Life Class

Unless you have a particularly accommodating lover or best friend, opportunities to draw the naked human form are few and far between. Most of us cannot raid the ballet school for models or bring in local waifs and strays in the manner of Degas or Schiele, for example. Therefore we have to join a life class, and this I did some years ago when I lived in Wakefield. Those coming to such a class in the expectation of some kind of romantic or even erotic frisson will be quickly disabused. The stark confrontation with a naked body rapidly quells such inclinations. The task before you is to try and draw whatever manifestation of the human form appears, doffs its gown and stands, sits, or lies before you. Many models turn out to be on the elderly side, with not the slimmest of physiques, there to earn a few extra pennies.

Monica

This is Roland. There is soon a satisfaction to be had in rendering such flesh.

There were about a dozen of us in the class. Our tutor, Derek, left us pretty much to our own devices. He would drift around the studio dropping the odd comment in your ear: ‘You might reconsider that foot.’ ‘Is the emaciated look deliberate?’ and move on. A stringent course in anatomy, perspective, foreshortening and so on would no doubt be beneficial but for us at that time it was not what we needed. Derek did not so much teach us as allow us. We were encouraged to render the form before us however and with whatever medium we chose.

There are no straight lines in the human body — even the femur has a slight bend to it. It is all curves and cavities, bulging with muscle and fat. It is also capable of a wide range of movement which a good model exploits. We had one such, an unusually thin, angular man called Simon who could arrange himself in the most challenging postures.

He would come with us at the interval to the canteen — fully clothed of course — and sit with us, chatting about football, family, holidays. It was odd to think that, a few minutes before, our gaze had been fixed on his bony joints. He was very fond of Eccles Cakes.

One of our models was a young woman, Tania, from Slovenia. A few months later I found myself doing a Diploma in Art and Design at Wakefield College as a mature student and I met Tania again. It so happened that she was the regular model for our weekly life drawing class. Our sessions would start with a series of quick poses — maybe just three minutes each — to get our hand and eye in. We would use the same sheet of paper, building up a series of images.

Tania, quick poses

Longer poses would follow. Tania was most professional. Her pose never sagged. (I remember Roland once sagging so much we had to ask him to reposition himself…unfortunately, he had fallen asleep) Over the weeks Tania was subjected to a finer scrutiny than any lover or spouse might offer. It was a scrutiny entirely visual, of course, a distanced intimacy which grew under the pale lighting of the art studio.

Sometimes we were encouraged to take our drawings away and work them up into something more imaginative. As a result Tania became a series of dryads and the girl on the sofa.

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A highlight of the course was a trip to Paris. We visited such treasure troves as the Musee d’Orsay where I stood enthralled in the Van Gogh room and later wrote a poem…..

Van Gogh’s Chair

…..given what I risk my life for

the black demons in my swirling cypresses
my fields of wheat under a troubled sky
and the dark ministry of those crows

to return to my room in the Yellow House
is a homecoming
an interior that brooks no shadows

lilac walls floorboards faded red
a box of onions in their flaky skins
my bed chrome yellow and that chair

the repose of it the way it tolerates me
when I knock my pipe out on its wooden leg
position it on the wicker seat
(the screw of tobacco an afterthought)

then take my brush start mixing paint….

At the Louvre I sat before Gericault’s ‘Raft of the Medusa’ as a group of Japanese students took selfies with the half-dead, writhing occupants of the raft as backdrop. In the Pompidou Centre I peered at Rothko’s huge ‘Untitled — Black and Red’ and learned, to my surprise, that he was ‘interested in exploring human emotions.’

Rothko. Gericault.

But this is digression. Late one day I found myself alone in the Musee Rodin. The sculpture galleries were closed for some sort of renovation but the galleries of Rodin’s drawings were open. A great many of these sketches, often with an added splash of watercolour, are spontaneous explorations of the female form, some highly erotic. I was fascinated by a technique he developed from about 1897 which he called ‘le dessin instantane’, the practice of drawing without looking at the paper, only the model. The results he achieved were remarkable. I tried it out there and then, trying to draw his drawings in a similar fashion.

Mmmm….

Back at College I tried doing it in the life classes with Tania as model. I found that it helped to keep the drawing implement in touch with the paper and thus feel my way around. Otherwise it was a bit like sticking the tail on the donkey. I drew with coloured pastels and wove the images together, then added watercolour.

That was a while ago. When I moved north of the border I found a life class in Haddington. There was no tuition; you paid a small fee to cover the hire of the room and the model and just did your own thing. I enjoyed this approach. And it was here that I encountered the extraordinary Donald. He was a regular model and would sweep into the studio in his tweed suit, a tartan scarf flung over his shoulder. He was an imposing gentleman, firmly built with a flowing moustache and a pointed beard. Sometimes we would draw him clothed until the room warmed up a bit.

Then he would retire to the store cupboard to disrobe. When he reappeared and strode out to the posing plinth we witnessed a further aspect of his flamboyance. His body was adorned with several piercings and their accoutrements. on nipples, navel and other places I leave to your imagination. Yet he was an excellent model, able to maintain lengthy poses without moving. I found him an exciting subject. Here are some drawings of Donald.

Now, needless to say, such activities have ceased, even though social distancing is the norm in life drawing classes. I look forward to resuming such a class, for I maintain that it is the very best practice for training the eye and the drawing hand, the best discipline for really looking and making a mark.

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Note. In the interests of life class etiquette the names of the models have been changed.