A woman stands at the centre of the room, nude, encircled by a dozen art students.
Some sit on benches with paint-splattered sketchboards balanced on their knees. Others stand behind easels. “Two fives, three 10s and one 20,” the moderator instructs the model, by which he means two five-minute poses, three 10-minute poses and one 20-minute pose.
The artist’s task is to replicate the human form exactly as it is in front of them. The model’s task is not only to pose, but to pose well.
Life drawing classes take place all over Toronto, every day. The work of a nude model is essential but often misunderstood; one might assume it is easy, or that the model feels embarrassed or exposed. But the life models interviewed by the Star say that it’s quite the opposite: the whole experience makes them feel powerful.
Aria Desloge, 21, used to have body image issues — until she started life modelling. Posing nude makes her feel “unstoppable,” she said — if she can do this she can do anything in a way.
The job changed her relationship with her body for the better, she said. It forced her to accept that she has little control over how she is perceived by others, because every artist will render her body differently. “Their perspective is not in your control. You just have to accept that it is your body,” said Desloge.
Seeing different renditions of her figure has helped her become more familiar with what her body actually looks like, rather than what she imagines it looks like. “I accept that my body is imperfect, but I also love my body now. I think it’s beautiful.”
Some, like Desloge, treat modelling as a performance. She imagines she is playing a character in a broader scene. Other models are comfortable with simply being an object of study, an assemblage of positive and negative space.
Under the harsh overhead light, surrounded on all sides by students, it becomes impossible to contort your body into a “beautiful” pose or “flattering” angle, said Desloge, so why try? The more complicated the pose, the harder it will be to hold.
It is more practical, then, to just be yourself and pose naturally. And anyway, the artists aren’t there to judge you; they’re there to study the human form, arguably one of the most difficult to draw.
To Desloge, modelling is a collaboration with the artists. She shares in their triumphs, their pride in the pieces they’ve created, and finds the work fulfilling. “People can tell I’m excited about my job,” she said.
Steve Pietrzyk, 61, feels the same. “It’s a lot of fun being part of this creative process … you work together to accomplish an end goal,” he said.
He started modelling on the side 10 years ago, going full-time when he was downsized from his job in finance.
“I went from wearing a suit every day to wearing nothing every day,” he said with a laugh.
The first time he modelled, Pietrzyk, who has no body image issues to speak of, was more nervous than he had been in his entire life. But when he dropped his robe, his fears dissipated.
“You feel a sense of empowerment when you’re up there even though you’re the only nude person in the room,” he said, “but you also feel an incredible sense of vulnerability … You’re nude. There’s nowhere to hide. Your whole being is out there on display … You feel freedom, unencumbered by clothes.”
Everybody should try it at least once, he said. “It’s very liberating to step out of your clothes and just be who you are on the day you were born.”
When a model poses, their body is perfectly still, but their mind is on the move; they’re strategizing about their next pose, ensuring their bodies catch the light, that the pose is interesting yet dynamic, that all the artists have a good view, that the pose isn’t too easy, or too difficult, to draw.
Artists loathe drawing fingers and feet. Empathetically, Desloge arranges her fingers into a paddle shape to make them easier to capture.
It helps. Somewhat. “My fingers always look like sausages,” said artist Bob Fisher, who regularly attends life drawing classes at the Toronto School of Art. “Feet are a challenge too … the way the arch connects to the calf can be hard to capture.”
Fisher, a 75-year-old retired journalist, has been attending classes since he was in his 20s, because drawing people is “just the biggest challenge. There’s something about capturing the human figure … You can draw still life, but I find (that) a little boring.”
It’s challenging for the artists, certainly. But also for the models, who push their bodies to the limits.
They need to be in reasonably good shape, strong enough to hold strenuous poses for up to 20 minutes at a time, said Pietrzyk, who takes an occasional anti-inflammatory and uses a heating pad to soothe his sore muscles.
“It wears you out,” he admitted. “It’s hard on your body.”
Sessions are generally three hours in length and Pietrzyk does three to four sessions a day. (That’s nine to 12 hours of posing.) Rates vary from $35 to $60 an hour.
As they pose, the models are guided by moderators, who discuss poses with them; advise them to move into or out of the light; suggest adjusting their positions, so they’re not “too symmetrical”; fetch them heaters when they get cold; and help quiet chatty artists in the room.
Paul Densmore, moderator of the drop-in life drawing sessions at the Toronto School of Art, says he likes to keep things running smoothly: short breaks and tight, organized sessions.
Outside the studio, life drawing suffers from the misconception that it is erotic or voyeuristic. An opportunity to ogle.
This is completely false, said Charlotte Anderson, 46, who used to be an operational manager for a clothing company before she started life modelling nine years ago.
“Sexuality has no place in our world,” she said. “You can just be, without being sexualized.
“That’s why we’re referred to as ‘nude’ and not ‘naked’ models,” she added.
The word “naked” implies sensitivity and exposure, she said, whereas “nude” is more empowering. It means you’re open and there, she added.
“I just don’t see it as an erotic experience,” said Fisher. “You’re always aware that there’s a sexual component to what you’re drawing. But it’s not the predominant component. It’s a reflection of a person’s personality, a person’s being.
“The personality of the model is what transcends the nudity.”
Life modelling is more inclusive than fashion modelling, added Anderson, because it is not limited to any particular body type.
Artists treasure skin folds, stretch marks, tattoos and other “differences” because they make a model more interesting to draw. Life drawing is thus removed from what Anderson calls the “chitter chatter” of society; outside the studio, a woman is expected to do her hair and makeup, to be perfect, but “a woman in the art world can be free.”
