When I left university, I prepared for a short spell of poverty while I sent off amusing and opinionated articles to newspaper editors who needed the work of smart alecks like me to entertain their readers. My short spell of poverty lasted 17 years.
In the meantime, I survived on odd jobs, including a stint as a life model. ‘Starts at ten,’ said Piers, a friend who taught at a college in Kensington. Before my shift, I flipped through Ernst Gombrich’s The Story of Art in case a life model was expected to know the classical poses by heart. I imagined Piers starting me off with an easy one: ‘The Thinker’ by Rodin, or ‘Moses’ by Michelangelo, or ‘The Martyrdom of St Sebastian’ by Mantegna. Or he might challenge my scholar-ship by calling for ‘Laocoön and his Sons’ by Agesander of Rhodes, which requires the model to wear a look of tragic startlement while wrestling with two deadly pythons. And I rehearsed the most celebrated pose of all, Leonardo’s ‘Vitruvian Man’. Standing upright, gazing intently at the mirror, I extended my arms on either side of me. Naturally, I tried various time-settings. Ten to two, quarter to three, and so on.
I arrived early and found Piers arranging the seats in a semi-circle. He nodded towards a utility cupboard which doubled as my changing room. Inside, amid boxes of crayons and paints, I removed all my clothes. I could hear the students gathering on the other side of the door. Piers knocked sharply twice. ‘Ready.’ I turned the handle and walked out stark naked into the studio.
Comments
Join the debate for just $5 for 3 months
Be part of the conversation with other Spectator readers by getting your first three months for $5.
UNLOCK ACCESS Just $5 for 3 monthsAlready a subscriber? Log in