they could be more in demand, but some places didn’t want them. There was a scarcity of models of colour, apart from a few main players including Morimda and Matthew who were both long time black models. It was very difficult to find Asian models.

It was towards the end of 2010 I received an email from Morimda, who was creating an art project where life modelling would be used as a tool to empower women regarding their body image. She wanted Lucy to be on board since she was a big networker, and she invited me as well, as I was also very experienced and articulate, and importantly online (at that time some of the old school models eschewed social media). We were going to put on an event at The Mall Galleries and invite 20 women to take part as models for their first time. The artists were up for the challenge. We would guide the new models regarding how to pose. In the end only 9 women took part, but even that was a considerable number of people to have modelling simultaneously. It was a wonderful sight to behold and I felt very proud of our achievement. We had prepared all the women in advance, and monitored their progress afterwards by staying in touch. Some became regular models. It was an overall success, only Morimda had had to back out of much of the organising in the run up. I did a lot of it myself and with Lucy. Truly it brought out something in me which hadn’t previously had an outlet; some kind of ability to lead and guide. I immersed myself in the project and it felt very rewarding. Morimda had to let go of it after the first event for personal reasons and she asked me to take it on, which I gladly did. The project was called Spirited Bodies and it is not exaggerating to say that it changed my life. That is another story for another post!

Sketch from the first Spirited Bodies event in November 2010 at The Mall Galleries, by John Sutton

This post also features on and in fact was requested originally by Newington Green Life Drawing group for their blog.

Enchantment at the Crypt

On Saturday I performed at the Crypt Gallery in Euston (London, UK) with my friend and fellow performance artist Limor! We each presented a one woman show for over an hour, and both of our shows connect with our most dearly departed loved ones. In my play ‘From the 7th Layer’, my Mother’s voice is heard, talking about her physical disability and how in her dreams she has a young able body. She looked forward to sleeping very much because being able to move easily and freely in her dreams was so incredible. Here is a clip where I imagine her in spirit.

Limor performs several characters in her show, who are all living inside of her, including her departed son Zohar. In 2022 a tragic accident ended his life on this plane, when he was just 22 years old. He was about to begin a Masters degree in Physics, and the only time I met him was a few weeks before he died. It was Limor’s birthday party, and he recognised me from one of my performances (‘Dreamtime‘) he’d watched on video with his Mum. That play was about a group of women friends including Limor, and she was unable to attend live. She felt nervous about seeing a version of herself portrayed by me! Zohar encouraged her to watch it, and said he would watch it with her. He was very complimentary to me about the play, and I found him extremely charming. He was so very smart and positive. The next thing I knew about him, I was at his funeral with the many grief-stricken friends and family. As is the Jewish tradition, the family then sat shiva for a week or so, and I met some of his beautiful friends who shared stories about him.

Limor and I share an interest in the metaphysical as well as creating our own performances. We used to be part of a red tent circle together. The play I performed in 2022 with Limor as inspiration for one of the characters, was a fictionalised story about the red tent group. In it, I had cast Limor as a medium, contacting the spirit world on my behalf as I was having difficulty getting through to a long lost ancestor. My Mother, already passed, was acting as a troublesome guide who interfered with my connection! Luckily Limor’s character Lila, was able to channel my great great aunt (who is the main character in my ‘Bromelia Bohemia’ play.) There is something delightfully anticipatory about our creative journey together.

Meeting up to rehearse and prepare has meant a lot for me, as doing it all on your own becomes limited after a while. You need outside eyes to watch you and feedback. You need someone to discuss the ideas and possibilities with. It adds to the experience of the process to share it with someone who is equally invested. Destiny brought us together for this as we are mutually able to assist each other.

As you get older you can feel further away from fellow performers, let alone those on a similar path. We want to free ourselves from our shadows, which is of course impossible, but we are working with performance as a way of raising our vibration, communicating our essence, and moving more into the light. There is a way that by healing ourselves we may also reach others and help to enable transformation in them. Theatrical performance is our medium. It encompasses being in our bodies as well as working with words, sometimes singing. We want to draw the audience into our world so they may imagine it for themselves, or be reminded of their own inner lives.

There is the art of how much to say, and what to leave for others’ imaginations, and sometimes discerning that is a way Limor and I may help each other. After we’ve told our story so many times, we may lose sight of its effect. The inner work which happens alongside creating, preparing and performing concerns self worth and self love and the development of those. While this is our process, these areas of personal growth are common to many many people, and by expressing some of our experience publicly we may enable or trigger others’ growth. We want to let go of what has dogged us and instead focus on what inspires us and makes us happy. A little contrast is needed to heighten the uplift, yet not excessively. Finding the most enhancing balance is part of how we help each other.

Questions I ask myself include; how does my less than year old show still feel fresh? What is it trying to say? I’m not sure. I would like it to be completely fresh. What do I want to express? Where I am now. Once I play the soundtrack and say the lines, I remember the purpose. It has a quality that transcends total freshness; it seems to stand up artistically, though I might not feel like performing it still in say three years. Let’s see where I am then.

We have rehearsed in local parks in Deptford and Greenwich, as well as Hampstead Heath, and also in the Telegraph Hill Centre. We love being outdoors and the recent weather has been ideal. We feel drawn to create work which is designed to be out in nature and that may be our next project together. The next performance dates we each have lined up are in the Deptford X art festival close to where we both live. Limor’s will be at Co-op Pepys community art project on Sunday July 13th, and mine at the Royal Albert pub on Thursday 24th July. Please join us!

change of tempo

An artist painting a scene at Clissold Park, north London.

From Dad’s home on the northern fringe of Muswell Hill, I cycle the sunny morning up and down through Turnpike Lane and along to Clissold Park, stop for an energy shot guarana coffee. Slide down to Dalston, get lost on a wrong turn to Victoria Park, open Google maps, eventually find my bearings roundabout to Mile End; Limehouse, and the minutiae of back streets and alleys, bridges and footways that lead to my dentist in Canary Wharf. It’s my first time there – my usual dentist has referred me to a private specialist, since the NHS nor even she privately has the necessary equipment for the job. Apparently I am at my destination but I can’t see it – no sign. I began panicking a good half hour earlier when the map was messing me around, sending me on wild goose chases, unnecessary side routes when the main road would have been fine and so much more direct. I think, AI could do a better job and I welcome that. I felt my cortisol level rising as I shifted from calm pleasure on my ride, to anxious nervousness, noticing how that made it harder to read the map or any useful information around me. I wondered if that was because of how expensive the consultation was, and difficult to get a slot, or because I don’t like being late for anything. Both. I’d actually left plenty of time so it felt punishing and I actually shed a tear.

Still, it was fine when I arrived. After I parked the bike, I noticed a small sign for a dentist. No name of the company, just dentist; so I called there. It was them! I’d thought I was 15 minutes late to a half hour appointment but it turned out she was running late, and all was fine.

She was very thorough and clear in her explanation of the predicament of my root. She spoke fast and showed me diagrams. She had a kind manner and I trusted her, but the treatment would cost about double what I had expected, plus she recommended that I get something else done by my dentist. I knew I must follow what she says, but the cost was going to be considerable, and I would notice it.

Now I think, how apt to be nodded toward this event so anxiously, when it will in fact set me back noticeably. A nudge that this will force me to do things differently perhaps. When I try to choose a payment plan for the dental bill, the system won’t let me, because I don’t earn enough money. The injustice that the poorest who need it, can’t access it. It must be a single big chunk or not at all. I wonder if I should ask my ex, or Dad to help, but neither seem like good options. It’s probably time I just bit it. It makes me want to cry. Self pity? Maybe. It’ll pass and I know it’s also good because it urges me to work harder, make more money, be more mindful. Understand the value of things.

Why have I been so blind to this coming? The bill is teaching me about money; to value it; to create it. And about following my guides. Sometimes I wait too long and they spend years trying to push a message across. I could become much swifter in my response.

Cycling back I decided to drop into my dentist on the other side of the water, so for the first time, I took the ferry. Funnily enough I remembered at the beginning of the year hearing a message from my guides telling me to imagine I was very rich. I knew why – because that would help attract more resources, but I perhaps hadn’t followed the advice enough. They knew I was going to need more money than usual this year, and I wouldn’t have a partner who could help. A few weeks later I bought flights, transport and accommodation for a long trip to America. Now this. I have already increased the amount I am working, and that must continue!

The view after crossing the Thames, looking back at Canary Wharf.

Later in the day at a private view I don’t know who I’m going to see – random people, some artists I know… on a warm evening in Primrose Hill. The surprising thing is I spend most of the time speaking with two people I didn’t know previously. An American guy who wonders about going back to spend time with elderly parents. But the unexpected encounter which colours the rest of my evening is with an artist’s wife, who is an academic. First she speaks about a recent visit to the US, and then I ask if she is South African because of her accent, I mean I know she is. I say my family were; I ask when she moved here, and say mine did in 1963 as they were political (anti-apartheid). A light goes on in her and she asks my surname. I say Bunting and she says she knew Brian and Sonia personally – my great uncle and aunt. Like them, she was a member of the ANC movement and her aunt was their neighbour in Highgate. She attended meetings in their house and knew how dedicated they were. She even knew of my great grandfather, who very few people have heard of now! This was a rare happenstance meeting, sitting on the garden wall outside a gallery.

What strikes me most of all, is that I feel she understands me in a unique way; like a beam shining through me, I feel seen in a way very few people can. She has a deep insight into the way South African exiles in particular processed their situation and has studied it. The way the women often turned to writing, and how well they did this. She has written about this phenomenon and may send me a chapter of one of her books. Not that I am an exile, but it is a latent part of my heritage, and for some reason I connect with it while not all descendants do.

She understands how some of us are intrinsically compelled by our ancestors – their stories ignite us, give us more meaning in our own lives somehow. We need to look back because we see the traces in our lives of why we are where we are, and the trails are curious. When our family before us chose difficult lives – or rather couldn’t help but follow their calling to do what seemed right – because they had powerful beliefs, not just about how they lived but about the whole world or economic social system; they send ripples for generations after. They are often not the best parents because they are so caught up in their beliefs and must live with the consequences like spending time in prison; however they make great ancestors.

Somewhere down the line comes a descendant whose parents were not able to be more present, and she reaches back keenly to feel for messages from the past. It’s like filling in a parenting gap in my sense of purpose. It makes me feel special and it’s part of my identity. It’s not a whimsy; when I read the words they wrote, or were written about them, I feel a bolt of electricity running through me. I feel connected to them, and sense how they knew they were writing or making history not just for their own era, but for a bigger time frame. Writers reach across time, speaking to each other and their readers. When I learnt of how some of my ancestors had such powerful beliefs that it changed their lives as well as contributing to movements towards eradicating racism, undoing colonialism, and lessening the extreme effects of capitalism; it blew my mind!

I’m also deeply concerned with the present; the now; and meditate habitually; try to live in that place. As for the future, I am excited about evolution and spiritual development of humans, and moving beyond physical form. Timelessness intoxicates me. So there are these simultaneous fascinations.

We had begun our discussion about my American communist Grandpa, so she knows I have this extremity from both sides. She looks at me so acutely, and after that I can’t speak to anyone else. I can’t do small talk. I have to leave. I message Brian’s daughter, my Dad’s cousin, on my way home. It’s good to reconnect.

Reflections

This term I am modelling a fair bit at Hampstead School of Art, which is a lovely art school in north west London. A super friendly place which feels like a family under the enthusiastic and loving care of Anat and Isobel. I am there all day on Thursdays for sculpture classes with Patricia Barker who makes beautiful stone carving work (the classes are in clay). On Saturdays I model for a life class with art writer, speaker and artist Estelle Lovatt, and a portrait class with artist John Murphy-Woolford. After half term my schedule changes, and I will get five classes a week.

The following drawings are by students in Estelle’s class. She set up the pose with a mirror (and skeleton) for an interesting reflection. I love the variety of responses, these are just a few. It was a meditative pose as I look through the window at the big tree in the garden, becoming greener and fuller each week of the emergent Spring.

At some point in the winter, I think half term in February, I called into the school after swimming at the pond on Hampstead Heath, to ask for work. My mobile phone no loner makes (or receives) ordinary calls which definitely constitutes a reason for replacing it. The truth is I kind of enjoy being creative about getting round this matter (it otherwise works). Anat welcomed me – after several years’ absence. I had been put off by the long journey in rush hour, however under the correcting influence of universal credit, I was thinking ahead to the summer term, which can be quieter for modelling. Plus, in the intervening years I have developed a passion for regular cold water swimming, particularly on Hampstead Heath. This alignment was bound to zing in Summer when the ponds are open late enough for a dip post work. Anat snapped me up, happy to fill in diary blanks with someone the tutors know well.

Hampstead School of Art is a short walk from the West Heath with the beautiful Pergola raised walking platform looking over the landscape between hanging flowers and branches twisted around the stone structure. Further on the animals in Golders Hill park call from their cages, but I continue my walk through the woods to the East Heath to get my pond fix. As I arrive into the woodland after a long day of six hours modelling plus the morning journey and lunch, I can feel my energy expanding into the sprawling foliage, relaxing in all directions. Into the curling, reaching branches, fluffy blossom, dense lower bushes, tangles of roots under foot. The birdsong eases a tension I have been holding yet was unaware of, so I slow down. I feel like I have arrived home. I don’t always swim; sometimes I prefer simply sitting and walking or lying on the heath. It is my medicine.

Like a good school child I feel reassured after my universal credit six month interview in Forest Hill. He says I’ve done well; he can tell I’m making an effort and increasing my workflow. He is my work coach and we have a comfortable, friendly rapport. I’m relieved by his reaction; and I get a sense I am making his life a bit easier, giving him a chance to show his warmth. He got a bit embarrassed at our first meeting, asking to see my website. Instagram I explained, is really where it’s at, but it’s full of naked drawings of me so we bypassed that option.

This time he tells me many of the arts professionals he sees are really struggling, but I seem to be on track, doing fine. He wants to see my receipts and is impressed by all the train journeys to jobs many miles away – Guildford, Wokingham, Harpenden… I let him know I am using this universal credit experience to my advantage, that it’s helping me to focus. To notice what is working in my life. That I even applied for a completely different job which I didn’t get, but that I tried and I did want it. That would have been working at my beloved pond, a pretty ordinary job, yet at a place I love. My CV however shows that I haven’t done anything outside of the arts for well over 20 years. When asked questions at the interview about tricky situations with the public, I was really searching way back for examples of my response. My hesitation spoke loudly, and I could imagine the hot irritable crowds, and my art brain trying to be creative, when sheer decisive action may be required. It’s surely nicer to keep the pond as my swimming haven, not muddied by internal politics and cleaning duties… My work coach made his kind assessment in under 15 minutes though the appointment was for an hour.

During the week I met with my friend Limor to help her rehearse her show, ‘Mermaid in the Heart’, and that was a very sweet exchange which reignited my love of collaboration. It can get lonely working on one’s one person show, filling out all the applications, being alone in rehearsal. It dawned on me to invite Limor to perform her show at my next gig – at The Crypt Gallery in a month, since I would need help anyway, and this way we can help each other. The gig won’t be confirmed till a week before so selling advance tickets is a bit squeezed. Having two of us can make it more fun.

Here is Limor amidst her outdoor dressing area; and the pond at Twinkle park.

Her show is about mythical creatures as archetypes within her, and she has many simple costumes to distinguish them, as well as voices and physicality. We rehearsed in the Twinkle Park in Deptford and Limor hung her costumes on some branches. Being in nature I noticed, suits her performance, and remembered that the Crypt also has a garden. She made me laugh and I loved her lightness as she played inside the different characters occupying her head. It made me aware of how serious I can be! I need this. We’ll meet regularly to prepare. Last year we were here in this park in the Summer, preparing an application which didn’t get picked. We need each other – we need fellow wacky middle-aged theatre/art buddies who make performances that only we perform. A strange unique breed.

‘Enchantment at the Crypt’ will be on Saturday 24th May from 5pm – 7:30pm with two performances, each of an hour, one from her and one from me. If we are bumped from the Crypt and the weather is good, we’ll find somewhere outdoors near us in Brockley or Deptford, south east London.

Here is Limor as an angelic butterfly fairy during her recent performance at Russia Dock, close to where she lives by the river near Surrey Quays.

Where am I going? / How does it feel?

I don’t know where I am going and I feel free. My new book of walks outside of London is my freedom pass, following the instructions, climbing over stiles. I am discovering new beautiful places and there are many. (I modelled for a group of women artist friends at The Slade in early March, and one had copies of this book with her. A friend of hers had written it. I knew I had to get it!)

When I go to places where I know people, often I imagine they read my recent post. Their comments to me suggest this without actually saying so. They offer pieces of help and let me know they are supportive as well as appreciative if I am working with them. It is touching. Last night I dreamt that another tutor I work with offered to make me a flyer for one of my shows. Love it!

The post’s purpose was to shift my vibration externally to match where I am at now internally; to keep people and the world aware of who I really am at this time. By doing this I can magnetise everything I need, in the right time. I don’t need money right away, but at some point I will. The post suggests people will help me, but truly the solutions may emerge in all sorts of ways.

Yesterday I went to Coulsdon South with a friend visiting from Germany, and we walked for a few hours along Farthing Down and in Happy Valley. It’s the largest stretch of open green land technically within London, so you can get there on an Oyster card. We spoke of many things including imagining the lives we’d love to have. In five years time say. I don’t think I know all the details, but I would like to live outside of London, in a countryside setting. That means not needing to get around London too much. I’d like to do gardening, have a reasonably sized dog and take it for walks. Would I still make performances? I think I’d prefer to write for a while. Less is more. I have really scaled back on the number of people I try to keep up with in my life in recent years. I’m not a memorialist in terms of friendship. If a friendship isn’t active and current, serving each of us mutually at this time, I let it go. Not that it couldn’t re-emerge, but that the foundation would need to have shifted in relation to the ways we have changed. So we wouldn’t slip back into the old patterns, whatever they were. I am committed to evolving!

Where I live in south east London is really lovely. It is the perfect place for me in the capital. When I walk around my neighbourhood and see the other people on their walks or in the shops, I feel like I belong here. I like the laidback vibe and the green spaces, as well as the more urban places like Deptford nearby. I can walk to the river at Deptford beach at the bottom of Watergate Street. In the other direction, closer to me, I can walk to the top of the hill at Hilly Fields, or the next hill at Telegraph Hill, and see views of London; the city in one direction, Blythe Hill and Crystal Palace in another. There is cheap fresh fruit and vegetables in Lewisham or Deptford markets, and more expensive organic produce in smaller shops scattered about.

My little street is very friendly. I have lived here for over 14 years. For most of those years I hardly knew any of the neighbours, until a few years ago, one hot summer evening, I overheard a mother screaming at her teenage daughter. My window was wide open and they were on the street. Hearing their painful exchange and the girl crying made me feel for her, so I looked to see where they were. Eventually they returned into one of the houses. The next day I called there to check how they were. It was a difficult phase for the family, but I was welcomed in by the other parent who explained what was going on. Ever since then I joined the street WhatsApp group and started attending the annual street party. I witnessed how the teenage girl became less troubled, as she moved to a different school where she felt more accepted. What really struck me was, how much she was supported by other neighbours on our street. Some of them have lived here for decades and know each other well. What had disturbed me about the screaming on the street, was in another sense a sign of how healthy they were, to be so open among their neighbours. They knew they were safe there. I just didn’t know that. The girl had been brought up to be close with various of the neighbours, not just her family. It was an unfamiliar scenario to me, but I was grateful to become aware of it.

Then this year for the first time, several of my neighbours (6 people from 4 households including the teenage girl) came to watch my performance at Telegraph Hill Festival! They saw me naked and doing my thing, and they did drawings of me. That I didn’t like that performance so much may not be so important. There was a milestone with my street! I crossed a different threshold. Even not liking my own show, I felt accepted and supported by my neighbours. For much of my life I have felt like an outsider but that has definitely changed. As astrologers might say, my midheaven is going critical this year. One’s midheaven represents the way others see you, and your role in the community, perhaps what you do for a living.

A tree from another walk in the book, near Chorleywood, also in the Oyster zone. I stopped here to sit on the tree and do some journaling.

How Can You Support Me? / Coming Off the Roof!

I have been thinking about how I could make it easy for people to support my work. Joining Patreon is an option, though I’m less drawn to monthly offerings as I don’t think it suits my pattern. I’d rather foster individual relationships with supporters who really dig my work, and arrange with each how to make that rewarding for both sides. Sometimes people want to be a part of some of the creative process, and that would mean a lot to them. I’m thinking a few good supporters or even realistically one or two would work well for me. It’s not the sort of thing you necessarily advertise for; they may organically emerge. Personal connection is very important with my work. That said, I’d happily negotiate smaller exchanges as well which are not necessarily ongoing. This post is about my current work; an update on where I am at; how I support myself; and how you could be involved. I haven’t blogged for a few years so there’s a lot of ground to cover! I hope to share more blogs from now on about my process, so you can get a sense of my practice. Writing about some of my life which is pertinent has always been part of my oeuvre.

I have some performances coming up – Deptford X Festival on 24th July, plus a gig at The Crypt Gallery in Euston suggested as 24th May (tbc). Others may also line up but are not ready to be mentioned. It’s way too early for my above shows to be on either site.

For Deptford X, this is not funded, but I can ask for donations. Likewise with the Crypt. I will put energy into preparing the work, which will probably be the same show for both performances. The venues are considerably different however, and if it were possible I would love to work with a sound artist at The Crypt which is a unique and atmospheric space. That could be essentially a percussionist, or perhaps more appropriate would be a digital soundscape maker. It would suit someone who feels drawn to situating their sounds in the Victorian vaults underneath a church. Stone, arched corridors; crumbling tombs, dark alcoves.

The show I have applied to bring to Deptford X is ‘From the 7th Layer‘. I plan a little remake for it, to keep up with where I am at now. They are primarily a visual arts festival, so I will provide drawing materials for the audience. I don’t pay for venue space (a pub room at the very friendly The Royal Albert) for this one or the Crypt. The latter is a gift from an employer/colleague who runs the Crypt and because it will be free, I won’t be able to confirm the date until about a week before.

With Deptford X, it’s a great way to be part of my local arts scene. The festival has a longstanding legacy of being supported by the Arts Council, so being included in their programme can feel positive for one’s CV. Funding however is not available for me there as I am not a minority*. I am fortunate to live in such a culturally rich area. On the funding side of things I will use my ingenuity!

* Sometimes I tick the neurodivergent box, and because it’s a self-identifying trait, who can tell? When I read a list of characteristics they all felt very familiar. However, being very optimistic and always enjoying what is different about me, I never sought any diagnosis (there are some conditions like autism which do determine neurodivergence). I don’t see it as a problem, just positive to be thinking and feeling in creative ways. Plus I guess, I am pretty functional.

Your support, your money and offerings in kind, may buy me time to do my art or otherwise assist me to further it. I make my life work independently, but extra costs like an impending dental bill, are unavoidable and harder to factor in. Doing too many hours as a life model is counter-productive as it may wreck my body, and the cost of restoring it is far higher than what I earn.

Apart from modelling and performing, I used to lead classes and could do again. I receive help with my rent – universal credit – but I am under pressure to make more money and accept any job. To that end I will probably be working a number of hours fairly soon doing something quite ordinary.

My expenses are relatively simple as I am not drawn to materialism. I don’t think it’s bad; it’s just not my style. My sense about wealth is it’s about personality and individual life purposes. We’re not all wired to be wealthy or even aspire to it. We have other things to do! My life is rich in myriad ways which are rarely about money. The trappings of considerable wealth turn me off, and when I spend time in a rich relative’s 4th home on a far flung peninsula on this planet, the high level security feels like a prison to me. I prefer to be more humble and value connecting with ordinary people. My ways are likely mutually alien to him. While this post doesn’t feel aimed at him, if he or anyone like that wants to be in touch, I am naturally open to it. What I can’t relate to, does spark my curiosity. To see someone enjoying their life, and living it to the full, with a lot of love as well as money, is inspiring, even if the details are strange to me.

My mobile phone is the same one I bought second hand five years ago. It still works and again, I don’t think everyone needs the latest tech. Rather than pay for broadband I tether, and I often find clothes on the street! (My neighbourhood is good for that). Generally I would rather be outdoors in wild nature than pay for an art institution’s subscription (sorry! Plus various friends have them.) Some people would say I flaunt a scarcity mindset, which I have considered but I don’t think it’s that. I truly enjoy simple things and even old fashioned ways. Seeing how people live in “developing” countries (or “emergent nations”) inspires me, and I think we have a lot more to learn from them than we may realise. That said many of them have newer phones than me! I have a rule about following my joy, my inner bliss, and that’s how I know I’m on the right track. Shopping centres repel me, but finding items on the pavement excites me!

Until recently I did have a more exciting life of world travel due to my ex-partner. It was my choice to leave what was a very good relationship. Yet something was missing. I had never been single for more than three to four months since I was 18. I was about to turn 48 and I had been single for less than a year in total in the last 30 years. I decided it was time to come off the roof* and see what happened.

*Coming off the roof is an expression in the Human Design modality, referring to the time in life around middle age for a particular type of person, of which I am apparently one. Such types may come into their own later in life, specifically after the small planet Chiron returns to its starting position when we are about 50 years old. Human Design is an elaborate form of astrology, mixed with the I Ching. There is also a sense of risk with coming off the roof, even as it is a strong pull. Will you grow wings and soar, or gently float; or will you fall and crash? Such people may be carving an untrodden path, and depending on where they are, the world around them may not be ready to catch. Anyway, it’s intensely complicated, but it did strike a chord, and long before I’d heard about it, I had a clear feeling that in order to develop myself further, I would need to be solo.

So I actively chose to let go of some abundance in my life on various levels – love, sex, affection, emotional support, friendship, wise counsel, material resources, travel, a residence outside of the capital, and the true list is far longer… because my internal compass was pointing in a new direction. If complete self individuation is my intention, I would need to stop being so in relation to another person. That feels profoundly correct, yet it is also deeply sad, and at times I can’t believe what I’ve done.

While it is a wrench, I am also very grateful we have been able to navigate the separation and maintain harmonious, respectful, loving appreciation for each other. That’s not exactly a first for me, but it is the first time I haven’t met anyone else, and I have almost zero interest in doing so. My inner guidance tells me I need at least a year, probably two or more, to just be with myself. I am unwinding not only from the last over nine years, but from the last 30 years of intimate partnership. That’s a lot of rewinding and looking within, recalibrating. Peri-menopause for me is a blessing allowing me the hormonal space to be single. For decades I was dominated by those chemicals. Finally I have a chance to be free. Maybe that’s my coming off the roof. There’s no one to catch me but I don’t need them anyway.

On the spiritual side, I can hear my guides much more clearly as a single person. There’s less interruption. I know I must instil that strong connection with them before all else. For the unfamiliar, guides are the mostly unseen beings accompanying each of us from another dimension. They connect us with a higher version of ourselves, and with pure love and light. Even if we don’t know it (or believe it) they are there. This is a belief system which even if it isn’t true, can radically enhance your existence! It aligns with quantum physics in that the multiverse means we exist simultaneously with other versions of ourself. By choosing to focus on our highest potential, we may redirect ourselves in this life. (I’ve forgotten which film that is the plot of.) You don’t need guides for that, but they appeal to some imaginations, and if they make you feel excited about something good, then they are worth tuning into.

Building a fruitful connection with them feels like your intuition being spot on, your instincts serving you well, inspiration leading you to wonderful places, and your dreams leaving you with useful messages. The fantasticalness of spirituality fascinates me, the multi-dimensionality. I imagine it’s our evolutionary impulse, and that awareness makes many lower vibration earth-bound situations feel less troublesome to me. I do see the world in a different, more positive light than I used to.

A note on travel and maintaining my new momentum. It was in early February this year (the relationship separation was over Christmas by the way) an artist I work with told me her paintings of me may hang in an important exhibition in New York in September. I decided I must go, and it would be my first ever trip in my life to the US. I’d wanted to go for ages, especially since reading my American Gramp’s memoirs. I didn’t just want to go to New York, I really wanted to get to Seattle where he came from. And I wanted to see more of the amazing landscapes America has to offer.

So I booked a journey across America by myself in my first year of being single. I kept quiet about the trip till now because it feels very personal. Breaking up is extremely personal. I just kept quiet. My first trip to the US is something very special. It will take me time to acclimatise, and I will be able to focus on my new surroundings and switch on my senses full blast best being solo. That’s something else Human Design gave me solace about. It explained how I operate energetically, and why I need so much quiet time. Like a diagnosis in an astrological reading. I already knew these things, and it feels validating to have them backed up by planets and signs.

The trip is for just over three weeks and I would have loved it to be long enough to really make connections. Maintaining my home in London is also a consideration however. If you want to help me cover the costs of my trip, that would be extremely appreciated. This is a unique experience I am doing on a budget of greyhound buses and single rooms. I don’t sleep well enough for couch surfing to be advisable.

Other ways to help include sharing business expertise, technical support, holiday homes especially close to nature, theatrical direction or video editing for example. What I could offer in return – house/pet/babysitting; art modelling; intuitive counselling/coaching (I am not trained); help with meditation or embodied movement; creative problem solving; a very positive sounding board to help steer you from gloom; tapping into your creativity; helping you follow your intuition. Also, collaborations, venue space and invitations to perform or hold workshops.

I am very excited to be travelling a bit further for the first time alone.

A photo of me by Richard Crawford. I was at the private view of Drawing Humans exhibition at XYZ Gallery on 12 March. I am wearing a new dress I bought in a natty shop in Bishops Castle which my friend Sara took me to.

Cottage Suitcase

I write from the cottage in my bed. Just 5 more nights in this cosy abode, and 4 more days of modelling, only 2 of which will be the same pose I have been doing since I arrived more than 3 weeks ago. For the final 2 days, we will try something different. “Perhaps a back view,” said Gundula the tutor, “with one knee raised on a stool? Something comfortable,” she tries to sound convincing.

I haven’t had it too bad for the past 16 days, sitting upright on a chair with a cushion. Back unsupported, but one arm resting on chair back. Right shoulder blade (of raised arm) aches if I haven’t had enough sleep. Sleep also very important for keeping eyes open. Some of the students concentrate on my face. I hear hands clapping loudly or my name called if I start drifting off. Enough sleep means I have the wherewithal to alter the pose minimally and unnoticeably (I think) should I start to feel a muscle ache.

Pastel completed by Ted Jacobs who founded the school, in the first 2 weeks

Focussing on the same pose for such a length of time, the students do notice a lot of detail on me. They are training to pick up every nuance of shadow, the different types of shadow – the dark shadows and the light shadows, and every distinction of illumination on me whether from a direct light source – the North facing window, or a reflection from a bright white object nearby (one of my vanguard of heaters). But the light changes every day and sometimes during the day. We have very sunny days and heavily overcast ones, and this causes the most discrepancy. The students are told to work on different sections of their painting when the weather changes, still trying to achieve continuity. Perhaps the background on a grey day.

Trouble is, as November winds on, we get more and more grey mornings. The afternoons often brighten up, but that’s when they do still life, and I am free to roam the countryside.

In the beginning I am utterly taken with this group of people drawing me. They all seem so shiny and healthy, creating a very nourishing environment. Of the 6 students, all from different countries, most follow intricate and healthy diets, veganism featuring quite heavily. The other 2 are French and German; with no unusual dietary habits, just pride in the food they were brought up with. In our village there are no shops, just a bar/restaurant for bikers oddly enough, though you can buy baguettes there if you arrive early. There is a supermarket several kilometres away, and the students fill the organic (bio) aisle when one of them gives us a ride there. I feel a very positive vibe from the group who take their painting pretty seriously. No alcohol during the week, none of them smoke, and it takes me till week 3 to discover the one who is in fact more of a dope fiend than I am. A well kept secret! (And not in France).

My first weekend in the village I am alone – my housemate has gone away, and I get a little depressed. I haven’t yet felt like becoming sociable, I guess partly because I want to maintain my own space so I may achieve the rest here I need (from London chaos), and hopefully get some work done, maybe some writing. There’s something else though, I am still acclimatising and I have not yet settled. I am not used to sharing my home, so being alone is more familiar. I have been enjoying walks around the area, but today feels weird. On the Saturday night I am unable to sleep, and start rereading my book on female shamanism given to me by my sister. It’s the chapter on reclaiming menstruation and it resonates strongly. About how culturally we are conditioned to repress the power and magic of monthly bleeding. I understand this, I actually tend to enjoy my periods as I am more in tune with myself then. I am fortunate not to have a 9 to 5 in an office; I can organise my schedule to some extent as suits me. I can often use my modelling like yoga to create physical positions which open my body, my chakras in a healing way releasing endorphins and harnessing the power of the monthly changes. I know the business of modelling well enough now that I can manage the people I work with to this end if I need, I mean they trust me to do a good job however suits me a great deal of the time. I often get booked for movement poses allowing even more fluidity of posture.

Final day pose I chose myself

Beyond the physical, I feel more aware of what I need to do at that time of the month. It is an optimum time for making decisions, and dealing with problems. I have more clout then and will be firmer if necessary. As I read, my depressive state lifts. I fall asleep very late, and on waking I discover I am bleeding. It is unexpected – 11 days early and I am normally very regular. Evidently the countryside affected me, well it had just been a full moon. Perhaps I was falling in with the women around me, and being closer to the Earth, to nature and farm animals, without massive buildings to block my connection to the sky, I had adjusted. My sadness now made sense, as it is quite normal just before coming on; and Sunday was much lighter, uplifted.

During my second week I felt in harmony with the students, I found the pose more comfortable, and I began to socialise. I am unused to doing such a long pose, but it does allow for a more regular meditation practice, as well as getting to know the people drawing you.

By week three I was missing the potency of my period and something felt out of whack again. I’d been socialising a bit more than is ideal for me, and became aware of not relating to the majority of the students in a certain way. Their extremely privileged upbringings were showing more, and I suspected that half of them had never had a job, certainly never had to struggle at all in order to be able to follow their dreams. Nothing wrong with that in itself, but it can make for naïveté and ignorance. Discussions on global problems revealed their lack of awareness on some issues that are very prevalent in the news these days, such as rampant paedophilia particularly among the ruling classes. We were now at one of their friend’s houses and there were 3 other English people in the room; only one of them was on the same page as me RE Jimmy Saville. Surely being cocooned in an art studio in France for several years was the reason so that’s understandable. What I really missed were ordinary people, friends who I could just be myself with. Friends with normal everyday problems who weren’t rich but down to Earth; no airs, graces or pretences. I was nevertheless extremely grateful for the experience, their generosity and kindness. They always treated me well, it’s simply a matter of a different social world, and one with different values to mine. I had no sense with some of them that they desired change in the world in any considerable way; it seemed to be fine as it was for them. In my world, well getting to live out my dreams may take a lifetime if that, but it is all about the journey. And I do want a huge amount of change!

To clarify, as of course everything is relative and by many people’s standards, even my own at times I am living the dream, I mean be able to spend most of my time making my own art. In a beautiful environment with few distractions is like icing. I am sure I may get there when the time is right.

Week 4, and I have the cottage to myself as my housemate has returned to the States for a wedding. I just want to lock myself away and write. It’s hunting season and every time I go out for a walk I can’t seem to resist going on private property – all the best looking stretches of grass, paths and woods are roped off or signed ‘chasse garde’. I don’t drive but I do have a sense of adventure. Trouble is when you have gone too far in, pushed through an excessive amount of brambles and waded plenty of marsh to go back, but you find yourself locked in by some very spiky fence, deep ditch, stream or impenetrable hedge. Then you hear the gunshots, the sun is nearly down and your phone is on the blink. If you can make it into an open field will you be confronted by an onslaught of stampeding cows? This is the countryside, and it can be scary.

To break my routine a little, at the weekend I decided to take a trip. Inside my mind as well as to a nearby natural beauty spot. I had one tab in my wallet, and took it in halves so as not to come on too strong. It’s not the most visual stuff but it’s definitely mental, I mean you can feel it lighting up your mind. The sounds and colours around me and inside me pulse more brightly. As it rains I cross a rope into a wood and find a natural seat on some bark, sheltered by a tree above. I look a long time at the mesh of mosses, lichens and climbers. It’s a young wood I discern by the girth of trunks, and I regard the trees growing entwined in pairs, singly or in groups attached at the base.

On the way back as the sun is setting behind me it starts to rain again, a massive rainbow crosses my path in front like a giant magical gate I want to walk through but can never quite reach.

The boundaries shift, the rain eases and it becomes a beginning and an end with no middle. I get distracted from the path and make a break into a field. This is the part where I see the village church steeple ahead and think cross country will be a short cut but get waylaid by all the aforementioned trickiness. I find myself running, trying to get somewhere safe before nightfall, stripping off layers in my heated sweat. Adrenaline pumping I wonder where my acid zen went. A farm vehicle passes me the other side of a hedge and I am unsure whether to hide or shout, but after it’s gone, I realise it must be moving towards the road. There’s not much light but I can make out the electricity cables; I am on the right track. Back on the road I swagger in exhilaration, the neon pub light glints on the horizon. I couldn’t understand before why such a bright sign; that’s before I got lost in the dark on acid.

By the end of my visit I come to the conclusion that some of the tensions I had been experiencing with the students were in fact due to the way the group was managed by the tutor. It is up to her to set the standard, and I did not sense that she was fully aware of what opportunity she missed. By regarding the model with a particular reverence, the artists always gain. It is always a privilege to have the presence of a model, and learning to cooperate with them is a huge bonus for all involved. I’m going to leave it at that as sometimes I think it is better to keep things simple.

I really enjoyed that this trip was long enough to be a whole episode. There was a beginning, middle and end. I went off the path a bit in the middle, but I came back and love the whole story. I tend to look for drama where another would find more harmony perhaps, but nevertheless I found a great deal of love and depth in this time from those around me. I was very blessed to meet every single one of them, they all shared so much beauty and friendly times especially by the fireside.

Chateau des Landes

in Cerqueux sous Passavant

Chateau de Beaurepaire

The amazing first post on the Blog of this site! It is about writing and creating the show, plus some art work from a life modelling session.

The show contains life drawing opportunities.

Live musical accompaniment from The Next Room on percussion and strings.

Life & Death in Mortlake

It has been an intensely busy period, lots going on and no time to write about it.

My Uncle who lived in Mortlake for the last few decades died at home there the other week somewhat suddenly. On a gloriously bright Winter day the family gathered on Thursday at Mortlake Crematorium. I can’t say I knew my Uncle well; he was mostly very reserved. I do remember however, on announcing to my non-plussed wider family that I intended to study drama, he remarked that being able to act is a very valuable skill, and we all need that in life. He worked on the stock exchange all his career, in a role which involved writing regular analyses of the market.

It’s funny how life sometimes lines things up so neatly. On my way to the wake, walking through Mortlake I was able to pass by Vernon Hall where our forthcoming event will be held on Saturday December 15th. The door to the building was open and as if demonstrating exactly what I needed to witness, all the heating was on in the hall, full blast. We last used the space in July, so naturally there was concern that the ample heating would be as powerful in the middle of a cold Winter. I also wanted to check the kitchen where we will make mulled wine to see what kind of stove is in operation. All was looking good.

As all the family were leaving my Aunt’s house, it happened that I had been booked to model that evening not far away in Richmond Adult Community College. What a pleasant experience; in stark contrast to a recent gig where artists made me feel uncomfortable with their constant fussing and disagreements over my pose which lasted a few sessions, these folk, led by a very calm and confident tutor made no fuss at all. Though a long pose over several days, no tape was placed around me, no chalk or charcoal marks outlining my form, no photos to ensure an exact reconfiguration. They were simply relaxed, and with some highly proficient artists among the friendly group. All styles are embraced there and it is understood they are working from life, a live model who will move a little, but if you trust her and work with her, she will find the pose happily again and again. I noticed that I felt able to give a little more of myself because the atmosphere is so positive. Everyone is there including me because we enjoy what we do, so there is no need for petty gripes.

I have never come across a group so at ease with what they do and it was empowering to know it can be done like this. I will take that knowledge elsewhere with me. I think it has something to do with the group running for about 20 years and some of the artists having seen each others’ children grow up together. There are strong bonds there which far surpass pointless fuss. There is a loving and learning environment and each week a different class member brings in a book about a favourite artist and the group discuss the work and look at the pictures.

Workshop-wise we had another fine evening last Wednesday of new models and some with experience creating original poses in 2s, 3s and a bigger group one. Here are some images by artists who were present:

A model from the October event starts the session with a 10 minute pose. Picture by Francis Wardale in felt tip I believe

A female duo pose sitting back to back, they had not met before

The same pose in charcoal and pencil by Rade

The same pose in charcoal, chalk and pencil by Rade

An angry king with his serf, 10 minute pose

Part of a sequence of combat poses based on the Elgin marbles!

Women having a tussle

a tricky 10 minute bending pose, coming to the aid of a floor bound figure

another viewpoint

a group pose finale, 10 minutes frozen drunk at a party

We are looking forward to celebrating life on Saturday 15th December, in the afternoon in Vernon Hall, Mortlake. Do get in touch if you would like to come and draw, paint or sculpt.

Esther Bunting