MEET THE CANINE CREW

Could you bare all in the name of art? Ellie House attended a class with a difference to find out more

The light is soft and dim, as a couple embrace in the centre of the room. The moment is fiercely intimate, and to look is to feel intrusive. Yet it is difficult to glance away, as the woman’s legs wrap around the man’s waist. Her hair obscures her face and tumbles across his shoulder, while fairy lights cast dappled shadows across their skin.

Caledonia plays in the background and hides the sound of pencils dancing across smooth thick paper.

People’s heads are bent in concentration, they look up quickly in a bid to absorb fleeting detail – to capture the curve in the small of her back and the small indentions left by his grip.

The sharp ting of a bell cuts through the reverie and the couple loosen their clasp on one another.

The spell is broken and the group start to chat among themselves.

For many people, standing naked in a room full of strangers would be unthinkable.

But if Meg Scott feels awkward, she certainly isn’t showing it.

The 23-year-old calmly sips her drink during the short break, before taking up a different pose.

Her male companion perches on a stool and she rests her head on his thigh.

In this small basement bar in Aberdeen city centre, the human body is clearly celebrated.

Artists arrive at The Cellar every Tuesday for a life drawing class, where models hold a variety of three-minute poses.

Meg’s fellow model, Alex (not his real name), does not wish to be identified – but Meg is happy to chat.

While life drawing is deeply entrenched in the history of art, what do models gain from the experience?

Organiser Andy Gaffron says the sessions are never short of models, and describes the experience as a “safe space” where the innateness of the human figure can be captured on paper.

For Meg, life drawing has enabled her to feel proud of her body and to find a release from her job as a mud engineer.

Here, she explains why stripping off in the name of art has left her feeling more empowered than ever:

It all started because my best friend is a stripper.

She’s called Sharon, so naturally we call her ‘Sharon the stripper’.

She doesn’t mind at all.

She was looking for other outlets which would allow her to show her body in a non-sexual way.

I’ve done life modelling for friends, then Sharon asked me if I could provide cover for a life drawing class.

My first response was to say: ‘Yes, I’d love to’. It was after Christmas, and you know that feeling you get when you’ve had all the good food, and maybe your tummy has that line as you sit down.

I thought to myself: ‘No one knows me here. Nobody is going to judge me or tell my friends about this.’

It’s the most non-judgemental environment.

THE LIFE DRAWING HAS TAUGHT ME HOW TO LOVE MY CURVES, THE ROLLS IN MY STOMACH

The best way to describe it is to say that, after I leave, I feel on cloud nine.

You are showing something to people that you wouldn’t usually show. It feels like taking charge over your own body.

After the first three poses, you get a sense of confidence. It feels like you are easing in to your own body.

It is an incredible feeling.

The first time I did this class, I shaved everywhere, whereas now, I don’t feel the need to be pristine.

I feel confident.

My mum was a model, she’s stunning. Growing up, and particularly when I was a teenager, accepting my own body was such a hard thing.

Even now, my mum is 55 and I remember this one time she had on a leather dress.

I could never feel comfortable in something like that, whereas she looked amazing.

Or she’ll be on the beach and wear a string bikini.

Now I’m much happier with my body. When we’re doing the poses, my mind can wander.

I’ll run through my shopping list in my head and think to myself: ‘Oh, I need to pick up milk.’

Or sometimes I’ll just listen to the music. Life drawing has taught me how to love my curves, the rolls in my stomach.

If I were to see a photograph, I would be horrified – but to see yourself as art is beautiful.

People at my work have no idea that I model for life drawing – if one of my colleagues were to turn up, I would be horrified.

I think that’s because I have two different identities.

I wear a suit at work, I’m someone completely different here.

Once I’m here, my day has disappeared and nothing else matters.

It is the moments between poses when I feel most exposed, when I perhaps realise that people can see everything.

But I would encourage anyone to do this. If you think you can get through one evening, you’ll find yourself coming back.

Heads down in concentration as life class artists study the models and work on their sketches

Sketches are developed and angles explored as the models strike different poses

Life classes are immersed in art history – and can be a form of escapism from daily routine for the model

Silence except for the eager scratching of pencils on paper