Transactional and Trusting: Life Drawing and the Relationship Between Artist and Model

Drawings by Lucy Tappin

I do not adhere to a brand of disciplined body positivity. The kind that insists on perpetually championing our flaws, and dismissing insecurities as parasites. But I do believe in quiet confidence and affirmation. The kind that can be harnessed through the detachment of consciousness from the physical form.

Aided by the observation of other people in life drawing classes, I gradually learnt to sever the ties between external shape and identity. This was a subliminal process; I was not initially conscious of how my brain was being rewired to perceive bodies as simply that. Bodies. Something peculiar and powerful happens in this space, as both model and artist rewrite the rules on what it means to carry aesthetic value and utility. Those unfamiliar with the practise of life drawing could question whether artists are objectifying their models, or even acting as voyeurs when depicting them. Naturally, a degree of objectification occurs. But I don’t believe this to be inherently negative or dissociative. There is something incredibly empowering, for both model and artist, in viewing the physical form in a vacuum, without any expectations of how they should be. As my good friend and trans life model told me, ‘I’ll probably keep perceiving bodies as I’ve done for quite a while, as just a beautiful bit of flesh that in this moment I’m allowed to draw.’

Alan Bea is a non binary trans artist and model. By talking to them, I was able to understand how life drawing is validating for all participants, and how self perception can shift through this unconventional exercise. Growing up trans and not necessarily seeing bodies that resemble their own, or indeed ones that defy heteronormativity, has meant that their experience in life drawing classes is particularly poignant. They don’t shy away from the vulnerability of modelling; they are well aware that artists ‘just have an entire view of my ass.’ Yet they locate power in this vulnerability, and the documentation of their body on paper from every angle. Having started T just 6 months ago, ‘a pretty serious amount of changes’ have happened to their body. But they remain compassionate and curious throughout their work as a life model, noting how it’s ‘quite cathartic to see my new body being drawn.’ Being exposed to a room of strangers and acquaintances demands that they own their body. They feel proud of the physical changes they have made, ‘standing there and breathing all that in and bathing in it.’

A discourse occurs between the artist and model, whereby the former honours what they observe with their eyes and the latter entrusts the artist to creatively depict this. It is both transactional and trusting. As an artist, I’ve learnt to not question what I see or how it translates onto the page. Often my drawings aren’t ‘accurate’ or ‘realistic’ but that’s beside the point. The process of drawing a body with no inhibitions is incredibly meditative. This has quietly trickled into my own perception of my body, and its often unglamorous utility. Bea echoes my sentiment too, stating that modelling hasn’t altered their perception of their body but has ‘rather just confirmed that what I see in the mirror is just what these artists seem to see too.’ They are refreshingly calm and objective about their relationship with their body, placing value on what it means to be seen as a naked queer person, rather than the everchanging form that may come in.

I’ve learnt through life drawing classes that, paradoxically, the physical form is both the focal point and superfluous. Attention is fixed on a body, but whatever shape it comes in is somewhat irrelevant, or at least detached from any expectations. What matters is what this tells us about the valuing of bodies, and what it means to exist in one. Bea beautifully expressed the connections they began to make between ‘binaries and bodies and brains’ throughout their experience as a life model. These connections can be distilled down to one body that demands to exist in the face of external labels. 

I am not launching a manifesto for self love or unwavering body positivity. But I do want to elevate the importance of spaces where individuals can observe, create and reflect on the physical form. For all participants, this can be refreshing at the very least. And for individuals like Bea, it can be empowering to both be seen and to see themselves in the artists around them. It’s about visibility and ownership of the physical form, regardless of how this appears on the page. Spaces like this create an opportunity for individuals to see other bodies that they may resonate with. For Bea, this has opened up the possibility of relating to queer and trans bodies in their most exposed form. This became clear to me when they said: ‘If I went to life drawing and the model was trans I’d probably cry!’