The Way of the Life Model, a short story by dreamsmith. Times viewed: 834

Please SEND FEEDBACK - Writers love hearing from you. , and you can view the Authors profile here

---

Intro: After a lifetime's ingestion of self-help books to absolutely no avail, a writer tries her hand at writing one.

---

The Way of the Life Model

by

Tracy Ann Smith

Disclaimer


On a long hot summer's day, I met a man on a bus coming out of Crewe . As
you do, we got talking, and as you do, I ended up staying on the bus long
past my stop, and spending the next twenty years with this man. He was a
life model by profession, the only long-term professional life model I have
ever met, and, my goddess, this man loved his job.

Being an avid reader of books of the self-help variety, I like to think I
can spot a guru when I smell one. But I need to confess that in this case,
I did not. It was only years later as I reflected on his ramblings that I
realised he was not just an obsessive naked poseur, but also a deeply
spiritual teacher, sent to inspire me in the most mysterious of ways. If I
sound a little cynical, it is perhaps that after a lifetime of reading self-
help books to absolutely no avail, I had pretty much given up on the
every-person-you-meet-has-been-sent-to-teach-you-something school of
thought. But in this case, it was true. The Life Model was my teacher, and
not just in the art of standing still with no clothes on for as long as
possible, a little game we would indulge in on Sunday afternoons, the Life
Model always keen to practise new and interesting poses for the week to
come.

No, this man taught me a lot of things, and you will find some of his wisdom
in the following pages. I have not totally given up on the concept of the
self-help book; after limited success with reading them, I thought I'd try
writing one. I apologise in advance if it doesn't help; quite frankly I
will be very surprised if it does.

Lesson One: Taking Your Clothes Off is the Least of Your Worries

One night I was at the sink making busy with the marigolds when the Life
Model returned.

"Nice day at the orifice darling?" I asked, doing my Samantha from
Bewitched routine.

The Life Model collapsed onto the velveteen armchair, as was his wont after
a long day on one leg.

"Bit of a nightmare actually; the teacher wanted all the new students to
familiarise themselves with the concept of the naked body so got them to sit
at my feet and draw me while gazing up at me from an unusual angle. These
young women are all about nineteen and they're all wearing tops like bikinis
and skirts like belts and the teacher is saying, see that muscle, see that
skin, see that texture, see that hair, see that lovely curve, and the whole
time I'm counting, counting, focusing, using every resource I have in my
head to keep on presenting a professional image and not spoil it all by
allowing my body to dramatically change in profile, ruining their pictures
and totally embarrassing myself, and probably getting sacked in the
process."

Of course, I empathised with The Life Model and got on with cooking his tea.
He was on a strict detox at the time as his eczema was interfering with the
pictures and students often asked him "How didja get that burn mate?" We
were living on a diet of soda bread and lentils, although I often sneaked a
few fun size mars bars when he wasn't looking, as I didn't want to undermine
his efforts to achieve the perfect scale free skin.

It was true that, for The Life Model, taking his clothes off was the least
of his worries. He often had nightmares about walking into a crowded room
with all his clothes on. He always said that changing was the hardest part;
walking behind that makeshift screen, peeling off his woolly jumper and
struggling out of his docs while the students set up their easels, then
emerging in his baby blue dressing gown which was an unusual look for Crewe
on a Wednesday afternoon. It was the change that was weird, that Mr Ben
moment of moving from one persona to another. Just like life really.


Lesson Two: Time is a Relative Concept


The Teacher told him to strike a pose he could hold for five minutes. The
Life Model, being conscientious and wanting to make it interesting for the
students, twisted himself into a complex yoga position and slipped into a
meditative state. Twenty five minutes later, the Teacher was whirling
around the room, still talking. "There's no separation between the body and
the background, there's no edge in reality. Draw what you see, not what you
think you see. Trust your eye, not your mind."

The students, at first sulky and hunched, their pierced lips curled into
bored sneers, began to draw faster. They were silent as their squinting
eyes moved from paper to model to paper. The Life Model, meanwhile, was
losing the feeling in both legs and one arm and feared that if the five
minute pose went on for much longer, he would never walk again. Without
moving, for as I say, he was a conscientious Life Model, he tried to catch
the Teacher's eye so he could blink hard to pass on his "I'm fucking dying
here" message through some kind of eyelid morse code. This did not work
however and he was reduced to attempting psychic communication, which
despite his formidable extra-sensory powers, did not work either.
Eventually, the teacher glanced at the clock and told the Life Model he
could move. There was then something of a satellite delay while the Life
Model tried to untie his legs, which the now enthusiastic students took
advantage of by frantically making a few final charcoal marks on their
paper. They groaned when the leg untying was complete and they had to
finish, their disappointment drowning out the muted swearing of the Life
Model as he attempted a few stretches to try to facilitate the flow of blood
to his extremities.

The kind of poses the Life Model liked best were the truly quick poses, when
he would burst into a convoluted sequence of spontaneous chi kung, holding
each position for a minute at a time. The students drew like dervishes as
the Life Model twirled around the room having a dizzying spiritual
experience. He said that this was complete freedom: bending and stretching
around a classroom in Crewe , stark bollock naked, with the eyes of twenty A
level students fixed upon his body. At the end of the session, the Life
Model rested in the Pose of the Child, as the students, shiny eyed, laughed
to each other and gazed at the pile of pictures next to their easels. Two
weeks previously, a drawing had taken them an hour, and at the end it looked
laborious. Now they had drawn twenty, each freer and more exuberant than
the last.


Lesson three: You're Not Always the Centre of Attention


As a Life Model, he got used to being on display, being looked at, having
every hair and curve committed to the huge grey sheets. Surprisingly, the
Life Model was really rather shy and said that after his first class, he had
come home crying, saying he could not bear the humiliation. He had been
made to bend forward as though to be caned while the class looked on and
sniggered. His then girlfriend, who I must admit sounds a right bitch from
everything I've heard about her, told him that there was no way he was
quitting as they needed the money for the double glazing and she was sick of
being the fucking breadwinner. (I quote). In all fairness, the Life Model
was not much of an earner in those days, and had never kept a job for more
than two weeks. So he was forced to return, and, like many things, it got
better.

I digress. The Life Model was not a natural exhibitionist. But he had
begun to labour under the illusion that as a naked man he was somewhat
interesting to look at. One day, a particularly attractive class of young
women were drawing him studiously when, as often happened around OFSTED
time, the Teacher had to go out and fill in some totally irrelevant piece of
paper. The class concentrated for a while but then began to get bored and
drifted over to the window. As the Life Model stood naked in the middle of
the room, the students lined up with their backs to him and stared out
across the Astroturf. They began to bay like hounds. "Get yer top off!"
the mouthiest one said, and a huge cheer went up as the lucky lad apparently
obliged. When the cheers died down, they talked loudly about what lay
beneath his Levis and what they would like to do with it. The Life Model,
ever conscientious, held his pose and felt a faint blush rise to his cheeks.

Lesson four: Perspective is All

The Life Model learned the hard way that perspective is difficult to achieve
for new students. At every end of year show, we were confronted by a
gallery of small men who were as wide as they were tall. Not that there is
anything unattractive about this look, you understand. Of course there is
beauty in us all. The problem was that the Life Model was a skinny six foot
two in his scaly feet and in the pictures he was two foot high and two foot
wide.

They also had trouble with perspective around specific parts of his body.
One very keen student had been working diligently for hours. The Teacher
stood behind her and could not conceal his smile, although of course he
tried to be positive for he was a good and encouraging teacher. He
addressed himself to the Life Model who as ever was standing regally still.
"My God, she's been very flattering to you, Mr Torpedo." The Life Model, a
consummate professional, remained immobile, apart from a small barely
perceptible twitch at the corners of his mouth.

Lesson five: All You Have To Do is Nothing

The Life Model was not the most physically active of people. As he always
said, life modelling was his ideal job. No equipment necessary, no special
clothing, not even consciousness was required. He would arrive at the class
early and meditate to put himself in the right frame of mind. With
practice, he was able to relax into his body quite quickly, and if it was a
long and easy pose, he often fell asleep. He would dimly return to
consciousness as the students stepped over him, putting their easels away.

Some poses, however, were simply not suitable for falling asleep in. The
most famous one was when the teacher was experimenting with perspective and
wanted the Life Model to be elevated. First of all, he had to stand on a
chair. This was simply not high enough. Then a table. Again, not quite
the right angle. Resources are not in huge supply in the average college,
but someone had left an old filing cabinet in a dusty corner of the room.
The teacher, a couple of lads, and the Life Model in his dressing gown and
docs mauled it into the middle of the room. Now naked, he clambered with
the help of a blushing lad to the top of the cabinet. Still not quite right.
They passed him up a chair, which he straddled, Profumo style.
Perfect. He started in his sleep for quite a few nights after that.

Lesson six: The Right Line will Always Show

The Teacher used to intervene when the students, especially the new or
perfectionist ones, would scream and begin to rip up their pictures. They
really hated their mistakes, but he taught them to love them. "A baby would
never learn to walk if it gave up the first time it fell down, would it?
It's not making a mistake, it's finding out something. And once you've
found out something, you can do something about it."

These may sound like platitudes to you and I, versed as we are in
sophisticated New Age philosophy, but I can tell you, with these kids, it
really worked. As well as having to intervene when they tried to rip up
their pictures, he also had to remove their rubbers in the first lesson.
"Don't rub out the lines," he would say, looking upon those rogue marks with
infinite love. "They show you how you got there. The right line will
always show."


Epilogue

It was many years later. The Life Model and I had gone our separate ways
but still bumped into each other at the odd event. We were at a bonfire to
celebrate the solstice in the winter of 2002. I saw a very drunken man from
our past approach the Life Model. This man was barely vertical. He
slurringly introduced himself to the Life Model who reminded him that they
had met, many years ago. Sporting a beard, a belly and glasses, to the
drunken man the once skinny Life Model had looked like a stranger. I saw
him attempt to focus through bloodshot eyes until his memory dimly returned.
He whispered loudly, "Yes, I think I remember you; are you the naked one?"

*******************************


This self help book turned out to be a lot shorter than the usual kind,
although those "Little Books" are pretty small and a bit of a rip off quite
frankly. I really thought I had something of importance to say which could
be conveyed in quite an original way through the medium of the life model.
Sadly, as with a lot of things, I guess I was wrong, or perhaps I just
underestimated my hidden shallows. Anyway, this is the end of the Way of
the Life Model. There really did seem more to it when I started; I got
quite excited about the Christmas stocking filler market and making my
fortune out of regurgitating homely wisdom and new age spiritual ideas in
a witty manner accessible to "The General Public". I guess it's been done.
To death.

Send feedback

Use for below to send feedback to author - View the Authors profile here

The following form will send feedback to the author about this short story, please enter your e-mail if you wish a reply (which is obviously at the authors own discretion)