BECOME A LIFE MODEL

BECOME A LIFE MODEL

Written by James D. Merrick, July 13, 2021

Pose nude? No way!

Rethink that feeling.

You can do anything you set your mind to. I did. At sixty-eight years of age I became a life model for college and university art classes in the area where I live, Bakersfield, California. For twelve years, posing dominated my life with exciting, challenging, and rewarding experiences. And I got paid for it! You can too—at any age.

Where I live, life drawing models are always in demand. They’re hired by the university and the community college each year. Within an hour’s drive, several more community colleges and art schools need models. The students I posed for were mature, highly-motivated artists who specialized in the basics of art production. They were well behaved and intense. Throughout my years as a model, I had many other opportunities to pose.

Let’s get to the basics of posing. So you can decide if becoming a life model is right for you, I’ve prepared a list of questions and answers that should help. Here we go.

How did I get my first job?

I went to a drawing exhibition in a neighborhood coffee shop. The art was remarkable! I immediately fantasized about being able to pose like the models. (Not imagining it could possibly happen.) As I left the shop, I read a notice seeking models to pose for classes at the local art museum. I called the number on the card and went to an interview. Bingo! I got the job. Sunday afternoons for three hours.

Why did I decide to pose?

I don’t have a clue as to why I had the nerve. I had always been shy about my body. But I was a creative person. I saw posing as a way to be part of a creation. I was also between projects of my own and on the lookout for something interesting to do. Posing drew me in. I had never even considered being a nude model until I read that notice.

What did it feel like to be naked?

It was scary to think about. I was sixty-eight and had begun to wear long-sleeved shirts to cover the wrinkles appearing at my elbows. I was ashamed of looking older. My inner voice said I might become more accepting of my body if I posed.

Did I get a hard on?

That’s a popular question. It’s one that was frequently asked by friends. The quick answer is no. I found out right away that my mind was constantly at work when posing. I had to concentrate full time on being motionless and on imaging the next pose. There was never time for sexual thoughts. Thus, never a hard on.

What did I do during drawing sessions?

My primary responsibility as a model was to stand nude on an elevated platform, often in the center of the room, and strike and hold a pose without moving for up to thirty minutes. The time varied depending on the type of drawing the teacher wanted to assign. Three minutes poses were standing, bending, twisting, usually the most difficult to maintain. Poses longer than ten minutes were sitting, reclining, leaning positions of less difficulty. On occasion, the instructor would ask me to pose with a prop. I have used draperies, skeletons, pots, chairs, sofas, brooms, and various other things. My ongoing challenge was to prepare enough unique poses to last for three hours, the typical length of a drawing session.

How did I prepare for class?

Creating a pose was like working magic. In the beginning, when I knew nothing, I simply imagined things like oceans, trees, and cats that inspired me to take on a shape, use my body as a tool for creativity. For example, I created a wave buy reclining on the floor and curving my feet and head upward, resting my weight on my butt, thus forming a curve.

In later years, I created a dozen characters with props and mannerisms to suggest clown, matador, janitor, cowboy, etc. Even though nude, each had appropriate props. The cowboy had a hat, belt, lariat, and tin coffee cup; the janitor had a broom, dustpan, and baseball cap. During my final years of posing, I practiced thirty minutes each day to music that inspired my creation of poses: Ravel’s “Bolero,” Puccini’s “Madam Butterfly,” and Andrew Lloyd Weber’s “Phantom of the Opera,” to name a few.

How did I find work?

As I mentioned earlier, I got started posing at the Bakersfield Museum of Art by responding to a notice in a coffee shop. Later, I got work by talking with art teachers at Bakersfield College and Cal State Bakersfield. Another way I found work was to check out college web sites for the email addresses of art department heads. I sent the respondents a message, introduced myself in a few words, and asked if life model work was available. I always received a response. Sometimes I was asked to send a few photos of my poses (clothed). At other times I was asked to come in for an interview. I found out that applicants were often asked to begin posing with little or no experience—they learned on the job! I found work in in Antelope Valley and Taft and an art club in Visalia. A word of caution, don’t advertise online or in magazines or newspapers; unscrupulous people look for such ads.

How much did I get paid?

When I stopped posing in 2018, the going rate everywhere I worked was twenty dollars an hour (sixty dollars for a three-hour session). Institutions closer to the Los Angeles area paid upwards to twenty-five dollars and hour.

What were my personal rewards?

Even though I was never satisfied with my creations, the inner restlessness to bring about something unique held me in its grip. I loved the tension. When I saw my poses through the pencils, charcoals, and paints of students, my inner being swelled with satisfaction. The words of appreciation for my work that came from students and instructors, bathed me in a sense of wellbeing that I hadn’t felt in my previous forty years as an educator. When I was no longer physically able to maintain my poses, I stepped down from the platform feeling appreciated.

Why did I stop Posing?

One of the realities of getting older is that I was slowly loosing strength in my legs. In posing, leg strength is essential for the most rigorous poses. Those were my most gratifying. When I could no longer deliver difficult positions, I lost the moments that were most satisfying—the wonder in the eyes of artists when they reproduced a demanding pose. I decided to leave the art room and start a form of creativity more appropriate to my physical strength. Since then, I have worked writing a memoir. I hope to publish it later this year.

Do I miss it?

How could I not?