From
Primitive Hostel
Ralph van
Drielen
(Poet and Siamese Twin of Enid Petherick)
Nudes—or Undressed Featherless Bipeds?
I couldn’t draw
my way out of a wet paper sack—but I have twice been to Life Drawing sessions
in
The first time: the model was experienced at posing, comfortable with her nudity, and fully aware that posing is not as easy as many may think it is. Posing means standing or sitting or lying in the same position for a few minutes or up to twenty minutes. And artists want/appreciate “difficult” poses so just doing the same thing every time isn’t going to work. Try it sometime: stand in the most comfortable position you can find, look at a clock, and DON’T MOVE for twenty minutes. Then relax for ten minutes. Then repeat the same procedure for the next two and a half hours. Models earn their money.
I enjoyed that first session, actually produced drawings that resembled the model, and left feeling good about myself and my—small, but worthwhile—accomplishment. And with a strong appreciation for the challenge of drawing the human body with all its curves and knobs and shadows—particularly because it is alive and changes despite the best efforts of the best models; and that a smallest change in the position of the hand or foot may change the “feel” and the “weight” and the balance of the drawing. And I acquired an awareness of why artists have always drawn the human figure—and the curious awakening of the—surprising—knowledge that the model becomes sex-less. Only look at some of the studio scenes drawn by Toulouse Lautrec or Enid Petherick and you will see intensity and concentration stamped into the faces of the artists. Sometimes that intensity is almost comic.
A week later the model was new, very uncomfortable, and so nervous sweat beaded on her body and dripped onto the floor. My empathy for her kept getting in the way of any concentration. I closed up shop and sat out in the hall for a couple of hours until the session ended. I’ll never be an artist—and one artist in a family is plenty. I’ve never been back.
A few years later the Gallery Director of a small town asked the artist in our family to hang a show of life drawings from her many sessions at Basic Inquiry in Vancouver. He thought it might “shake things up a bit”. All her paintings and drawings were just nudes—none pornographic. Of the female—and male—models included, none were what one might call “Hollywood”. Some were fat; some very thin; some old; some black; some white; some oriental—some even partially dressed. Just the human body—or portions of it (no, not those portions, though why not?)—rendered accurately with an appreciation—and a touch of wonderment—for the diversity and complexity of this “breathing machine.”
That show certainly “shook things up a bit”. Several patrons who over the preceding few years had bought landscapes—why should any artist always have to do the same thing?—saw this show—and still haven’t returned.
A few months later I happened to be in Vancouver, standing waiting for a bus—and I had to pee. The bus stop was in front of a bar. I consider alcohol a weakness that I can’t afford. So I never go in bars. But I had to pee! And these days in a major city one would be better off being a dog that can pee—legally—on the nearest tree. So I went into the bar to find the “Men’s”. It was dark, smelly, and if this was “manly”, I’ll take a toad any day. A large room with a circular “bar” at which a number of men sat, expensive drinks in hand, staring at a woman—not totally nude—twisting her body around a pole in the centre of the stage before them. She was oriental and whatever beauty is, she had some of it. But her pasted on smile covered a twinge of boredom in her eyes. Dancing to some music, except for the generic smile, she seemed oblivious to the men. She was working. Getting paid to pretend. I won’t criticise her. There are worse ways to earn money—ever work in an abattoir?
And what of the men? The incongruity of the situation flashed into my mind—here were these bored-looking men sitting in the near dark, drinking $5 to $10 drinks, watching a not-quite-nude, bored, woman dance. Why didn’t they go to the Life Drawing session where, for a $10-$15 fee, they could watch a totally nude female—or male—stand or sit or recline for three hours? Admitted, there is no music. But the model never looks bored. Admitted, the lights are always on—but shouldn’t that make for better viewing? And, yes, it’s true the other people in the room—the artists—have paid for this opportunity, are working hard to solve problems—to learn—and to satisfy themselves. And artists don’t like distractions or interruptions. So our transplanted “bar-men” would have to sit quietly at the back without moving while staring at a nude human body that isn’t moving. Exciting? Not if you’re not drawing. But why doesn’t anyone do it?
How did humans create this situation?—where the mental construction of the partially nude human body is more “sexy” than the fully nude reality? And how has nudity become “dirty”? Are nude humans really as ugly as plucked chickens?
Maybe if we all went to a few Life Drawing sessions we’d understand artists better—and maybe even ourselves.
Enid Petherick's
Millennium
Art Gallery
Portfolio
