Georges Teeny-Weeny Micro Career As A Nude Art Model

I sort of knew that it was an actual thing before I got the phone call. Nude art modelling. Usually beautiful or at least supremely self-confident people posing starkers before a class of serious artistic types. Them all stood behind their easels, pencil or paintbrush in hand intently eyeing off a naked human being, man or woman, before them on a pedestal as they recreated their perspective of the others curves and plains onto their canvas. I had never done it of course as I can’t draw or paint anything to save myself. I’m certainly no artist unless you count being a Bullshit Artist, a reflection on a prior opinion or perhaps a character reference of me by somebody I used to know and coincidentally was married to for a few hazy decades.

Anyhoo it’s rarely a good thing to take a call from Perth Police, but indeed I did one lunchtime recently. “Do you know a man named George?’ was the inquiry after the introduction by Constable I.A.M Keen of WAPOL. “Umm depends” was the best I could do under immediate pressure. “What has he done this time?” I asked thereby outing myself as indeed knowing George. “Some sort of mental health incident” the good officer stated. “Running down Hay Street Mall” he added, and I wondered if exercise for very unfit persons was now an offence. “Naked” he added perhaps sensing my curiosity. “Oh Jeez” I stuttered seeing without wanting to, the inherent problem with that scenario.

“What’s he charged with” I asked immediately guessing at the bail money amount that I was going to be asked to cough up. “Look if you come and get him, we will let him off with a warning” he offered, and I agreed to do that. “Can you tell me what happened” I asked already reaching for the Mustang keys. “Well, we thought at first we might charge him with indecent exposure, you know flashing his genitals at screaming tourists. But the 000 call had described a big breasted very large ginger hairy woman as the offender. When we found him, and on closer inspection, nothing could be seen, just an impressive thatch of ginger pubic hair. So, after careful consideration we realised that we had a distinct lack of evidence” the copper said with a discernible giggle as I headed out the door to the car. Breathing a sigh of relief that things were not too bad on the George-scale of bad, I gunned the big V8 and headed to the cop shop.

An hour or so later my old mate sat in the passenger seat of my Stang dressed in a full body forensic paper suit that murderers wear in police custody. I proceeded to gently interrogate the big morose man. Turns out he had applied through a Perth modelling agency to be a nude art model. He said that he had accidently sent them photographs of the Aussie actor Liam Hemsworth, wasn't wearing his glasses when he pushed send. Sight unseen they had George report to a gig at an art gallery in the mall. He was to model before a class of suburban mums who had booked the gig as the entrée of an end of season celebration following a tough season of social mid-week netball at the Wembley courts. “Maaate” George said. “I was going to get $250.00 for the hour. All I had to do was stand there bollocky for one hour while the girls painted me” he said, and I nodded trying not to laugh encouraging him to continue with his sad tale.

“I was behind a curtain” he said. I dropped me dacks and stood on the pedestal and said ready and then they pulled the curtain” George said. “Mate one lady screamed, one started to cry and all the others, every single one laughed at me” George said, and I felt sorry for the vulnerable big bloke. “Mate they hurt me bloody feelings” he said. “Now I only have one feeling left, that of low self-esteem” he spluttered. “It was like PTSD” George explained. “Took me back to when I was bullied by the Brownies at bush camp when I was a Scout. All the girls all rushed the shower block to throw roo dung at the boys in the showers. Way back then” George continued “as a shy 12-year-old they had all laughed and pointed at me and I have never really recovered” George explained, and we both sat contemplatively with me muttering sweet nothings like “Its ok mate. It’s all good big man” and such.

I asked him why in God’s name he’d signed up for nude modelling. “Money, mate. And nothing better to do. Plus Baby-George (or BG) is down in Donnybrook fruit picking.”
(Yes, Baby-George is a real person. Yes, he climbs trees like a spider monkey and Yes, farmers actually pay extra for him). I recalled Baby-Georges bloodline as described in an earlier, very true blog about Chinese Horoscope signs. “The nudie modelling is up to sort of $400 an hour mate and you do most gigs just for the hour” he exclaimed getting more positive about things again and waving me in toward the Globe pub at Floreat “To settle me nerves mate.” 

By midnight I finally staggered home, leaving the Mustang abandoned in the shopping centre carpark and ordering a DIDI like the responsible adult I occasionally pretend to be. The “counselling session” with George had been so wet that I practically needed flippers to get to my front door.

Once in bed, I sought out Madam Gemini (my late-night Google companion) and dove into some hard-hitting research on the Perth Nude Art Model industry. To my surprise, it’s an actual thing, there’s steady demand for blokes and sheilas to rock up, drop the kit, and stand or sit bollocky naked while groups of budding artists squint heroically and try not to draw a stick figure with boobs.

As Gemini reminded me, this kind of performance art has been going on for centuries, think Michelangelo and Da Vinci and all those famous historical paintings of bare-bodied men and women. Being me, I immediately started humming that song, “If a picture paints a thousand words, then why can’t I paint you”, a dangerous earworm when you’ve just been Googling nude strangers.

Turns out, Perth is positively thriving in this industry. Brilliantly named outfits like The Artful Hen and Charcoal and Champagne hire models for hen’s parties, corporate team-building, and presumably awkward Tuesday evenings. Agencies such as 1010Models Perth also supply flesh-and-blood inspiration for sculptors, painters, and the odd photographer brave enough to risk zooming in.

So yes … it’s a genuine industry. George had applied for a real job. The only problem is that George suffers from the opposite of body dysmorphia. Most people look in a mirror and think, Oh God, that’s me?. George looks in a mirror and sees Chris Hemsworth winking back. Maybe it’s a psychological wall he built after the infamous Brownie Incident, but whatever it is, reality has very little say in the matter.

Anyhoo, the bloke’s my mate, my BFF a term used by the kids which I think means “Big Fat Friend”. And wouldn’t you know it, the very next morning George rang. Apparently, one of the ladies from the class (I suspect the one who cried) had told her husband, who just happened to run an international medical research and marketing company. They were updating the Evolution of Man chart and - wait for it - they wanted George to pose for one of the photos.

From cave-dweller to cover model, all in less than 24 hours.
George is the bloke just behind the one with the club!

Author: Magnum
For: Langtrees.com

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