What does my work mean?

I was recently asked some questions by someone doing their dissertation about body image in relation to modelling. I thought my answers might be of interest to some! For clarity, this is written by Topaz Pauls, not Hayley Whittingham, though the painting below is indeed by Hayley.

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Your Body Is Still A Battleground (2019), by Hayley Whittingham

How did you get into life drawing?

I was lucky enough to be offered life drawing in sixth form. I found it a great way to boost my portfolio; I produced a huge amount of work. This followed on from a GCSE self portrait project where I photographed and then painted myself. At A-Level I created work based around the body, using photographs my friend took of me to paint from. That was my first experience of modelling nude for art – albeit my own. When I moved to Edinburgh for my linguistics degree I took up modelling as a supposedly radical reinvention of myself, taking power over my image by showing it willingly, which til that point I had given others the power over (bullying, feeling self conscious). I realised my body had expressive abilities that were valued and appreciated by others – that went far beyond its mere appearance. And my journey began there.

What was your first life drawing experience like?

I remember the boy next to me being very nervous- I somehow was not. (His nerves disappeared within about 5 minutes.) The model we had was cool as a cucumber which helped. I was both fascinated by her body and admiring of her shamelessness.

How does it feel to be naked in front of people you don’t know?

I only occasionally remember that I am naked, and I am surprised at myself for about a minute. Then I remember that if one can get used to being naked in front of strangers, one can get used to anything.

Does it affect your feelings towards your body?

Yes. I’ve done this for over 10 years if you count my A-Level modelling, and for 8 years as a professional life model. In that time I have gradually realised I don’t care what other people think about my body. I care what I think; that’s different. I know when I am ‘the best version of myself’ and when I’m not. Only I judge that. I was severely bullied in school and still don’t think of myself as ‘beautiful’ even if people tell me I am. Nowadays almost look at myself as if from an artist’s perspective – observing but not judging. There’s no point wishing my body were different. It serves me well and I am grateful it enables me to do the work I do.

Does it empower you?

In terms of what I said above, yes. If my nudity is about choice, then yes. Choosing to be looked at, to show what is supposedly myself at my most vulnerable. However, I feel very detached from any images of myself, mostly because if I felt attached I would judge myself through them – and they are so warped – I am depicted as a zombie, old lady, masculine, thin, fat.... - that I cannot use them to judge myself as they are so unreliable. Every image created is different because every pair of eyes that sees me is different. Every artist has their own lens, and even an individual’s way of seeing changes over time.

That detachment means that perhaps I value my nudity less. I say yes to projects that don’t always appeal to me artistically. Supposedly I am an exceptional model with unique abilities and energies to impart. If I believed what people said about me I would be a huge narcissist. Therefore I don’t charge as much as I could, I am not very selective about who I work with. Is that empowering? It’s a balance I am only just beginning to explore.

Do you think young people would benefit from life drawing? In terms of body confidence/ desexualisation of the body?

OMG YES. It allows you to see bodies of all shapes, sizes, genders, ethnicities, and view them and accept them as they are and not judge beyond that. The act of observing and drawing is an acknowledgement of the forms you see in front of you (notwithstanding your unavoidable personal interpretation of them!). An implicit part of life drawing is that there’s a relationship of trust and gratefulness between the artists and models. They as models are trusting and feel safe enough to show themselves as they are. Reduced to one’s naked form it’s impossible to pretend that you’re something you’re not. Without clothes, without (most) embellishments (like jewellery), all you have is your body and its capability to express who you are at that moment and who you have been up to that point in time. How you move in the world reflects how your experiences have created a certain way of inhabiting your body. And have perhaps left physical marks on that body. As artists we are grateful to be shown this bare authenticity, to be invited to interpret it artistically. There are no words, no explanations given – it’s shown visually and energetically. All this goes far beyond sexualisation – that's only one aspect of possible physical and energetic expression. That’s not to say you can’t acknowledge (to yourself!) that you find the body in front of you sexy. But you also know that sexiness isn’t the point of them being in front of you. And you very quickly move on to appreciating far less superficial things than rating the attractiveness of someone you don’t know.

Do you think life drawing helps people appreciate the body in a different way?

As countless models and artists will testify – the thing that one person likes less about themselves is often the thing that makes them unique. To draw those things is to acknowledge those things. For a model to see them drawn can be cathartic. Someone else has seen ‘those things’ (whatever they may be), and drawn them, acknowledged them, spent time with them, appreciated that they afforded an opportunity to observe something new in the world. And the world hasn’t ended. And those ‘things’ are still there. If we were all the same image of idealised perfection, people would be a lot less interesting – there would be less to observe – to acknowledge, to grapple with, to accept, to appreciate.

What do you think about censored imagery on channels like Instagram?

Platforms like Instagram are very hypocritical. Whilst allowing photoshopped, societally conventionally beautiful supermodels in hypersexualised miniscule coverups, it censors the bodies of the ‘everyday person’ and of their art. Doing so narrows down the range of bodies and expressions that can show themselves to the world. And as mentioned above, to show yourself is a choice, is an act of taking power, to be seen, acknowledged, and be accepted for what you are, and by doing so accept yourself all the more.

What’s the main reaction to your job role?

Sometimes I dread getting out of bed. But not because I don’t want to do the job I do – only because it’s tiring and I’d rather sleep more! I find my work highly meaningful. I enable art to be created, whether as a model or events organiser. Creativity is an incredible way to get to know ourselves, push ourselves, find new boundaries, surprise ourselves, make ourselves proud. Self expression could not be a more purely personal journey. Knowing ourselves better can only lead to happier societies as we discover our very own inner worlds. The only way to discover strengths and abilities we never knew we had, and to begin appreciating them, is through creativity. Then we can discover what we truly want for ourselves – a greater awareness of what our uniqueness can offer the world, and the autonomy and faith in ourselves to pursue that givingness.

How do you think art differs from other aspects of life in terms of the way we view the body?

Art is ESSENTIAL and yet it is not. It feeds the soul but not the body. To feed the body we need to work. To have the energy to work we need to feed the body. This is a purely physical process. What about motivation to work? This involves the soul. To have the motivation to work to feed our bodies, our work needs to feed our souls. Whatever body we have, it has the ability to enable us to be creative in the world in some way. And this is art - in whatever form it may take, using our personal capacity for interpretation to make intentional changes in the world around us – whether that’s cooking dinner or painting in oils. And this creativity is what feeds the soul. And this gives us the motivation, the energy to work, to feed the body, to maintain the circle during our lifetimes.

I feel that we have mostly forgotten that our bodies are vessels of creative potential. Art reminds us of this.

How do you feel when you are drawing/painting?

Only very occasionally do I feel like I have created something beyond myself. It is mostly a slog where I am dissatisfied with the outcomes I have created and therefore dissatisfied with my own self. Yet, I continue, I do it anyway, even if it all ends up under my bed, unseen by the world. I discover aspects of myself I would not have known otherwise. Through my art I discover what kind of lens I’ve got in at the moment. It’s a dialogue between what I am choosing to see and what is presenting itself to me to be seen. I feel I have the duty to hone my technical abilities to represent what sits in between those two things – what presents itself, and what I choose to see. In a way, the art that emerges is a physical manifestation of that lens, and through seeing it physically, I can explore what’s helpful or not to accept as permanent, and what’s helpful to explore changing.

Drawing music

This week our violinist model, Tim, will fill the space with music and energy. The idea that an artwork could capture such an energy originated with the Italian Futurist movement in the early 20th century. Giacomo Balla experimented with this in ‘Rhythm of the Violinist’. The staggered repetition of shapes gives the impression that the hand is moving through space and time, while the short, sharp strokes convey a sense of musical vibration.

Giacomo Balla, Rhythm of the violinist, 1912

Balla’s depiction of the mechanical action of the violinist’s hand bears something in common with Marc Chagall’s puppet-like ‘Green Violinist’. He makes a feature of the wooden-looking figure, formed by a collage of angular shapes in a nod to cubism. Chagall favoured magical symbolism over realistic representation, which explains why the musician is dancing, suspended over the rooftops of a miniature village. The symbolism stems from Chagall’s upbringing in the Jewish community in Russia, where the fiddler was a vital presence in ceremonies and festivals, due to the belief that it was possible to achieve communion with God through music and dance.

Marc Chagall, ‘The Green Violinist’, 1923-24

Our own model Tim has been deftly sketched in action along with the other members of the band S I N K, by the wonderful artist that is Alan McGowan. The figures strike a harmony of tensions between definition and elusiveness, a creative answer to the perpetual question of how to capture a living, moving subject in a static medium.

Alan McGowan, S I N K, 2017

Hands/feet

After the face, hands and feet are the most expressive parts of the body. It may be tempting to shy away from drawing hands and feet as they present a technical challenge, but when their gesture is successfully captured, they are what gives a drawing its emotional power.

There is an infinite number of shapes a hand can make. Henry Moore made many drawings of his own hands in different configurations. He was interested in the hand’s ability to convey the emotions and the age of their owner, emphasised by directional shading. By letting go of the preconceived image of a hand, he was able to view them as simplified abstract shapes, leading to a more accurate drawing. It is rather ‘handy’ that we are able to draw our own hands and feet, offering a chance to become more acquainted with the forms before being faced with a life model in timed poses.

Whilst studying the hands and feet in isolation has many benefits, it is important to see them in integration with the rest of the figure, not glued on at the end! This helps keep proportions in check, demonstrated superbly by Euan Uglow. In many of his paintings the hands and feet are coming out towards the viewer, and scale is adjusted according to perspective, meaning that in this example one foot appears much larger and lower down in the picture than the other. Uglow uses the placement of feet firmly on the ground to situate the figure in space and give it weight.

Euan Uglow, The Quarry Pignano, 1979.

Egon Shiele takes a much looser approach to drawing hands and feet, exaggerating the gestures of his models through a strong line. The hands and feet of his nudes are not conventionally elegant but bony and spatulate. He depicts every articulation for maximum expression, embracing distortion literally from ‘head to toe’. It goes to show that drawings of hands and feet need not have perfect anatomical accuracy - but simply be executed with confidence!

Egon Schiele, Mime van Osen with crossed arms, 1910.

Matisse's studio

It is said that a visit to Matisse’s studio was like walking into one of his paintings. The interiors in his work are not invented, but a real self-contained world created by the artist in his own studio-home. Packed with ornate furniture, densely patterned textiles, vases and sculpture, it is no surprise that many of the objects in Matisse’s collection made their way into his painting. Just a small selection of them can be seen in ‘The Pink Studio’. Like many of his works, the title identifies colour as one of its subjects.

Matisse, ‘The Pink Studio’, 1911.

The nude figure fits into these elaborate ‘sets’ like any other object in the studio, challenging the convention that the human figure should be the focal point of the artwork. Whilst we may not think twice about placing a figure on an empty white page, Matisse believed that ‘the subject of a picture and its background have the same value … only the pattern is important.’ In this way, Matisse sought to express the full experience of his model’s session in the studio. For ‘Odalisque, Harmony in Red’, he created an arrangement of oriental patterned fabrics, and furniture, reminiscent of the Moorish interiors he had seen in Morocco. Like a continuation of his studio, he dressed his model in exotic jewellery and drapery which integrate her with the decorative surroundings.

Matisse, ‘Odalisque, Harmony in Red’, 1926

Matisse’s depiction of the female nude challenged traditional Western attitudes to the human form, overwriting naturalism (representation of the subject in a natural setting) and idealisation with the abstract language of African sculpture, of which he had at least twenty examples in his collection. This influence can be seen in the simplified, sculptural figure of ‘Pink Nude, Red interior’. Matisse believed that this new artistic language enabled him to express deeper and more enduring meanings about the body than conventional beauty.

Matisse, ‘Pink Nude, Red Interior’, 1947.

Scale/perspective

Scale is always relative in a drawing –  we rarely draw ‘to scale’. When reading an image, we rely on objects of known size to tell us how close we are. As we know, the further away something is, the smaller we should draw it, due to the laws of perspective. However these conventions can be manipulated in art, to fool the eye and create surreal compositions.

One artist who has played with this idea is Jean-Francois Fourtou in his 2007 series of sculpture and photographs ‘Mes Maisons’. We tend to judge the size of an object by the its relationship to the proportions of the body. As we grow, objects which appeared large to us as children may seem to have shrunk. Fourtou’s series is based on this sensation of the changing scale of his childhood bedroom. By creating a composition of everyday objects in miniature, he gives the impression that the figure is a giant, in an Alice in Wonderland scenario. Our eye is unable to determine whether it is the figure or the objects which are altered in size.

Miniature objects have the ability to draw us in or make us feel clumsy, whereas enlarged objects can overwhelm us and make us feel small. Marc Quinn makes sculptures of natural objects blown up to huge proportions, including five stainless steel shells. He used a 3d printer to create models of real shells before casting them. Model Natalie white posed nude within these sculptures, and the effect is a beautiful yet alarming sense of the vulnerability of the human body against nature.

Marc Quinn, ‘The Archaeology of Art’, 2011

Whilst these artists created elaborate sculptural pieces in order to alter our perception of scale, it is possible to achieve the same effect by much simpler means- a camera phone! Anyone who has visited the leaning tower of Pisa will be aware of the technique by which the image is flattened and objects in the foreground and background merge. By placing small objects closer to the lens, we can make them appear much larger in relation to the objects in the background, beautifully demonstrated by Kat to create the illusion of a flower-tutu.

Kat, 2017

These principles can be translated into life drawing – using careful placement of objects in relation to the figure, we can grow or shrink our model as desired!