Point of Exquisite Suspension: Live Art Class Memories

The Academicians Of The Royal Academy In London, Painting By Johann Zoffany

During my first year at university, I took general studies, which included introductory classes in both drawing and sculpting. Originally, my plan was to take a year or so of general classes before enrolling in a specialized program in what was then called “Commercial Art.” However, during an orientation for the program, I realized the demanding schedule would allow little time for electives and interfere with my part-time job as an illustrator for a non-profit outreach newspaper—a job that paid little but that I loved.

So I declared an Art Major with a specialization in Sculpting. Having worked with clay in high school, I felt it would be worthwhile to continue exploring the medium. At that time, university art training typically included Life Drawing and Life Sculpting, with live nude models as references in class. Since my focus was sculpting, I looked forward to an assignment involving the creation of a figure in wax that would be cast in bronze.

I had a penchant for thinking beyond the syllabus, and I already envisioned a specific figure for the assignment. I wanted to cast a bronze figure of the biblical David as a young shepherd—not fully nude, but clothed in a sheepskin tunic and sandals, holding a shepherd's staff. I also intended to make it a self-portrait.

In class, I began working on my project. However, there was one snag: our live model was a woman. As my sculpture progressed, my professor noticed I wasn’t using the classroom model as a reference. Once I explained my goals, he arranged for me to attend a class with a male model, which was fine by me—I was simply eager to create the art I’d envisioned.

I didn’t feel necessarily uncomfortable with nudity in a life drawing classroom setting or as a subject in art. Before college, I had studied artistic anatomy books, which presented skeletal and muscular structures, often with nude models in drawings, photos, and classic paintings (and in the 70s, American culture had yet to develop a more conservative sense of propriety).

In my alternate class, working with a male model was actually useful; his form was similar to what I was trying to sculpt. He was around my age, with dark, curly hair, and a slender but unremarkably athletic build. Like the female model, he wore a robe before posing and during breaks, which was customary for live models.

Sometime later, I saw him in the locker room at the University Rec Center. I introduced myself as one of the students in the sculpting class where he modeled. He was friendly and open—I’ll call him Monty. He mentioned he had modeled for other classes and confided that at first, it was awkward for him. Fortunately, the classroom instructor assured Monty he could take a break at any time he felt necessary. He said he sometimes, when feeling uncomfortable, would step down, put on his robe, and inform the instructor he needed a short breather. He might even visit the washroom, splash cold water on himself, and returned to pose when he felt ready.

I told Monty he was a braver man than I, and after some small talk, we went our separate ways. I occasionally saw him around campus, though we didn’t develop our acquaintance further. Looking back, I appreciate his friendliness and candor.

I didn’t take another live model class until the '90s when the art school where I work offered a teachers-only clay class, which included a live model. This time, the model was a young woman in her late twenties or early thirties who had posed for nearby college art classes.

Our class was small, with about five students, and it was invaluable to review techniques for creating the human form in clay. I completed two terra-cotta sculptures: a nearly life-size head and a small, seated figure about twelve inches tall, with one hand on the ground and the other draped along the thigh. Because I have little room for displaying 3D art work in my home, I gave the head sculpture to a fellow teacher which she placed in her garden. The seated figure became a popular white elephant gift at our staff Christmas party, circulating in subsequent years (I don't know who finally ended up with it).

No matter what level of sensitivity is one's priority, using life models as references is essential for training artists; depicting the human form is foundational to developing keen observational skills, as well as fostering an ability to understand and express empathy toward others. In our more socially sensitive era, models’ dignity and propriety are respected, and appropriate coverings are often used.

When the important context surrounding the use and depiction of nude human forms is openly addressed, I believe that respect, maturity, and a sense of decorum can guide art students well in their studies.