A Model of Life
Life, thought the naked man, was a hell, with rare moments recalling some ancient paradise.
-- Italo Calvino
Difficult Loves
There are few nudities so objectionable as the naked truth.
There is not any present moment that is unconnected with some future one. The life of every man is a continued chain of incidents, each link of which hangs upon the former. The transition from cause to effect, from event to event, is often carried on by secret steps, which our foresight cannot divine, and our sagacity is unable to trace.
A Model of Life
by
Justice Putnam
I was interviewed by Simon Dray on his radio show, The FM / French Connection on KUSF several years ago. I was asked about my most embarrassing moment. It wasn't my most embarrassing, but I told the story of when my friends locked me out of the car when I Streaked Sonoma State's Library in 1974. That story brought to mind another incident from one of my many jobs. It wasn't embarrassing, but it remains a small lesson I learned about perceptions; perceptions of ourselves and others.
I've never been ashamed of my body, I was raised in a clothing optional family and I never had a problem with being nude. I was married to Carol at the time, and Israel wasn't even a year old, so money was always something we never had enough of. While carrying 16 Units in Classes, I also worked at the Campus Scheduling Department, as well as Bar-tending and Waiting Tables at Elephant and Castle.
I learned that the Art Schools in town, including the Art Schools of Lewis and Clark, Reed, even Portland State paid for live models to pose nude in Life Form Classes. The going rate was $15 an hour for a 3-hour class. Posing for two or three schools a day a few times a week provided a fairly good chunk of money.
I also learned, way after the fact, that one usually never modeled at the School they attended, but I did. I could tell a lot of stares out on Campus were from the fact, they sometimes didn't quite recognize me with my clothes on.
Modeling in Life Form is excruciating physically. I had tried to play Collegiate Football and Pole Vault at Cal Poly Pomona in 1974-75, so I was accustomed to physical excruciation. I was one of the better Models, in that I could hold a pose for 40 minutes. More than that, and the oxygen debt caused my muscles to spasm uncontrollably. I also learned Models rarely looked at a Student's work. But I have to say; my curiosity is what makes me a Artiste, so I just had to check it out. There was a long break towards the middle of the class that allowed the Model to stretch and have some privacy. The Students would all leave. I usually had 10 minutes or more before the first students came back.
What I learned from many observations of these Artists' work in progress, right up to completion of a piece, is that on average, Women Artists and Men Artists tend to see the human body strikingly different.
I think I have a very moderate, objective view of myself. But when I walked around those canvasses, I saw that men tended to draw me, much, much smaller down there than I thought I was; and women tended to draw me much, much larger. So much larger, in fact, I wanted to say thanks a few times.
But I didn't.
I also noticed, that very few would draw in a reality way, most would draw in a more idealized fashion. I asked a guy once why very few of the student artists would draw the scars from my Shoulder Reconstruction and my two Knee Surgeries? (I've had two more on the other knee since then.)
"Because," he sort of sniffed, "true Artists are only concerned with Beauty. By our efforts, we only want to immortalize that which is Beautiful."
Well, I've always taken the view of Balzac and Baudelaire; that Beauty is in and can be found in all things. Then I scrutinized his drawing of me when he left for a break.
Yup!
He had drawn me HUGE!
© 2006 Justice Putnam
and Mechanisches Strophe-Verlagswesen
The view from the other side of the easel.
Round about '74-'75 I was a student in an art school drawing class that used live models from time to time. It was more than interesting for a modest Midwestern girl to see people casually strip off a toweling robe and fling it off to the side while asking the instructor what kind of pose was required for the class. It was a little intimidating. I mean, how could these folks be so cool about this? They were nekkid fer cryin' out loud. I sure wasn't cool, although I tried like hell to be nonchalant. Yeah, I see nekkid people everyday standing on a platform contorting themselves like they were playing Twister all alone. Yeah, all the time. Not.
I quickly got over the modesty issue as I began to see lines and shapes and what once was a human body, became a landscape. I sketched.
Our first model was a young woman who could hold a pose for maybe 15 minutes, then her flesh would actually begin to quiver.... the muscle fatigue you mentioned, Justice. Our second model was an older woman. Now she could hold a pose for half an hour...she was a real pro. The next was a man and he proved to be kind of.... not....professional.
Or maybe it was just me.
Our stools and easels were arranged in a circle around the model. The instructor would have us move from easel to easel every 5 minutes so that our point of view would change while the model remained in her/his pose. It was a great sketching exercise.
Except, every time I looked from my sketchpad to the male model, he was staring back at me. Yeah, I thought I was just imagining it too, but as I moved around the circle of easels, he kept turning his head towards me, even as I got around to viewing his backside. The instructor had to remind him several times to not move.
It was very disconcerting for a modest Midwestern girl to be stared at by a nekkid man all while she was staring at him first. I sketched, trying not to look him in the eye, but it was hard not to check out if he was still checking me out. But, I did manage to finish the series of 5 minute sketches on those few days he posed for our class.
Or so I thought.
A couple of years ago, I was going through a pile of old sketchbooks when I came across one from the Drawing From Life class. There he was in all his glory....or almost. Every single sketch I drew of him was missing his 'down there'. Yep. Just kind of a smudgy nothing in the area below his belly button. Apparently, I hadn't wanted him to catch me looking at his...well, you know.
I could have had a great career drawing nudes of Ken dolls.
Having rambled on, I now wish to apologize to Justice for rambling on all over his comment section. But, this blog entry brought all those hours sitting on hard wooden stools back into focus for me. Lots and lots of good times. :o)
March 10, 2009 10:20 PM | Reply | Permalink
Dear Flower, I am trying to figure out who is funnier here, you or Justice. So I hereby award both of you the Dayly Knightly Blog of the Day Award at this TPMC site, given to all of you from all of me!!!
Some guy was so proud of himself at one time and now all he is is a smudge. hahhahaahah
March 10, 2009 10:39 PM | Reply | Permalink
Thank you, dd! That makes this gray-cold windy morning bearable! *Big Grin*
March 11, 2009 8:21 AM | Reply | Permalink
I just re read, sent other people here. I should give it to you two days in a row. DOWN THERE!!!hahahahaha
March 11, 2009 9:27 AM | Reply | Permalink
I would have considered it terribly unprofessional to stare at a female student while she worked; but that's just me!
I mostly practiced what I called meditation when I held the longer poses. I had also been a competitive swimmer and played water polo in high school; when swimming hours and hours and hours of laps in the pool, one "meditates" on making the stroke the most efficient, making the body more stream-lined; then, one gets into the most minute consideration of how every fiber of every muscle is moving in time through the water and the rhythm of the heart, the contraction and then expansion of the lungs while breathing in stroke.
All of that prepared me to model, I guess.
Though, I never found the female equivalent of a Rodin so I could be her male Claudel, alas!
March 10, 2009 11:03 PM | Reply | Permalink
I am trying to figure out who is funnier here, you or Flower. So I hereby award both of you the Dayly Knightly Blog of the Day Award at this TPMC site, given to all of you from all of me!!!
Oh, and would the Power...hahahahahaha
March 10, 2009 10:37 PM | Reply | Permalink
I'm Honored!
March 10, 2009 11:10 PM | Reply | Permalink
Been on both sides of the easel, myself. (Yes, art major - I wanted to do something useless.)
I'm not the greatest draftsman, I can do OK if I warm up, you know, going all the way from the gestures through to the longer stuff. What drove me nuts were two things - models who repeated themselves so it was like drawing the same pose multiple times, and classrooms that were poorly lit. (It's not just how much light, it's the quality of it!)
The little bit of life modeling I did I was so far into "finding my light" I really didn't pay too close attention to anyone drawing. And I really didn't bother looking at people's work. Apparently I did OK, though, got good comments from time to time. And I do have to say, it was one of the more liberating experiences I've had in life. Pretty good for a guy who's never really been "well defined" - but I could hold a pose for a while, if I had to.
March 10, 2009 11:16 PM | Reply | Permalink
Well you old grouch. hahahahahha great story
I had no idea
March 10, 2009 11:39 PM | Reply | Permalink
Stories I have in abundance...
March 11, 2009 12:11 AM | Reply | Permalink
Well I wish to hear them all. And I have all the time in the world. hahaahahahaha
Blog. hell, we were just in the chat room. everybody loves you.
March 11, 2009 12:14 AM | Reply | Permalink
I bet I could fix that...
March 11, 2009 12:31 AM | Reply | Permalink
At that point I knew little of the mechanics of drawing or how an art class was even structured. I know a bit of art history, but little of contempory art and I knew no artists.
I soon discovered that Art Openings often served free wine and cheese, so the poet in me found that enriching!
March 10, 2009 11:48 PM | Reply | Permalink
The openings were indeed fun, especially when a local "gallery row" would have them all on the same evening - it was a free dinner and drinks night...until everyone wanted to get in on the act.
And the life modeling was a fairly brief interlude later in life.
March 11, 2009 12:13 AM | Reply | Permalink
Very brief for me, as well... got too busy with other endeavors.
March 11, 2009 12:28 AM | Reply | Permalink
I balanced my courses in architecture and design with every elective I could schedule in life drawing and painting, needing that balance between fine and professional arts. Over the course of four years, then, I drew and painted a lot of naked people, of all ages. (There was an old guy who was really interesting as he was bald and emaciated, and so one got a lot of practice rendering ribs and pelvic girdles. I'd forgotten about him until recently, (when I found an old portfolio that was miraculously spared from the deluge.)
Anyway, looking through the drawings I was reminded of something else I'd forgotten: that when I was in the drawing zone I couldn't stop, and so I drew all the people in my life at the time (most with their clothes on, needless to say).
One of them without clothes was my first husband.
It was interesting to see what emphasis I placed where on that drawing, because I was not doing it consciously. His pose was relaxed and in consequence, he was loosely sketched -- with the exceptions of his head, and of course you know what else. But it was his hands on which I had really focused; I found them fascinating, as his fingers were so perfectly formed and strong though he normally carried them in an almost on-purpose relaxation, rather like the hands on the statue of David. So why, I wondered, had I drawn them as fists? Five years later, in the beginning of his more-is-more cocaine habit, I found out. (Not to worry, though -- I packed and left, pronto. And a few years later, he went to rehab and now, two more wives and one more husband later, we are friends, sort of.)
But I do run on. The point of this recitation is a question: Do we, in fact, often see what we need to know, in time to avoid mistakes? Is foresight as powerful as hindsight, after all?
Aren't y'all glad I brought up one more damn thing for you to worry about? Have a sweet night tonight, and try not to worry' about "what am I, what are we, missing now?"
Ciao!
March 11, 2009 3:39 PM | Reply | Permalink
Darn! I keep doing this, I replied below...
March 11, 2009 4:35 PM | Reply | Permalink
What read!!! I never read comments three times. hahhahaaha
Night Gallery, like Justice says. Screen plays are not good enough for you. If you have written books or a book, give me title. I will buy it.
March 11, 2009 6:01 PM | Reply | Permalink
Don't buy them, DD. If you are interested, ask you library to get them. Or, at least, buy them on Ebay half-price, or whatever that ancillary service is. But I'd go for the library, myself.
The books I have written, motivated by filthy lucre are: Architectural Detailing in Contract Interiors and Architectural Detailing in Residential Interiors. But be advised: these are time warp pieces, in terms of the prevailing architectural fashion in play when they were written and, frankly, they are not worth the trouble to order, as they embarrass me now.
Books I am proud of are those in which I took an ancillary, or ghost-writer role:
1)Treasures of State, of which I am really proud because I was hired (as a photo stylist) to put life into a freeze-frame, stagnant collection of priceless art and antiques; and, if I may say so, I did a fine job on that project, in the face of much protest over combining artifacts from different eras.
2) The Art of John Carroll Doyle, on which I spent a year of my life, doing the Magnolia/Angel in the House thing, gently leading a productive, but egomaniacal (and, also plagiarizing) artist into the documentation of his work to date. My work there was a real triumph. Not only did I work patiently with him by day (for a pittance) but I also repeatedly dreamed his book -- really. So that, the following day, knowing his ego, I would not mention my dream, but instead would ask questions designed to appeal to that ego so that he would entirely redo his organizational layout (he wanted to follow Picasso's theme of "period;" I invited him, conversationally, to embracea more appropriate stream-of-illustrated narrative of his own experience, etc.) Because I had invested so much of what I knew -- re: book development/production and also how to achieve an end around massive ego -- I was aghast, if unsurprised, when, while I was on vacation, he submitted his final manuscript and failed to even mention me in the credits. But it doesn't matter. I did a really good job on that project. So. Never mind.
March 12, 2009 4:42 AM | Reply | Permalink
Wonderful, so kind of you. I have no funds at this time, but I will look for the titles. Again, another amazing story. I love your stories Belle.
March 12, 2009 8:15 AM | Reply | Permalink
It seemed for the longest time that whenever I imagined a tragedy and wrote about it, it would happen sometime in the future.
Did I pick and choose later so a false association and a self fulfilling prophecy was bound to happen?
Remember the Rod Serling series, "Night Gallery"? Your depiction and my experiences remind me of those paintings "coming to life."
wooooooooooo wooooooooooooohoooohooooo!
March 11, 2009 4:34 PM | Reply | Permalink
Justice: I don't think it was a matter of you picking and choosing, retroactively. Because:
Our cultural myth is that is it always women who have flashes of advance, if murky knowing. That's nonsense, of course. Under our gendered skins, we are all the result of DNA hardwiring combined with the life experiences we have had.
The problem with the kind of knowing I have experienced,or you have experienced,is knowing WTF to do with the information -- which is really only a disconnected impression --when it is realized in the present, out of any knowable future context. It's frustrating, as it is personally disturbing, yet not useful to anyone as it is only a dream. Perhaps that is why I am saddened by the aforementioned artist: I found a practical, positive use for what I "knew" -- and thereby enhanced the reputation of a mediocre to good artist, as he remained clueless about that contribution.
Did I mention that, because he was dyslexic, I ghost-wrote his text?
March 12, 2009 5:20 AM | Reply | Permalink