Ever been tempted to go for one of those make-over glamour photo sessions but been worried that the camera won’t lie? Or wanted to see what happens when an artist’s eye converts your curves to Rubenesque, or takes your leanness to an Alberto Giacometti extreme? Ever wondered what it would be like to the siren in your own seduction scene? Or how your man (or woman) would react when presented with an intimate portrait of the one that they love?
Then maybe you might consider having a boudoir or burlesque portrait – for your own private space or to brazenly adorn a more public wall in your home.
The briefing visit
I visited artist Skye Holland in her studio in Kingston to explore the idea. Whilst looking a little like a warehouse on the outside, once we’d climbed to the room at the top it was just how you imagined an artist would work. There’s a raised platform with bare white walls and interesting bits and pieces of furniture – the odd vase. Lots and lots of space. Then that slanted, pointy ceiling with vast skylight windows. Honestly, I thought I’d stepped into La Boheme in Paris. In corners there were workmanlike tables, gnarled chests, shiny aluminium boxes, wooden racks of empty canvasses and pots of brushes dotted all around.
We looked at numerous examples of Skye’s work – different treatments, different poses. Obviously, we weren’t looking at actual commissions – they remain utterly confidential – but Skye had paid various models (one of whom was her very attractive daughter) – to sit, stand, lie down or adopt somewhat more provocative poses which she had drawn.
A beautiful chair and stunning chaise longue appeared in some of the drawings. And most had a spot of colour – there was a lot of red. While appreciating the artistic skill I couldn’t help wondering whether the result would be quite so easy on the eye with well, what can I say, a more rounded and mature figure?
I had a bit of a think. After all, the session isn’t cheap at (an entry level cost for a commission is £750) but it is a chance to have a unique piece of art in which you feature – and in a way that few people are likely to see. And not so different from the cost of a designer handbag or shoes. Mmmm. Well, I thought I could do with a bit of a confidence boost and why spend all those hours in the gym and resisting all those confectionary temptations if you only show off your figure once a year on a beach in a bikini?
Preparing myself
So I paid the 50% deposit and scheduled a Saturday in the Spring. But with just a week to go, I got cold feet and pleaded for a postponement. Skye, of course, didn’t hesitate to agree. Mind you, I then realised that I really couldn’t delay again – I’d have to just butch up and do it.
It was an early start on a Saturday morning so I wasn’t really focused on what I should do with my hair – Straighten? Messy updo? Wild and wavy? How do I really see the essence of myself? How do I want the very few people likely to see this picture to perceive me? It really was too much to cope with as I gulped coffee, fed the pets, loaded the dishwasher and made the shopping list. Not conducive to releasing my inner Christine Keeler.
And then I had to decide on what I was going to wear. Or rather what I wasn’t going to wear. As my bedroom is hot pink and white, the colour choice was easy. I had sought advice from an ex-lover who is now a dear, trusted friend. He agreed that it just wouldn’t be me trussed up in the basque I had purchased for the occasion. He also concurred that the boa, pearls and stockings probably weren’t high on the list of the sort of men I’m attracted to. He thought I should be bold and braless. I wasn’t so sure. So I flung lots of deep pink things – including throws (comfort blanket?) and hair accessories into a bag and started the hour journey with my untamed shock of Pre-Raphaelite locks attracting stares along the way.
The session
I’d told Skye I was nervous and bless her she’d bought Champagne to help me relax. But at 9am it was too early so she provided coffee instead. She encouraged me to change while she pottered about. She really couldn’t have done any more to have put me at ease. I was so glad it was a female artist – about my age – who wasn’t going to let me know what she was thinking as I finally removed my dress and stood there in my bright pink undies.
Self-conscious simply doesn’t cover what I was feeling. I was ridiculously grateful when she suggested that we do some fast sketches so I could relax and she could get her eye in. And, by the way, she said to avoid the towering Manolos to begin with so that I’d be comfortable in them for the planned two hour pose in the afternoon.
Initially, I thought I’d been lucky choosing one of what turned out to be one of the hottest days of the year. I didn’t think I could pull off “sultry” if I was shivering with the cold. So, I stood against the wall – having felt that I was an active and assertive stand up person rather than a passive lay down kind of vulnerable girl.
It’s funny how long 20 minutes can feel when you are standing against a wall trying to look sensuous. Clearly, I am not working hard enough in Yoga and Pilates. Inner core strength, pah. Was I relieved to be able to sit? So for the next 20 minute sketch I slunk into an ornate chair, stretched out to avoid any rolls appearing about my midriff with legs extended in those super-high heels in the vain hope that my thighs might not look quite as thundering.
My seated position meant that I could close my eyes and nearly drift off as Skye did her thing somewhere on the other side of the room. I became aware of pins and needles in one arm and a pressure point on the ball of my foot. How on earth do models do this all the time? I was nearly ready to lie on the floor under a blanket and make it a modern art impression (“Woman under rug No. 1).
Then it was time for a third “fast” sketch. So my limbs groaned and my feet screamed as I stood up and strutted my stuff with a jaunty hand on hip whilst leaning against the wall number. As Skye started working I suddenly wondered whether I looked like a street walker. Too late now. My mind kept racing off to moments in my life when men had commented as I had wandered around them in a state of semi-undress. I tried to hold onto the “sexually confident woman in her prime” ideal and keep the “cellulite and muffin top mutton undressed as lamb” nightmares at bay.
Another welcome coffee stop. And a comfort break. And a fast retreat to the cooler air in the street outside. Yes, I remembered to put my dress back on before I went. Then decision time. Which of the poses did I like best for the more detailed drawing that would take up to two hours to complete?
I really liked the bold strokes of the faceless woman sat in the chair. It had attitude. It was relaxed. It didn’t look too bad. So I sat for a whole hour in that pose while Skye concentrated on the canvass. There were occasional breaks when I was allowed to move an arm or a leg that wasn’t being drawn. And boy did I need those breaks. I was beginning to think that I never wanted to sit still again in my life. How we take movement for granted. And, for your information, you can only suck your tummy in for about 30 minutes. And breathe.
Lunchtime. This time I took the offered glass of chilled Champagne as I sauntered around the studio in my knickers and bra. Jezebel! But I did put my dress back on to eat the light salmon and salad lunch Skye provided. There was no way that we wanted a food baby in that picture.
Decision time. Skye clearly preferred the textured cream paper and the more detailed drawing that had taken an hour so far. She wanted to work that one up. While I found myself really drawn to the bold, simple outlines on the sheer smooth white paper. I liked the contrast better. And the lack of detail. Skye didn’t seem to mind that I had my own ideas. And we were both flagging in the heat. So we decided on two more fast sketches – both standing – rather than more work on the detailed, seated pose.
While I suffered in the heat in those heels (have you ever tried not to perspire or squint in bright light?), I could see Skye bravely battle on in the stifling, melty haze. When we were done I practically jumped out of those shoes and into my dress while we surveyed the numerous pictures.
Each had captured some aspect of me that was instantly recognisable – yet Skye had remained true to her artistic integrity while understanding that the inner me I wanted to project had a slightly flatter tummy and more toned thighs than were entirely accurate. Well, I thought, magazines use Photoshop so what’s the harm in a little artistic licence?
Skye kept all the pictures – they needed to be tidied and fixed and photo’d (for her portfolio). I’ll collect them in a week or so. And I walked out into the cooler air with a little spring in my step (in my flat sandals). It was an experience. I did feel more confident about my body. And I was already thinking about the sort of frame I would have and where I might hang at least two of those pictures.
Whilst I’m definitely not a “Fifty shades of Grey” girl, and clearly not a “Mills and Boon” heroine, I might just pass as an aspiring Jack Vettriano temptress. And no, the picture isn’t me – it’s one of Skye’s models!
http://skyeholland.com
