Last year, while between jobs, I realized I had a marketable skill I had yet to capitalize on, and started art modeling. I’d been taking my clothes off for free in community theater dressing rooms for years, without consequence or shame. Why not take that to the bank?
The reality of art modeling is, of course, more complicated than just “take your clothes off and stand there.” And it’s actually a lot more rewarding than you might think, and I don’t mean financially. Yes, it’s nice to get paid. But it’s not actually easy. On the other hand, it’s not nearly as boring, nor as intimidating, as I expected.
It makes sense why art schools need models; the human form is incredibly varied and quite intricate, and a three-dimensional, posable prop is going to be a lot more useful in learning anatomy, shading, and color than any photograph or book. An artist model’s job is to present interesting planes and angles long enough for an artist to sketch, draw, or even paint them. This means holding various poses for a minute, five, ten, or even twenty. Or, as is the case for me this month, for two whole weeks for three hours a day--with breaks every twenty minutes. Some poses are whimsical and difficult, meant for a quick “gesture” drawing and impossible to hold for long periods of time. Others are simpler, but grow more complex the longer you hold them. You really don’t know what it’s like to hold absolutely still, or what it does to your body to hold one position for twenty minutes, partly because unless you are asleep, you never do. Not really.
I got into art modeling for two reasons: I knew I had no compunctions about nudity, after years of theater, and because I thought it would still be a challenge. Both are true, and I definitely approached my first few sessions with anxiety. Would I be able to hold the pose? Would I be embarrassed by my own body? Would I get bored? Would I fall asleep?
There are all, of course, valid concerns. As I mentioned, holding still is not something you are ever truly asked to do in real life. A model doesn’t get to fidget or twitch. Or scratch. Or shift their weight. You strike a pose, you pick a spot to stare at, and you stay there. Further, you are being stared at by a room full of strangers studying you, taking apart your naked form with their eyes in an effort to duplicate it on paper. And you can’t read a book or watch tv or listen to a podcast, because you have to be aware and present.
But despite all these intimidating facts, the experience of modeling is, in every one of these areas, tremendously freeing. First of all, despite the intimacy it’s the least sexual situation you can imagine. No one is here to judge or evaluate you or your body. Your body is an object, yes, but the objectification here isn’t what we mean when we talk usually about that word. Your body is useful and beautiful, because it is a complex form that the student is learning to imitate in a way they cannot without you. You are a collaborator, in a sense, in their art. You are presenting interesting shapes and shadows that have nothing to do with your desirability or even how you feel about your body. I have never once felt judged or shamed in an art class, because I am there to be dynamic and interesting in a way that literally every human body is. Which leads to some really interesting overheard conversations, let me tell you. It’s fascinating to hear someone talk about the color of your skin or the angle of your neck or the shadow of your back without there being a smidge of judgement or personal feeling there. It’s oddly affirming, because what’s of value here is your particular mode of taking up space. And there is not a wrong way to do that, in an art class. You also get to see your own form take shape as art over a period of time, from various angles, and it leads to an odd detachment from the values and self-consciousness we often load onto that. You get to see your own body not as a collection of flaws, but as a work of intricate interlocking parts that make a whole.
The second, more internal part of this that has been revelatory is what goes on in your mind when you’re forced to sit for twenty minutes at a time and not even look away from the spot on the floor or wall that you picked. It’s a sort of enforced but unguided meditation, and it’s hit me in different ways at different times. Sometimes, I’m just thinking about my day or my groceries or the thing I forgot to do at home. Sometimes I’m listening to the music they’ve put on, but with nothing else to do I find undercurrents in songs I’ve heard before that I never noticed. And sometimes it leads to deep mindfulness and concentration, where the scratching of charcoal on paper and the air currents across my skin and my unfocused gaze on that spot on the floor give rise to all sorts of creative thoughts I scribble down during my next break. Sometimes it leads to deep questions I finally have the luxury of sitting with, no demands on my time or attention there to distract me. And sometimes it’s simply good practice for stillness. Any discomfort I’ve felt over being inactive or bored has been fleeting, and the ultimate lesson is that boredom is a choice.
Art modeling isn’t an activity for everyone, naturally. But it has taught me a lot, both about the body and the mind, that I would not have expected. And I think we live in a culture--if, like me, you’re in the US at least--that often fails to allow us to fully explore our relationships with our own bodies in a way that is affirming and neutral. This experience allows me to do that--and has also provided me with some of the best not safe for work selfies you can imagine.
