Jesus Christ Pose

I should make a label for posts that are just random. Like the posts where I take a day off work to go to the clap clinic, despite being sure I was clean. Or like my last post about the disco and the boat club. Or, for example this post, detailing how I finished work early so I could post for a "life drawing" class in a group with a bunch of strangers.

People asked me last night how I happened to discover the First Time Club, and I tell them I don't really remember. I tell them I was browsing the internet for something I can't recall and stumbled onto a place called Hannah's Cafe -- a number of projects pioneered by an artist named Hannah, which include starting chats with strangers on the tube and of course the First Time Club. Nothing at all with what you might think (and certainly nothing to do with www.firstimeclub.com), but instead exactly what it says on the tin -- a group of people just doing things for the first time. I liked the idea, I wanted to get out more, do more, meet new people. So I signed up.

And what a month to start; I could have joined on the month when they performed at an open mike poetry night, or when they went to the dog tracks. But instead my first time with the club is posing nude for an art class. Whoever thought it would be so difficult?

I'd carefully planned the day; swapped shifts with a guy at work so I could finish early, surruptiously stowed my dressing gown in my car and let anyone know who needed to know I was going out with some "friends" after work. These things never do run smoothly. It was all going well when I went back to my car and swapped my messenger bag for the bag with my dressing gown and packed up a few other essential items; my journal, a book of poetry and a bottle of wine -- a christmas present from work that I was going to give away as a "secret santa" present. I caught the train without incident, although was tight for time by the time I got into the city -- and running even later by the time I got to the appropriate station and had no idea what way to go. I was running very late by the time I got the bar, but nobody seemed to mind or be waiting for me. We stood around and made some polite conversation for a little while, before Hannah decided it was time for us all to get naked. I disappeared off -- with a number of others -- to the toilets to "change" into my dressing gown. Dropped my bag onto the floor -- and paused. I hoped when I opened the bag that maybe my dressing gown had cushioned the bottle, but instead as I reached into my bag I put my hand into a pile of broken glass. How I escaped lacerating myself I don't know, especially as I unloaded the broken bits of bottle into the bin in the toilets. It was bad enough that I had broken the secret santa present I'd brought. It wasn't ideal that my bag was now full of white wine and broken glass. It was at best inconvenient that my tatty dressing gown was now not only tatty but also half-soaked in wine. But remember the book of poetry and my journal that I had also put in my bag? Guess which had been liberally doused with wine. Luckily for me, neither seems to be damaged -- at least not too much -- but they do now smell of grapes.

The class itself was...interesting. Obviously I have never taken all my clothes off and posed naked in front of an artist before, and I certainly have never posed naked with a group of complete strangers in front of a whole class of people. First we posed for a series of one-minute poses as a whole group, before moving on to a series of longer group poses in smaller numbers. The first thing I have to admit is I had no idea how hard it would be -- what seemed like a perfectly reasonable pose to take, after more than a minute you realise sitting on your foot wasn't such a great idea. Your knee keeps slipping a little on the rug, your ankle is screaming, you're starting to wobble and can feel beads of perspiration running down your arms. And all the time I'm thinking "that artist hates me, I keep wobbling" or "I bet I look fat in this picture". It isn't until you're standing naked in front of people that you suddenly remember all the things you overlook everyday -- I was wondering if any drawings would choose to depict the large scars on my stomach and across my side. Trying to stand up straight and keep my shoulders back and stomach in and not look at anyone else.
The evening climaxed as it were with a 15-minute pose for the whole group.

The artists had started to ask for more variety, more challenging poses -- more interaction between the models, and considering all of us were men (apart from Hannah, of course) many of us were reluctant to interact or intertwine with each other while nude. It sort of ended up looking a bit like a bizarre school picture -- with a line of people along the back, and people kneeling or sitting or intertwining in the front. Along the back we put our arms around each other's shoulders, and as I stood with my arms around the shoulders of the men either side of me. Because the fellows flanking me were both slightly taller, my arms were raised in a kind of V around their shoulders. As we stood there in silence, solemnly being sketched for all the world to see, I spoke up with: "I feel like I'm being crucified"
"At least you get to be Jesus" someone said
"Shut up and pose" Hannah told us.

So we did. At the end of 15 minutes with muscles screaming and limbs stretched it was over. I wasted no time putting my clothes back on to catch my train home again. The only issue now would be how I could get into the house and get my dressing gown that was now soaked with wine and smelling of cigarette smoke into the wash without anyone asking why... I might post later a photo I took on my phone of the final sketch. It's safe for work.