For thousands of years, artists have made art inspired by the nude human figure. The tradition of drawing from life teaches artists to understand anatomy, to recognize and respect our shared humanity, and to depict what we see. But it’s a curious practice.
Nakedness is normal and natural. It’s how we enter this world, and it’s how we spend many private moments. It is one thing that we all have in common. But we live in a society where being clothed in public is the norm, and where all too often the human body is stigmatized, sexualized, politicized, and exploited for capitalistic ends. This leads many of us to have some degree of self-consciousness about our bodies. Artists and models are brave explorers who create a safe space in which to challenge society’s flawed programming, support body-positivity, and study human form.
Many people inexperienced in figure drawing mistakenly conflate artistic nudity with sexuality. Yes, sexuality is a part of one’s total being, but it’s not what figure drawing is about. On the other end of the spectrum, I’ve heard life drawing sessions described as “clinical” in their intent. That term doesn’t resonate with me, because usually drawing sessions offer a degree of collegiality, and often they’re even fun. Some environments (such as classrooms at a college) have a more formal and academic vibe, but other groups play music, serve snacks, and converse with each other. Ultimately figure drawing is a consensual professional arrangement: artists and models gather to exercise their respective skills, and collaborate to make good art.
Admittedly, the first time one joins a handful of other artists to draw a live model, the experience can feel a little awkward for a moment. But then, society’s rules and inhibitions are politely escorted out of the building, and the drawing session becomes a focused act of trust and compassion between the artist and the model. We get through the discomfort, and we move on to the serious work of studying human form and rendering what we see.
Models work hard, and provide a valuable service to artists. One friend who models speaks of the experience as an empowering form of personal development. Many people who model seem to enjoy being the art, and seeing how different artists depict them. Most models seem comfortable in their own skin, and seem unfazed by their bodily exposure in the context of the art studio or classroom. If you think about it, shouldn’t we all be allowed to feel confident, safe, seen, accepted, and empowered to fully own our place in the natural world—and to allow the same in others? Kudos to people who model, for embodying these traits.
Artists also provide a valuable service to each other. At the end of many drawing sessions, artists share their work with others in the group, and everyone learns from each other’s unique styles and perspectives. All things considered, the figure drawing practice is pure goodness—as relevant today as it was to artists of antiquity.
Below is a sampling of drawings I’ve made over the years while attending various drawing sessions around the Pioneer Valley. (Amherst College, Go Figure Drawing Studio in Holyoke, Mass., and Liliacland in Pelham, Mass.) I enjoy working in the medium of vine charcoal on heavyweight paper. Soft charcoal is smudgy and painterly, and offers more variable line weight than is possible with graphite pencils and other dry mediums. Charcoal is also relatively easy to erase—useful for correcting misplaced lines, and for carving highlights out of shaded areas.
The degree of resolution of a drawing roughly corresponds to the length of the model’s pose. One- and two-minute poses result in mere suggestions of form and gesture. Fifteen-minute poses (and longer) are more fully realized, and allow for greater exploration of light, shadow, volume, and texture.
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