Behind the Throne
By MARY COSH
RECENT opinion, in the popular Press and in illustrated magazines, on the profesion of artist's model is so conflict- ing that there seems to be room for yet another opinion striking a balance. One side has been anxious to put forward all the drawbacks of the job, the other all the popular—and unfounded— glamour, but what nobody appears to have done so far is say any- thing about what it actually feels like to be a model. The focus so far is entirely external: no mirrors to undress by l—or; alterna- tively, what fun compared with school-teaching ! So, as first impressions are often the most vivid, and novices or amateurs usually have a more detached view than seasoned professionals, I would like to recall some of my own earliest impressions as an unprofessional model.
Just what, then, does it feel like, to sit on a throne with no clothes on and be drawn by thirty or forty art students ? And before that, what does it feel like to step out of the dressing cubicle into a studio full of people for the first time and deliberately take off your dressing-gown before their very eyes ? It feels like the Christians to the lions, with a dash of that nightmare of walking about naked among streets full of respectable strangers. Coldly and detachedly as I made myself see the situation, on the first occasion I defy anyone to feel anything else. Nobody minds this except me, I reminded myself firmly as I nonchalantly assumed a pose on a deceptively comfortable stool ; and I carried the nonchalance to such a pitch that I discovered, too late, that it was a pose of inconceivable dis- comfort and I spent the whole of the week regretting my rashness— especially as no one had thought fit to warn me that I should be sitting in that same torturing attitude every morning.
Self-consciousness wore off almost at once ; physical discomfort remained to seize with never-ending cramp. That is the next item then—time. Nobody has any conception how eternally long an hour is, who has not spent one, alas many, completely immobilised with nothing to do but think. Thinking about the actual time is, of course, fatal ; even a minute is endless when you are under- estimating the very seconds. The best thing is to try to forget limbs and muscles and aching bones and let the mind escape, or else concentrate on some immediately absorbing object such as whether you really are as hideous as the portrait taking shape just below. My own thoughts usually wander to the point of my being suddenly convulsed by some excruciatingly funny memory, with laughter more and more shattering as I try to control it ; so discon- certing for the students, they tell me.
Although I try not to think about time while posing, it is one of the chief factors in the model's life. Students may leisurely stroll in throughout the morning, steal away early for coffee, linger over lunch. The wretched model must be in her pose on the stroke of the hour, and must snatch her lunch and allow time for dressing and undressing again strictly between one and two o'clock ; must carry on till the end of the day even if only one infuriating enthusiast stays painting on and on after everyone else has gone. Work is timed to the second ; not a minute over or under.
As for the discomfort, a little experience soon shows how to relax the muscles as much as possible, what poses not to take, what can be kept up for a series of hours on end and what for only five minutes. At first I was absurdly conscientious, suffering agonies because I dared not scratch my forehead or reach for a handkerchief. Luckily for my sanity this unnatural state of affairs was brief, and I soon found that it was quite permissible to stretch or resettle myself at not-too-frequent intervals. To spare the harassed student further anguish, exactly the same pose must, of course, be resumed after rests—and this is often much more tricky than it sounds. As for posing and conditions generally, the unfortunate student is at the model's mercy. The model must be kept warm. If she wants the windows fast shut, everyone must suffocate in the paint-drenched atmosphere. If she complains about a pose, however aesthetically pleasing, another must be chosen. "All this talk about artistic temperament," someone once confided in me. "Why, we haven't a chance. It's the models who are temperamental." The model is regarded by students rather as an unpredictable piece of furniture, not much more personal than a table and ten times less convenient.
Next, then, I claim that " modelling " is, on the whole, a lonely profession. An invisible barrier separates model from students who unless she makes a move to be friendly, treat her with remote courtesy. Detachment needs to be complete. At first I could nos help taking personally some of the remarks I overheard professors making to struggling painters. After all, remarks about one's shape, size, colour and features are usually in everyday life aimed al rousing some reaction, whether pleased or insulted. On my very first day, hearing myself brutally referred to as "a series of simple planes," I was nearly moved to protest ; it was like being dissected on a mortuary bench. But hard use accustomed me, and only the other day I was able to listen almost unmoved while the same speaker, looking at a portrait of me, observed dispassionately: "Now it's a curious thing, but this painting reminds me strongly of a picture I saw twenty years ago of Lord Beaverbrook.".
No one would believe how dirty a job doing nothing can be. Thrones are very rarely dusted, and a mixture of dust and sticky paint attaches to hands, feet and dressing-gown ; and the effect of a day's work is more like spring-cleaning than sitting still. The boredom and exhaustion of being a model can be intense, but on the other hand the interest can be enormous. It depends on the model. It is well-paid, highly entertaining and varied, independent, and with hours long or short according to choice. Or else it's a job like all other jobs, only reasonably paid, tiring, stuffy, lonely, dull, in uncomfortable conditions. That is as you look at it. Personally I look at it as a stimulating, amusing and valuable experience (though I would not pretend it was a career, or had any future), but that may be because, although I have " modelled " at intervals for over two years now, I am still only an unprofessional.
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