Musings

Whatever I was told about myself, or believed about myself, or disliked about myself, or hoped about myself… I encountered it upon the dais. That tiny little rectangle, such a small special space on earth, has become the crossroads of all of my most important self-esteem issues in life.

When I come out of my robe and step upon the dais, I have no way to hide. I am completely exposed and vulnerable. All of my scars are on display… the ones you can see as well as the ones you can’t. Upon the dais I cannot pretend, nor digress, nor deflect. There are no lines, no script, no character, no movement, no tone of voice, no explanations. Anything I know matters not, nor does what I fear, or regret, or aspire to.

Breathing is essential to life… art is not.

Food, clothing, shelter, these are all essential as well, but if we don’t make art, we won’t die. Yet, as most artists will tell you, creating art is as important as the air they breathe or the food they eat… that it is sustenance. They need to create, to bring into the world beauty and passion and relevance through their art.

Herein is the greatest paradox of the artistic world: the “starving artist.” The painter cannot eat the canvases or the brushes. The dancer cannot drink the dance steps. The sketches of the figure artist, the words of the poet, the lyrics of the songwriter, none protect from the winter wind. Yet the sculptor must sculpt, the painter must paint, and the author must pen the prose… even to the detriment of health and home, even if they are literally starving. Every human being must breathe. Every true artist must create, no matter what.

Some have considered themselves failures while they were still alive, suffering from depression, sometimes even passing from suicide, often achieving recognition only after they died. Yet they produced great art, summoning it up from somewhere deep within, imbuing it with value, even if no-one else wanted it or appreciated it. It defined them, completed them, made them feel whole. Artists have to create to stay alive inside of their souls, even if they sell not a whit.

I have discovered the same paradox “upon the dais.” The complete exposure when posing in the nude for figure artists creates a profound vulnerability. Yet when I overcome my apprehension and come out of that robe, the reward in self-confidence is amazing! And I love seeing myself in the art… in the lines and shapes and shadows that are uniquely mine, while at the same time uniquely the individual artist’s. When I look at myself through their eyes, I like me!

I believe this is true of all individual artists. We see ourselves through our art, understand ourselves through our art, and define ourselves through our art. Often, it is the medicine of our healing, more important than breath. I have to pose now. It is as important to me as food or clothing or shelter. My craft of figure modeling, my art, has become my life.

We are defined by art as groups as well… by our clothing, food, architecture, music, dance, theatre, and most importantly, by the art we surround ourselves with inside our homes and work places. We need our artists and their art! Their simple ‘believe in self’ combined with the drive to create is, in essence, the solid foundation of all culture.

This thing that is supposedly nonessential—art—becomes the very thing that defines our world the most. We need to recognize its great value. Our local artists deserve everyone’s support and encouragement. There may be starving members right in our midst, struggling to believe that what they create has value. We must never think of them or their art as unimportant, as non-essential.

Kenosha can be an arts destination… “If we build it they will come.” They will watch our plays, eat our food, listen to our music and poetry and song. They will come to our galleries and buy our wares. If we believe in ourselves as artists and believe in ourselves as an artistic community, we will be the poster child for the paradox… our art will be essential.

It was my 200th Posing session on August 15, 2017. It was Tuesday Night Open Draw @ Artist’s Guild in Sturgeon Bay, Wisconsin. I paid for the draw outright, free for everyone, and asked everyone not to tip me… except perhaps with artwork, to commemorate this special occasion.

On the break, while we were enjoying champagne and snacks set out for the celebration, I was approached by a very soft-spoken man who was introduced as “Jerry the dairy farmer.” He was a friend of Jeff & Sarah, the owners of the Guild, and was attending his very first figure draw ever. He had arrived late, because he had to “milk the girls” first!

He held out a graphite drawing on a tattered piece of yellow sketchbook paper, recently torn out, and said, “I know people are giving you art, as you asked, but I’ve never drawn before. I don’t know if you want this, but if you do… well then, you may have it.” Then he offered me the piece.

Taking it carefully in my hands I loved it instantly. He had spent more time drawing what I was sitting on, than he did drawing me, lol. With a quivering voice I told him: “Jerry, there are some wonderful pieces of art being made here tonight… and I love these artists… and I love the pieces they are making. But there is a special glow that comes from your piece, and it moves me! It shines!”

He seemed surprised, but I continued… “Where else in the world can I get a ‘Joseph’ made by the hands of a man who just got done ‘milking the girls?’  Where else can I get a ‘Joseph’ made as the very first piece of art from a man of the soil, who’s difficult work helps feed the world?”

This piece truly represents what figure art means to me! Drawing the world around us, and each other, is freeing and marvelous and quirky and wonderful and beautiful and… important… art belongs to everyone!

My Story

I have always liked art in general and drawing particularly. When in college in the mid-90s at Carthage in Kenosha, my favorite courses were my art courses. The first two pieces of art in the “Joseph” collection are self-portraits. In the past couple decades though, I maintained my drawing skills (barely) by occasionally going to a local draw in Kenosha at a little framing shop called Artworks.

I always enjoyed it. There is something edgy, and incredibly challenging about drawing from the human nude figure. No other type of art is as challenging as trying to correctly represent human anatomy. The fact that a live human being would offer you their intimate human form to view, to draw, completely and unashamedly, only serve to charge the artistic atmosphere further. Although my art is never the best produced at any draw, nonetheless I have enjoyed every single time that I have attended.

My first love is theater. I have friends who get sweaty palms or upset stomachs just before they go on stage… not me! When an audience is in their seats, and the lights are about to go up, I am ready! I can’t wait to go on the stage, inhabit a character, tell a story. That fearlessness did not extend to the model’s “dais” though.

The owner of Artworks, Chet Griffith, asked me to model on more than one occasion. He would say, “you’re an actor, you should do this!” I would respond jokingly, “yeah, but at least when you act you get to wear a costume!” In an attempt to confront my own insecurities about my body, I got on the schedule once, only to chicken out a couple weeks before.

Theatre was more my cup of tea. Playing a wide variety of characters up on the stage helped me to be free from my childhood insecurities. When I would inhabit a role, I would become someone else. Someone who knew nothing about my childhood, nothing about my psychological scars, or my history of low self esteem. When I acted, I was free from these things. It was remarkable how acting healed me.

During the last 3 years of my father’s life I was his primary care giver. He was a quadriplegic. Because of my duties I could no longer be involved in theater. If a staff member did not come to work for whatever reason, I could not leave, and therefore I could not commit myself to a director’s schedule. The most crucial thing for any actor to do is… show up.

My father felt bad that my dedication to him meant I sacrificed theater. He used to say to me “Joseph, when I’m gone you have to get back into theater!” I would complain “I don’t know if I want to do theater after you’re gone.” He would respond, “Anywhere in the arts then. You are so talented!” And then he would smile broadly, and add: “But whatever you do, you be the best!”

He passed in March 2015 and I still miss him terribly.

After his death I fell into deep depression. After more than three months of sulking and overeating, I had a serious talk with myself. I knew that I had to find my life again, be something, do something. I thought of his words to me and resolved to audition for a stage production. That play, at the Racine Theater Guild, was called “Calendar Girls“ and was a story about sweet little old British ladies that made a nude calendar as a fundraiser.

I played a man who got cancer and passed away. He was beloved by his wife and her friends. After his death they decided to do a fundraiser for a new couch in the “family room” of the cancer wing down at the hospital. They create a “nude“ calendar with strategically placed muffins, quilting, or needle point. The calendar made a fortune, and their story was made into a movie that stars Helen Mirren.

Any amateur house that decides to make a production of “Calendar Girls” is allowed to make their own calendar for a fundraiser. So when the call went out in Racine, I answered. After taking our clothes off for a good cause (and careful photo-shopping, so that women and men could be photographed separately) we produced an 18 month calendar! I was in the shot with fellow volunteers that became the month of November, 2015.

Armed with a new sense of purpose, and my trusty fundraising calendar, I went to Artworks. I asked my old friend Chet, “would you support the Racine Theater Guild and buy one of our calendars?” He took the calendar from my hands, looked at my picture in the month of November, and said, “Oh! You can pose for the theater guild, but you can’t pose from my life drawing sessions!“ Flummoxed by having been caught on the horns of my own hypocrisy, I staunchly retorted, “Put me on the schedule!!”

He did.

The day came on September 15th, 2015. I was nervous as a cat on a hot tin roof. I had no formal training… only pointers that Chet gave me, what I could find on an internet search, and what I remembered from having attended as an artist. I knew I had to have a robe and slippers, so I had gone shopping and purchased the black satin robe I still use today. Along with a stool, a towel, and a staff, I went to Artworks early to set up and familiarize myself with the space. Chet reminisces about seeing me that afternoon, saying I looked terrified.

Finally, the time came.

I went to the bathroom in the back of the store, and there, in a moment that was completely surreal, I took off all my clothes. My heart was racing furiously, and I remember asking myself “Are you actually going to do this?” I slid on my new robe and slippers and, clutching my folded up clothes to my chest, I passed back through the store, and down the stairs to the drawing room where four artists were seated at folding tables.

I don’t remember too much at this point because of information overload… I was overwhelmed! The one thing I do remember about those first poses was this: determination. A great deal was happening. I was not only violating social norms and revealing my completely naked body to completely clothed strangers. I was simultaneously confronting demons of low self-esteem that had lived inside of my heart for decades. Demons that constantly accused me of being unattractive, and of having little or no value. I was determined that I was going to succeed this day!

There are two things that every model must do: you must come out of that robe… and… you must hold perfectly still! Both of these things are difficult, and made even more so by having to do them together. I did them! I came out of that robe and I began striking 5 one minute gesture poses in a row. Almost immediately my life changed! I had been faced with one of the most challenging moments of my life…and I was doing it! I was holding a pose. Then I did a 5 minute pose, and then a 10 minute! I was doing it!

I wasn’t embarrassed. Or if I was, I didn’t seem to notice. I extended into each pose as if I was a character on stage. I couldn’t move, or recite lines, or use gestures to communicate with my audience (in this case artists) but I could use emotion. I “inhabited” the poses and the artists drew me. I thought much more about holding perfectly still then I did about what they could see. I was energized beyond anything I had ever experienced on the stage. I was completely naked, and I did not care!

On the contrary, I loved it! I loved the attention. I loved the incredible challenge of stretching out in plain view without a stitch and holding perfectly still. I felt young, strong, renewed. A feeling of self-esteem came washing over me that I had never tasted before in my life. Once or twice, in a couple special theater rolls, I got close to this feeling of freedom, but never so completely. This was completely me… completely Joseph… and I was standing firm.

Not even halfway through this very first session, I knew! I was going to do this for the rest of my life. Here was a place… upon the dais… that I thought I would never go. All my life I thought of myself as unattractive, as not good enough. All my life I suffered, thought of myself as ugly! But no more! I had found the doorway, and I had the keys: willingness and determination.

Here are these wonderful marvelous people… artists… and they are using my lines, my shapes, and my shadows to make beautiful art. I saw their work. It was me! And their art was beautiful! With every pose I grew more determined. I had succeeded here this evening! With no costumes, and no masks, and nothing to protect me from all of the things in the world I am afraid of, I stood naked and determined. And in so doing I became unafraid.

After the last pose was over, and I had bid farewell to the artists, thanking them profusely, I gathered up my neat pile of street clothes and bounded up the stairs to return to the bathroom at the back of the shop. I paused by Chet to tell him (somehow) that I had been transformed by the experience. Words failed me, and I just stood with outstretched palms, struggling to speak.

He begin putting money in my hands with a smile, one bill at a time. lol

My life was transformed, and I was getting paid! I mean, I knew I would be paid, but it had gone off my mind. I was so blown away by the experience itself, and even more by what it did inside of me, that I had forgotten about the pay! This was a real job, lol! I could do this! All I needed was to find the work!

That very first session I claimed that if I lived long enough, I would pose for artists a thousand times!

As of the writing of this piece… 773!

Upon the stage I am unafraid. I know fine actors who suffer from sweaty palms or upset stomachs, but I am unafraid. Audience seated, house lights down, I’m ready to go. I can’t wait for my entrance.

But up there, I have several things to protect me. Most importantly I’m not myself. I play someone else; a character dressed in costumes and makeup, moving about an interesting set, amongst other actors and plot arcs. All the while I pretend the audience doesn’t even exist out there in the dark behind the fourth wall. I am safe.

Life modeling is different. It has none of these protections whatsoever. In a brightly lit room, among completely clothed people, we agree to violate all normal clothing conventions. I agree to refrain from covering my nakedness, and in kind, the artists agree to not look away, as courtesy would demand. Together we do what is unthinkable in everyday life.

The moment comes. I must slip the robe from my shoulders and lay it aside.

Completely exposed, completely vulnerable, the urge to flee boils within. However, not only can’t you run away, but instead you must mount a raised platform, in full view of everyone present, and once there, hold… perfectly… still. The artists, by necessity, examine your entire body with concentrated attention to detail. Not only will they see your private parts (which is bad enough), but they will see every imperfection that makes one human: pimples, wrinkles, scars, stretch marks, rolls of fat. The intensity is overwhelming. 

At the moment of disrobing, the clash of opposing forces (the urge to escape vs. the desire to endure) creates a portal into a strange and wondrous state of being. It is common to hear life models describe posing in spiritual terms. The opposite of an out-of-body experience, one becomes intensely present in the moment, incredibly aware of self, surroundings, and the passage of time. For me, it is transcendent. It washes me in self-confidence unlike any therapy or medication I’ve ever tried. The effects are residual, lasting for hours, even days.

My first reaction to life modeling was to seek out every possible opportunity. The second was to contemplate the reasons for this unexpected marvel with curative powers. Why has modeling given me my first depression-free winter? Why, after over a hundred sessions, am I setting aside everything in life, including acting (my first passion), to pursue a goal of modeling a thousand times?

The answer struck me one day with both its power and simplicity. It harkens back to my childhood when I was mercilessly bullied by 6th grade classmates. They would dream up new and creative recess games with the singular purpose of hurting me. They taught me messages: that I was not as good as them; that I was not one of the beautiful people. It was not these mean-spirited lies, but my believing them, that caused me the most harm. Fear of conflict, failed relationships, and a lifelong struggle with anxiety and depression followed.

Acting promised some freedom. The theatre became my Island of Misfit Toys where the broken things inside didn’t matter. In the troupe’s camaraderie, and in the characters I played, I found some escape. Theatre helped, but it didn’t change my internal beliefs. I was better, but not healed.

Then I stepped through the portal. I overcame every instinct in me that shouted Run! I stepped out of that robe and onto that dais. There, surrounded by people I respect immensely – artists – I engaged in the process of creating art. I allowed them to use my body, my shapes, shades, shadows and lines, to create beautiful art. How then could I not be a beautiful person?

Those bully messages were not just challenged, they were utterly destroyed. The shackles fell away. For the first time in years I felt healed, whole, free. Artists were making art, out of me! I became aware of my true self, my value, my…beauty. I post often on Facebook, “life modeling makes me happy.” How true. And oh, how marvelous! 

~ Vigneri, Joseph. “The Portal.” Left of the Lake Magazine, vol. 17, 2017, pp. 6-7.

It was a balmy June morning. I was in a little town called O’Fallon Illinois, right outside St. Louis. I was excited to be going to a huge bike ride in the city, expected to have 3,000+ riders. The clear blue sky outside my hotel was expansive, and matched my mood. It was one of those brilliant mornings where the sun shines in on a low angle through an utterly cloudless sky, bathing the entire world in dazzling golden colors… yellows, oranges… every reflection almost too bright to look at directly.

I needed to find a place to walk a couple miles, as was my habit every morning, so I popped on my sunglasses and set out to explore. If I was lucky, perhaps they had a forest preserve with trails. I was pleased to discover that they had an extremely large public park right in the center of the town. It was immense. Filled with baseball diamonds and picnic areas, it was at least a mile around. This would be perfect!

There was a parking lot right beside the public swimming pool on the north side of the park, and it was there I began my transit. I headed out to the east,
directly into the brilliant sunshine. This park was amazing! Besides the swimming pool, there was a diving pool and a ‘kiddie’ pool, and horseshoe pits, and baseball diamonds, and bocce ball and basketball and volleyball courts, etc. It had large green spaces, picnic areas, trees, bushes… all lit by the piercing sunshine in brilliant highlights and hues. There was even a big sign that announced special events, like Friday “Movie in the Park” night, with free popcorn!

I was contented and happy as I walked, turning first to the South and then the West as I circled this immense green space. I thought about the many blessings this town has, and about how nice it must be to live here. I thought about how many blessings I have as well. Just like the glimmering edges of everything in this wonderful park, my life had a glow and a lightness these days too. I had discovered life modeling, and a passion for everything related to figure art. My whole life seemed as bright and filled with possibilities as this brilliant morning.

I rounded the third corner and began walking up the ‘far’ side of the park. Here the shadows were long amongst several old oak trees… it felt like the “backside” of the park. It was then that I first noticed her.

There was a woman with dishwater blonde hair sitting in the shadows by the base of a tree. She was staring across the street into the town with a fixed gaze, smoking a cigarette and wearing dark sunglasses. Behind her, stacked against the tree trunk, were three plastic bags with… I’m not sure what… inside. At the base of the tree on the other side was a soiled and crumpled blanket. As I approached closer, I noticed that her hair was unkempt and her hands were dirty. She did not return my gaze. I said “good morning” with a smile. She didn’t respond.

Except for a puff of cigarette, she remained motionless in the glances I stole over my shoulder. I rounded the fourth corner of the park, and there turned out of her sight… then on past my car to start a second circuit round the park. The same brilliant sun blasted my eyes as I made my way to the east, but I didn’t seem as blinded or awe-struck by it this time. I couldn’t get the woman off my mind.

I wondered what she had done, or had not done, that brought her to my path, next to that tree, on this day. I wondered what multitude of decisions she made that resulted in her current circumstances. I wondered what had been taken from her by others… or what had been done ‘to’ her by others… that resulted in her sitting in the shadows of this old oak tree, on this brilliant morning.

I wondered how much money she had. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the wad of bills I knew was there. I think it was $63. I didn’t count it.

I thought about the many blessings in my life: family, health, wealth. I thought to myself “if I drop this money on this sidewalk right here, right now, and walk away from it, it will not significantly affect my life… I will still eat today.“ I wondered when the last time it was that she had eaten. I wondered, “If I give this money to her, will she have a full stomach in an hour, or will she be drunk?” I wondered, “if I give this money to her, am I a fool?”

For sure it would mean I was very much my father’s son. He was a compassionate man and a philanthropist. He had a tendency to look for needs around him, and then work to find a way to meet those needs. The fact that I was moved to compassion by the sight of this woman was a good thing. It meant that my heart was colored in the same hues as his.

As I walked along I marveled at the many shadows and deep values I hadn’t noticed the first time past. I had only fixated on the highlights before. I also noticed things in the town that I hadn’t seen the first time around: some streets in disrepair, a shuttered strip mall. It was my second time past these streets and buildings, but the first time I really saw them… really looked.

It occurred to me that this park needs this town, just as much as this town needs this park. It occurred to me that I might need this woman in the exact same way. I decided that if I were to find her still beside the tree, I was going to give her the wad still curled in my hand. I practiced the speech I would give in my mind and I rounded the corner.

She was still there, sitting in the shadows of the tree, staring out at nothing…

I walked deliberately now, with my chin up. I began to veer off the sidewalk toward her slightly as I approached, and she, noticing this out of the corner of her eye, lifted her gaze warily to watch me approach. Once close enough I began: “Hi! My name is Joseph and I have many blessings in my life, and I would like…“ She interrupted me suddenly and said “Oh! Oh no, I, I… I couldn’t!“ She dropped her gaze to her lap shaking her head. I said quickly, “No, you don’t understand! I have some money here, and I would just like to give it to you.”

At that I held the money out to her… all $63… (I think)

She looked at me for a long moment without speaking, then slowly took the money from my outstretched hand. It appeared to suddenly weigh a great deal, and her hand dropped to her lap. Her gaze followed. She said quietly but clearly “thank you.“ I said cheerfully “you’re welcome“ and practically skipped away. I smiled back at her over my shoulder a couple of times as I walked away, but her gaze was fixed on the wad of bills in her hand.

I rounded the corner, out of her sight, and into a feeling of wellness that I have seldom experienced in my life. I walked again around the park, light in my step and energize in my heart. I could see balance in everything around me, the park with its luster in a town with imperfections… highlights with their brilliance and the shadows with their depths. I decided that I was probably blessed by the woman more than she was blessed by me… that I truly needed her, here, today. I hoped that she would be well in the life ahead of her.

I felt focused as I walked. I felt a sense of internal balance and peace.

I wondered if she would still be there this time around, or if she would be gone from the tree, from my life. I turned the corner and looked ahead.

She was still there…

She had switched to the sunny side of the tree. Her chin was up into the light. She was smoking a new cigarette. Evidently she was watching for me, because as I approached she turned her face to me and smiled. I thought to myself “she might actually be pretty!“ I walked a few more paces returning her smile, which made her smile even broader. It was then I knew I was correct… she really was pretty! Some of the shine of her youth had worn off along the journey, but the lovely young girl she had once been was still there. Her smile was radiant.

Before I was close enough to hear she looked at me directly, tilted her head slightly, mouthed the words “thank you,“ and then smiled warmly, intentionally. With tears welling up in my eyes, I crossed my hands over my heart and mouthed back the words “you’re welcome.“ As I passed her I gave her my biggest smile and wished her a wonderful day. She in turn wished me the same, smiling after me.

I walked away from her a third time into the rest of that brilliant morning, and into the rest of my life. As I went, I carried a new lesson inside of me. Simply this: that the colors we see in the world have much less to do with the condition of the light… and much more to do with the condition of our hearts.

Joseph