Monday September 12th, I took first real trip to the other side of the easel.
...
I found, hanging at the University of Utah, bright yellow fliers calling for art models, mostly undraped (nude). I had seen these before. I've been curious before. But this time my lack of employment and need for self-sufficiency cried out to me.
Curiosity was pushed into Action.
On the phone to Sid, I described myself. Height, weight, eye colour.
"Yes I am Ethnic looking (the flier said an ethnic look would be ideal). Persian-Portuguese...no my family won't mind. They don't even know. I act very independently of them."
All of that was good. And the selling point?
My long, "lower than mid-back, dark, yes black-ish brown" Hair.
Make a call to Rick and Bryce. Ok. They are the ones to talk to.
The Professional Artists. (see their websites, links on the left)
After talking to Rick I've been officially "Booked".
6:30 pm to 9:30 pm Monday September 12th.
Undraped.
Then the mental dilemmas start.
"Mel, you hate just having your picture taken, how are you supposed to sit for three hours while people paint and draw you? Nude??"
Damn. Good question.
There was a lot of self talk, talk with close friends, talks with websites and books (such as the Bohemian Manifesto and The Art Model's Handbook, etc), and my significant other.
Most importantly he was supportive. He voiced concern for my safety and we decided on a plan.
He would drive me to the studio and really sacrifice by waiting the entire three hours for me. Just outside. Just in case. Just to be safe.
Studying became difficult. The nervousness ebbed and flowed with excitement and I was dying for Monday to come.
And sooner than I expected it did.
I found my self sitting in my trusty car with my trusting boyfriend, twiddling my fingers and staring at the home/studio.
"Are you nervous?"
"Hahaha...no...a bit"
Then the sight of a female artist grabbing her easel from her car and walking into the house comforted me (both of us I think). I smiled big and hurried to the door.
I received a warm greeting and gave a phone call "Yes, its 9:30 pm. Ok. Thanks. Love You". Code for everything is alright.
The home was bright. The walls plain white with Rick's paintings lining nearly every wall.
I liked it.
In the corner of one room the stage was assembled: a wicker couch with pillows and sheets draped over it and a large sheet pinned up in the background. I smiled and introduced my self to the artist setting up. "Hey Sid". It was nice to meet these voices in person. I was shown to the bathroom/changing room where I would enter draped and emerge undraped--well mostly, I would still covered by my robe until the session started.
I sat and listened to how things were going to go. 20 minutes for the first session, if I can go longer, for 25 minutes, let them know and all the sessions would be timed for 25. Alright.
A little more waiting for more artists to trickle in. More small talk.
Then it was time to start.
My heart pounded.
I took off my robe and eased my self on the the couch. They said just to relax, to recline. So I did. I had one leg hanging off the couch and the other twisting at the hip to meet it. One arm propped up my body on the arm rest and the other was bent up over my head resting on the back of the couch.
There was some concern among the artists as to my comfort and if I could hold my arm up there that long. I assured them I could since it was resting on the couch.
I was asked to pull my hair (yes, long and dark) to one side. This reveled my curling, black, wood gauges.
"Are these going to be a problem? I can take them out"
"No at all. Actually they will be interesting"
Next my gaze was directed to a focal point above all the artist, at a very modern floor lamp. My head took on a slight tilt (a tilt that Sid would be reminding me to keep for the rest of the evening).
Rick started the timer and some classical music.
The artists settled down.
And we were set.
Holding still really was not all that difficult. Except my hip started to kill after a short while. I realized the twist I had put in, while adding interesting asymmetry, was nearly unsustainable. I would be battling it all evening.
Soon--what felt like really soon actually--after we had started, the soft chirping of crickets drifted through through room. For the first time in 20 minutes Rick looked at me and asked if I could go a bit loner. "Yes, definitely".
After another 5 minutes it was time for a break.
But before I could get up, Rick had to come over and "tape the pose". Marking with masking tape where parts of my--my foot, hand, etc--had been so I could fine my way back to the pose.
Once he finished I leaned over to grab my robe. It was an awkward lean since I did not want to disrupt the tape. But I finally gabbed my robe and threw it on.
I needed to walk. I went over to the easels and asked the artists if I could peek. The all said yes. "There is not much done yet of course, just blocking right now"
"Its alright. I'd like to look anyway"
I then took a seat on a chair designated for me. Drank some water--Rick had kindly offered, but I had my Nalgene--and began to stretch out my hip.
One of the women in the group (there were five artists total, two women. Then six counting the one younger one who walked in late) asked if I was a dancer.
I looked at her, confused for a minute, with my foot up by my face.
I glance at my foot.
It glanced back.
"Oh! No, I do yoga. And rock climb"
The rock climbing sparked a good discussion among the group for quite a while.
Then in a very cultured, art scene sort of fashion, Rick offered everyone a glass of wine.
I declined, not sure how alcohol would mix with extreme holding still.
For me, probably not very well.
I've been told I am a wiggly drinker.
The crickets chirped again and I took off my robe, it was so much easier this time, and settled into place. My hip immediately began throbbing. I concentrated hard on the modern lamp and forced my self to either get lost in endless thoughts or to meditate.
It worked.
Time flew.
Crickets chirped.
I struck up a conversation with the younger one who walk in late.
He was just sketching while everyone else painted.
He was nice, though I felt an air of awkwardness coming from him. Was it odd to talk to stranger who you had just seen laying completely nude?
I wouldn't know.
From my point of view nothing felt strange anymore.
This all felt natural, professional and deliciously artistic.
I was falling for it.
The crickets chirped out our schedule for the remaining three hours.
Brakes were sprinkled with light conversation. One women and I discussed Asia. She had lived in Singapore and other countries for several years and I had just returned from a three month stay in India.
The sessions were split between an agonizing hip and lamp centered meditation.
Finally the crickets sang their last and we were done. The artists asked if I wouldn't mind getting dressed and momentarily getting back in the pose so they could take some head shots to work on later. (There is a strict No nude photographs, unless prearranged, policy in these types of session). I obliged.
I said good bye to everyone. "It was so great to meet you, thank you so much"
"No, no, thank you"
Smiles all around.
I hurried to the car. It was a good evening.
...
I found, hanging at the University of Utah, bright yellow fliers calling for art models, mostly undraped (nude). I had seen these before. I've been curious before. But this time my lack of employment and need for self-sufficiency cried out to me.
Curiosity was pushed into Action.
On the phone to Sid, I described myself. Height, weight, eye colour.
"Yes I am Ethnic looking (the flier said an ethnic look would be ideal). Persian-Portuguese...no my family won't mind. They don't even know. I act very independently of them."
All of that was good. And the selling point?
My long, "lower than mid-back, dark, yes black-ish brown" Hair.
Make a call to Rick and Bryce. Ok. They are the ones to talk to.
The Professional Artists. (see their websites, links on the left)
After talking to Rick I've been officially "Booked".
6:30 pm to 9:30 pm Monday September 12th.
Undraped.
Then the mental dilemmas start.
"Mel, you hate just having your picture taken, how are you supposed to sit for three hours while people paint and draw you? Nude??"
Damn. Good question.
There was a lot of self talk, talk with close friends, talks with websites and books (such as the Bohemian Manifesto and The Art Model's Handbook, etc), and my significant other.
Most importantly he was supportive. He voiced concern for my safety and we decided on a plan.
He would drive me to the studio and really sacrifice by waiting the entire three hours for me. Just outside. Just in case. Just to be safe.
Studying became difficult. The nervousness ebbed and flowed with excitement and I was dying for Monday to come.
And sooner than I expected it did.
I found my self sitting in my trusty car with my trusting boyfriend, twiddling my fingers and staring at the home/studio.
"Are you nervous?"
"Hahaha...no...a bit"
Then the sight of a female artist grabbing her easel from her car and walking into the house comforted me (both of us I think). I smiled big and hurried to the door.
I received a warm greeting and gave a phone call "Yes, its 9:30 pm. Ok. Thanks. Love You". Code for everything is alright.
The home was bright. The walls plain white with Rick's paintings lining nearly every wall.
I liked it.
In the corner of one room the stage was assembled: a wicker couch with pillows and sheets draped over it and a large sheet pinned up in the background. I smiled and introduced my self to the artist setting up. "Hey Sid". It was nice to meet these voices in person. I was shown to the bathroom/changing room where I would enter draped and emerge undraped--well mostly, I would still covered by my robe until the session started.
I sat and listened to how things were going to go. 20 minutes for the first session, if I can go longer, for 25 minutes, let them know and all the sessions would be timed for 25. Alright.
A little more waiting for more artists to trickle in. More small talk.
Then it was time to start.
My heart pounded.
I took off my robe and eased my self on the the couch. They said just to relax, to recline. So I did. I had one leg hanging off the couch and the other twisting at the hip to meet it. One arm propped up my body on the arm rest and the other was bent up over my head resting on the back of the couch.
There was some concern among the artists as to my comfort and if I could hold my arm up there that long. I assured them I could since it was resting on the couch.
I was asked to pull my hair (yes, long and dark) to one side. This reveled my curling, black, wood gauges.
"Are these going to be a problem? I can take them out"
"No at all. Actually they will be interesting"
Next my gaze was directed to a focal point above all the artist, at a very modern floor lamp. My head took on a slight tilt (a tilt that Sid would be reminding me to keep for the rest of the evening).
Rick started the timer and some classical music.
The artists settled down.
And we were set.
Holding still really was not all that difficult. Except my hip started to kill after a short while. I realized the twist I had put in, while adding interesting asymmetry, was nearly unsustainable. I would be battling it all evening.
Soon--what felt like really soon actually--after we had started, the soft chirping of crickets drifted through through room. For the first time in 20 minutes Rick looked at me and asked if I could go a bit loner. "Yes, definitely".
After another 5 minutes it was time for a break.
But before I could get up, Rick had to come over and "tape the pose". Marking with masking tape where parts of my--my foot, hand, etc--had been so I could fine my way back to the pose.
Once he finished I leaned over to grab my robe. It was an awkward lean since I did not want to disrupt the tape. But I finally gabbed my robe and threw it on.
I needed to walk. I went over to the easels and asked the artists if I could peek. The all said yes. "There is not much done yet of course, just blocking right now"
"Its alright. I'd like to look anyway"
I then took a seat on a chair designated for me. Drank some water--Rick had kindly offered, but I had my Nalgene--and began to stretch out my hip.
One of the women in the group (there were five artists total, two women. Then six counting the one younger one who walked in late) asked if I was a dancer.
I looked at her, confused for a minute, with my foot up by my face.
I glance at my foot.
It glanced back.
"Oh! No, I do yoga. And rock climb"
The rock climbing sparked a good discussion among the group for quite a while.
Then in a very cultured, art scene sort of fashion, Rick offered everyone a glass of wine.
I declined, not sure how alcohol would mix with extreme holding still.
For me, probably not very well.
I've been told I am a wiggly drinker.
The crickets chirped again and I took off my robe, it was so much easier this time, and settled into place. My hip immediately began throbbing. I concentrated hard on the modern lamp and forced my self to either get lost in endless thoughts or to meditate.
It worked.
Time flew.
Crickets chirped.
I struck up a conversation with the younger one who walk in late.
He was just sketching while everyone else painted.
He was nice, though I felt an air of awkwardness coming from him. Was it odd to talk to stranger who you had just seen laying completely nude?
I wouldn't know.
From my point of view nothing felt strange anymore.
This all felt natural, professional and deliciously artistic.
I was falling for it.
The crickets chirped out our schedule for the remaining three hours.
Brakes were sprinkled with light conversation. One women and I discussed Asia. She had lived in Singapore and other countries for several years and I had just returned from a three month stay in India.
The sessions were split between an agonizing hip and lamp centered meditation.
Finally the crickets sang their last and we were done. The artists asked if I wouldn't mind getting dressed and momentarily getting back in the pose so they could take some head shots to work on later. (There is a strict No nude photographs, unless prearranged, policy in these types of session). I obliged.
I said good bye to everyone. "It was so great to meet you, thank you so much"
"No, no, thank you"
Smiles all around.
I hurried to the car. It was a good evening.
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