Thin is in
The traditional, “old-school” perception of an artist’s model is that of a plump, curvy, “zaftig” woman. Indeed, a great deal of the art from centuries past feature those kinds of models. Apparently, that heavier look represented robust health, wealth, sensuality, etc. I get it. But must those women have a lock on our profession? I say no way, Jose.
It’s bad enough that when it comes to my mother, I suffer a “double-whammy”, and by that I mean she is both an artist and, well, my mother. So it’s fairly often that I hear her remark that I am a little “too skinny”. I have posed in front of my mother at Spring Studios, and while she always compliments my work, she still manages to mention that I look thin up on the platform. So as an artist she’d prefer a few more curvy lines to draw, and as a mother she, like many mothers, would like her daughter to have sufficient meat on her bones. Ok, I confess that in some poses one can see my ribs quite visibly. And my sternum. And when I sit for long periods it can get a little uncomfortable because I lack enough, um, “padding” on my backside. So someone (a meanie) could call me bony, but personally I prefer “anatomically well-articulated”. (Euphemisms rule!)
My mother is not alone in this. More than a few times, I have heard from elderly ladies in painting classes that it wouldn’t kill me to “put on a few pounds” and been asked if I’m “eating enough”. (once I was almost forcibly fed a jelly donut by a concerned lady). I don’t take offense, really I don’t. I like to think of them as my Mom’s “substitutes” when she’s not there. They mean well, and they’re from an older generation where body image was different than it is today. I’m not saying better or worse, mind you. I’m a big fan of Marilyn Monroe who, I believe, proudly wore a size 14. That’s pretty cool. I love her.
But I am most certainly not Marilyn Monroe. When it comes to art modeling, I am thin for some. I know this. On the flip side, however, I can serve an instructor’s anatomy demo very well. (Just ask Frank Porcu at the Art Students League) Also, my light, thin frame allows me to express graceful gestures, while my long torso helps to create long, uninterrupted lines. Not bad, right? I think the good art models know their bodies well, know what their physical assets are and, therefore, know how best to utilize them – “play up” their strengths, as it were. My good friend Dan Gheno put it best when he told a student during instruction that I have an “elegant body”. Yes, Dan, you rock! Many thanks, my friend.
The 20th century artist Modigliani also saw elegance and beauty in a thin figure. Here is his “Reclining Nude” from 1913:
Long Time No Post!
Hello to my friends, family, and visiting strangers who stop by on occasion for a little Museworthy. I’m still here, of course, just immersed in a crazy busy modeling schedule that is wearing me out a bit. But a two week painting class for Sharon Sprung and her unbelievably talented gang of artists at the National Academy is well worth the exhaustion. As usual for Sharon’s class, there is a great pose, great setup, and plenty of focus and dedication. It’s no surprise that for years this class consistently produces high quality figurative art. And hey, their consistently quality models don’t hurt either! Ahem.
Anyway, during my hectic week of running around town from job to job, I actually found time today (45 minutes to be exact) to stop into the National Arts Club in Gramercy Park and see a painting of me that was hanging in the gallery. It was done by Mary Ann Viola in Dan Gheno’s class last year, and she was kind enough to let me know it would be on display. I’m always so happy when artists’ work of me gets into shows. How gratifying. And I very much appreciate it when they inform me of the exhibit so I can see myself hanging on the wall. It’s great! Mary Ann’s painting was just wonderful, done in a mixed media style, and she portrayed the strength and balance of my standing pose so well. It’s elegant, artistic, and so distinctly Mary Ann. I have posed for her many times, and I hope I do even more in the future. It’s always a pleasure!
Melancholy Model
It may be hard to believe, but even art models get the blues. However, my glum state these past couple of days was not brought on by my work. It never is. In fact, it’s quite the opposite. A good posing session – especially the kind I worked tonight, which was an open, uninstructed sketch class – is the perfect antidote for a sad mood. I have the freedom to pose as I please in an uninhibited, informal setting. I can release my sadness, reclaim my confidence, chase my demons away, and have some fun.
Better yet is the uplifting effect of a beautiful work of art. So tonight, this moody muse turns to the euphoric, playful, life-affirming abandon of Matisse’s Dancers to pick up her spirits. Hope it does the same for you.
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Madame X
I’m going to write some blasphemous comments in this post. Well, blasphemous to some people at least. I’m fully aware that John Singer Sargent is a revered American portrait artist, as he should be. He is idolized by realist painters and referenced frequently by instructors during art classes. Now I am no art critic and I don’t pretend to be. But I am comfortable, and confident, expressing my opinion solely from the viewpoint of an experienced, dedicated artist’s model who loves her job with a passion. So here I go.
I don’t like Madame X. And the more I learn about the subject and circumstances surrounding the painting, the less I like it. I will qualify one more time that I am not an art historian, but I do know a few telling details. I know that “Madame X” was an American, Virginie Amelie Avegno Gautreau. Specifically she was a New Orleans native whose family moved to France when she was a young girl. She grew into adulthood and morphed herself into a “Paris socialite”. I also know that she was a peculiar woman who wore excessive amounts of lavender powder as make-up. And I know that Sargent posed her for this portrait – I mean meticulously posed her down to every angled centimeter and pinky finger. Of course the painting is a standout for the sharp contrast of her pale skin against the black dress and brown background. That’s quite dramatic. But I just can’t get past the nagging sense that Madame X is a study in vanity – a portrait of a haughty, pretentious, and, to some degree, fraudulent woman whose mission in life was to marry well, move in prestigious circles, attend parties, and pose for the prominent artists of the time. YAWN. Give me Dora Maar. Or one of Toulouse Lautrec’s can-can girls. Or Van Gogh’s prostitutes. Or ANY person besides this narcissistic social climber.
However, Sargent was clearly inspired by her – profoundly, in fact- and that’s what we celebrate here at Museworthy – inspiration. See what a fair and balanced blog editor I am? My own personal disdain for a work of art does not preclude its posting. Excuse me while I go pat myself on the back.
I just want to communicate my belief that an art model, or any sitter for an artist, whether shopkeeper, professional model, dancer, peasant, barmaid, Duke or Dutchess of snobville, etc., is a human being both before and after they pose. The negation of that humanity through obsessive staging and affectations leads to, well, a staged and affected pose, which leads to a staged and affected work of art. When I pose, I feel incredibly alive. I can hear myself breathing and feel my heart beating. I feel most alive when I fall into a pose almost accidentally. Spontaneity is the art model’s fortuitous moment. By extension, it is the artist’s fortuitous moment as well. (And putting a quasi-subversive title on the work, like “Madame X”, comes across as a pompous attempt to make the subject “mysterious”. Personally, that doesn’t work for me. It just gives the painting more of a “full of shit” quality).
So because it meets the Museworthy criteria, here’s “Madame X”:
Love From Matisse
“My models, my human figures, are never like extras in an interior. They are the main theme of my work. I depend absolutely on my model”. – Henri Matisse
I am going so post sooooo much Matisse on this blog it’s not even funny! This man truly makes me proud of my profession. Until his dying day, Matisse worked regularly from models, and he created some of the most distinct and memorable figures known in art. Here’s Henri with one of his many muses:
And here is a beautiful Matisse lithograph, “Nude Model on a Couch”:
Henri, on behalf of artists’ models everywhere, here at Museworthy, we salute you!
Downtime
In the busy day of a full time art model, the break between jobs is a precious gift. Now there’s the half-hour break which I consider pretty much useless, as the bulk of it gets eaten up with transportation. No personal time there. But the hour break is good, and the two-hour break is excellent! Today, my morning class at FIT ended at 11:00. My next job was at 1:00 at the National Academy. That’s two good hours all to myself. Wooohooo!
When I exited FIT’s D Building on 7th Avenue, I had to make the decision whether to occupy myself around there, or up near the National Academy. Hmmm . . . . noisy, unattractive Chelsea, or scenic Central Park and 5th Avenue? The choice was easy. I headed uptown.
Once there, I plopped myself down on a concrete ledge overlooking the Reservoir. I ate my mini-bagel with cream cheese in no time, and started drinking what was my third cup of coffee for the day. I lit a cigarette and sat there watching the migrating birds flying overhead. It was quiet around the reservoir. The muddy path from the morning’s rain no doubt deterred joggers. I sat and thought. I practiced blowing smoke rings. I tossed a small remaining piece of bagel to a hopping sparrow which attacked it immediately. I checked my voicemail. Then I contemplated my life: regrets, mistakes, unanswered questions, uncertain future. Ok, now it was getting too serious and emotionally weighty. This is my relaxing break, dammit. Snap out if it!
I slid off the ledge and noticed that no one was around, which provided the perfect opportunity to do karate kicks. I did a couple that felt ridiculous. I can only imagine how clumsy I looked- and with a lit cigarette in hand no less! What a freak. I abandoned the kicks for yoga moves, and did a nice balance for cosmic dancer. Then tree pose among the real trees of Central Park. Then a little warrior. I was done. Getting bored again.
Then it was, of all people, tourists to the rescue! They made their way up the steps to the Reservoir – a group, possibly a family. Carefully, they sidestepped the puddles. Then they surveyed the rippling water and the West Side apartment buildings standing tall across the park. They turned and politely approached me with digital camera in hand. “Could you take a picture, please?” they asked, in a foreign accent I couldn’t identify. I jumped at the chance. “Sure!” I answered, thrilled that I now had something to do besides amuse myself with childish cavorting. An assignment! They huddled together against the railing and with a little amateur direction from me, a first-rate digital vacation photo was taken. Yay!
The tourists thanked me for the picture and began perusing their Central Park map. I felt bad for them that they didn’t have a nicer, sunnier, less-damp day to explore the park. They seemed to be choosing their next stop. Belvedere Castle, perhaps? Or maybe the Bethesda Fountain? Bored again, and meddling like a busybody, I offered some unsolicited advice. “Go to the West Side to Strawberry Fields!” They looked at me a little confused. “Strawberry Fields!”, I repeated with a disproportionate level of enthusiasm, the kind only a fanatic would display. “Go to the Imagine circle and pay respects to John Lennon!”. Um, ok. They sort of smiled at me, but their expressions really seemed to say “This girl was nice enough to take our picture but now she’s turning into a New York weirdo. We’d better get out of here!”. And then, they were gone.
Alone again. But not for long. I checked my watch for the time. Shit, it was 12:48! My luxurious two hour break had evaporated! I grabbed my modeling bag, hustled down the steps and scooted around the corner of 89th Street to the National Academy. Soon, I was lying down in Studio 2 posing for MaryBeth McKenzie’s painting class, wearing a flimsy white slip with one strap strategically falling off my shoulder, in a sultry reclining pose; one of those “ravished woman” poses that are timelessly artistically appealing. Just minutes ago I was alone in the park wearing jeans and sneakers, cavorting, playing, and dreaming. Now I was back at work. No more cavorting and playing. But still dreaming . . .
A Model’s Many Faces
Much is made about creating a “likeness” of the model. I hear it all the time while posing for classes; instructors correcting students’ work to better resemble the model’s features such as the length of the nose, the depth of the eye sockets, etc. And I certainly understand all that. I would say, though, that students need not feel dismayed when they don’t perfectly replicate the model’s appearance if they succeed in capturing something else in her – her character, her spirit, her demeanor, her movement, her energy. All those intangible qualities which define true LIFE drawing. The model is, after all, more than a collection of bones and muscles. The model is an individual with personality and presence.
Many times I have seen a finished painting or drawing of me and thought that while it is not a flawless “copy” of me, it nonetheless “looks” like me, in some way. And I appreciate that very much, maybe even more than a carbon copy. It sounds like a cliche, but when the model’s essence is there, the artist has done well.
This charming charcoal sketch was done during a private drawing session at the home of reknowned art critic Leo Steinberg. I see myself in it. Ro, the artist, really captured my mood and countenance at that moment. Thanks for the picture, Ro!
Sleepyhead Degas Dreams
As tired as I am from a busy week, and a full Saturday of posing for Dan Gheno’s painting classes at the National Academy, I feel the desire to post something before I turn in for an awesome night’s sleep and rest my weary legs.
My mother – the artist in the family- is a huge fan of Degas, so I write this post affectionately for her. Degas was a man of many muses, mostly dancers and prostitutes. This pastel painting depicts a woman brushing her hair. I love those paintings of people in the middle of an ordinary act. A banal task gradually transforms into beauty when an artist picks up his brush and captures it. I’d like to pose like that sometime; bathing, getting dressed, etc. This scenario of a woman combing her hair would be fun to emulate. Except for maybe the prostitute part. I’ll pass on that! Here’s Degas:
Message to the Met: let us draw!
Since working as a full time time art model in New York for some time now, I’ve become pretty well-informed of the life drawing sessions giong on in the city; the locations, times, organizers, etc. I have not posed for every last one of them, although that is my grand plan; to stand on every available modeling platform in the tri-state area before I’m forced into retirement by arthritis and osteoporosis (or, even worse, cellulite!)
Anyway, I’ve always found it curious that there is no life drawing offered at the Met Museum. I’ve heard about a group which meets to study and draw from the artwork in the permanent collections, but I’m not aware of any drawing session taking place there from a live model. If there is such a thing, then my trusty grapevine has failed me!
I visit the Met website pretty often, and the museum is without question a venerable, rich cultural institution with myriad offerings: lecture series, film screenings, talks, educational programs. But when I read the descriptions of these things, it occurs to me that they all have a certain dry, stuffy, academic quality to them. Very research and history oriented. Not to mention a little hoity-toity Upper East Side … well, you know what I mean. I’m getting off point here.
It seems like life drawing within the hallowed confines of the Met Museum would be spectacular. As a life model, I have fantasized about posing for artists in the Temple of Dendur. That would be so cool! And they just finished the reinstallment of the Greek and Roman Art collection, so that would be cool too; a living, breathing model posing amidst the stone statues, munching on some green grapes and drinking wine out of an urn like a decadent freak (ok, maybe that’s a little over the top). Anyway, I think I might make some inquiries and find out why the Met Museum, of all places, seems to have an aversion to life drawing. Sure they celebrate, in their cold maze of wings and galleries, the frozen, immortalized models of centuries past. But what about those of us who are here now, in the 21st century? We can pose with the best of them! We are muses too. And people want to draw. They always will. What better place than the Metropolitan Museum of Art? Looks like a few phone calls are in my future. Probably won’t amount to anything, but it’s worth a shot.
Rodin the Model Man
“I can only work with a model. The sight of human forms nourishes and comforts me.”
- Auguste Rodin
If the above statement doesn’t communicate beautifully the value and essence of my profession then I don’t know what words could. I’m all choked up. Thank you, Auguste!
When I was searching for an image to accompany this quote, I came across this incredible drawing by Rodin. I was going to post a sculpture picture, since Rodin is known predominantly as a sculptor, but this drawing of the Roman goddess Minerva stirred me the instant I laid eyes on it. It also reminded me of a discussion I once overheard while posing for a sculpture class at the Art Students League. The agreed-upon conclusion was that sculptors do superb life drawings. Granted, the discussors were all sculptors themselves. But if this drawing by Rodin is any indication, then their consensus is dead-on accurate.
A Flaunting Fool
Today was what I call an “all college day”, meaning I worked only college jobs. In this case, NYU and FIT. I try to be mindful that the classes are full of young, less experienced artists. They are not the seasoned experts of Spring Studios, but rather, students still in the early stages of the difficult process of learning to draw. I can’t draw to save my life, so I have nothing but respect and envy for those willing to confront such an undertaking. 20 years old or 40, figure drawing is challenging!
So, careless me, miss art model pro full timer, performing like a showoffy peacock, inflicted some incredibly difficult poses on the FIT evening life drawing class. I feel a little bad. With severely foreshortened legs and arms protruding at them at all angles, I sensed they were struggling mightily. Not that they should be shielded from more advanced work (how are they supposed to learn, after all? You don’t know if you can do anything unless you DO IT. That’s my philosophy). My concern, however, is that it could create frustration, which could then lead to discouragement. That’s something I don’t want to be responsible for. In any case, I think I threw them in into the deep end of the pool, so to speak. What was I thinking?
So to redeem my thoughtless, shameless bravado, my sincere message to all the budding life artists out there is, “YOU CAN DO IT! JUST KEEP PRACTICING!” And if your model is offering contorted pretzels and impossible theatrics, just assume she’s in an odd mood, blowing off steam, had too much coffee, or just came from a yoga class and is feeling extra limber. Don’t take it personally!
