IT'S A MANZ WORLD

ANOTHER POSE FOR JOSEPH - Note: Most of my Manz World stories are fictionalized accounts of how the painting shown here came to be. However, some of the stories are rooted in truth.

Over the years, I’ve taken a number of art classes. Some were offered by local artists. Some were at seminars or workshops in other cities. And of course, there were my college art classes. Many were memorable. But there was one very special class that easily stands out.

The Musee d’Orsay is a gallery located in the city of Paris. It sits in the Left Bank section of the Seine river and is just down the street from the more famous Louvre Museum. I had been to the d’Orsay once before and found it was much to my liking—more than the Louvre—mainly because it had so much Impressionist art on display. One whole section of the building is devoted to this period of art. The list of works by famous artists is extensive: Monet, Manet, Degas, Cezanne, Seurat, Gauguin and Gogh. Because of my art studies, all of these men were very familiar to me. So, to see these famous paintings live was a thrill.

It was in mid-May that I planned to travel to France to visit friends who lived in Paris. In planning that trip, I went to several of the Parisian gallery websites in order to see what visits I could fit into my schedule. When I scrolled through the d’Orsay website, much to my surprise, I found there was a ‘life model’ class to be given by one of the local Parisian artists. The artist’s name was Jean Marc Duvall, a name I’d heard of before. He was famous for his nudes, both male and female.

The class was to be a three-day intensive using live nudes. Two of the things that were of importance to me were: 1) Duvall would be speaking about how he picked his models and how to pose them for the best results and, 2) that he allowed aspects of our own personal painting style to be incorporated into our finished piece. The website said there would be one day of sketching. The next two days were to be used to paint, using the sketches as a basis for our paintings. However, even on the second and third day the nude models—there were several—would be available to work with.

The cost of the class was very expensive, partly due to the class size. It was limited to twelve people. Since it was ‘first come, first served,’ I quickly sent in my registration and payment for the class. As expensive as the class was, outside of the cost of a plane ticket, the visit to France was rather inexpensive overall since I would be staying with my friends who, conveniently, lived in Thiais, a suburb of Paris. Knowing the high cost of hotels and restaurants, I knew I would be saving a bundle.

After an overnight flight from Chicago to Paris, I was picked up by my friend, Juliette, at the Charles de Gaulle International airport. The airport is approximately 25 miles north of Paris and is heavily trafficked, so travel back to Juliette’s home took over an hour. That gave us some time to catch up on our lives. As tired as I was, I was anxious to hear how she and her husband, Jim, were doing.

I first met Juliette during my university years. She was an exchange student from France. Although French born, she spoke English quite well, but with an English accent. That’s because her mother was a native of England. In fact, Juliette’s family had lived in England for almost six years while her father, who was French, studied for his Ph.D. at Oxford University.

While studying at the university I attended, Juliette dated and finally married a good friend of mine, Jim Bennett. Jim was a International Business major with a minor in French. Early on, I found that he was already quite proficient in French, having taken classes in the language in high school. It was interesting to hear Juliette and Jim speaking in French when they were alone and then switching to English when joining in conversation with me or other English-speaking friends.

After graduation, Jim was offered a job with an American company that did business in both England and France. At first, Jim worked at the company’s headquarters in New York for a couple of years but was eventually transferred to the company’s branch office in Paris.

Once at the Bennett home, Juliette and I talked for a bit and then I slept for a few hours due to experiencing jet lag. It was around 6:30 that I was awakened by a knock on the bedroom door. It was Jim. “Dinner is almost ready. You’d better get up if you want some food.” After saying hello to my friend, we sat down at the table where I enjoyed a very tasty, very simple, very French evening meal: soup, salad and baguette.

The next day was spent relaxing, which was much needed since I was still experiencing the effects of jet lag. The rest, along with a nice long walk with Juliette to her local market, was very beneficial in preparing me for the upcoming art class, which was to start the next day.

The class with Monsieur Duvall was held in his private studio located in the northern suburb of Montmartre. Montmartre is known for its history of both entertainment—the famous Moulin Rouge is there—and art. In fact, Montmartre is where many artists from the past have had studios. Even today Montmartre is a place where working artists live and work, selling their paintings in small galleries that line the streets or at a large open-air park—Place du Tertre—where artists set up their easels daily, hoping to attract buyers.

Fortunately, the Paris Métro subway system had a station only one block from the Bennett home. From there, it was an easy and quick one-station transfer to a Montmartre station near Duvall’s studio.

Because of the speed of the Métro train, I arrived early at M. Duvall’s atelier. Only two other students were present when I got there, an English lady by the name of Elizabeth and a man named Leonard from Belgium who spoke English with a heavy French accent. After introductions, I then met our instructor. Within minutes, the other students had gathered, with the last one coming in just moments before the class was to begin. Gerold Knolls, an Englishman, came in breathing heavily, apologizing for his lateness. In looking at him, I assumed the sweat on his forehead was the result of his running from the Métro station. Knolls knew, as did the rest of us, that Duvall was strict in his rules, one being that he started his class on time. In fact, Duvall had warned that anyone running late would be locked out.

The morning session started off with each student giving a brief introduction, including why they were taking the class. Most of the students were either American or English with a couple of French women and, of course, Leonard from Belgium, all of whom spoke English. We had been told in advance that the class would be in English, which obviously drew the attention of English-speaking people. After those introductions, Duvall gave an overview of what would be covered over the next three days. At first, it was a bit difficult to understand our instructor. He actually spoke excellent English, but with a very heavy French accent. However, I eventually got used to his accented English, as did the others.

After Duvall’s overview, he began speaking about his painting methods and styles, always referring to his posing of a model. Emphasis was placed on composition, although lighting was important. During that time, he showed us samples of his work and explained his techniques. It was mid-morning when, during a break, Duvall slipped out for a few minutes. Once the break was over, our instructor came back into the room, followed by two men and two women, all wearing what looked like bathrobes. It was easy to see that the pairing represented ‘younger’ and ‘older,’ meaning there was a very handsome, well-built young man, probably in his early 20s, followed by a man who looked like he was in his mid- to late 50s. It was the same for the women, one beautiful young lady followed by an older one. The contrast was rather significant since the younger models were very good looking and well fit while the older models, although not fat, were what one would expect of a person in their later years.

With the models present—and after he introduced all four—Duvall had them disrobe and move to four modeling stations. Since the studio was quite large, there was plenty of space for the students to gather around each model. Duvall then assigned three students to each of the stations, explaining that each of us had fifteen minutes to make quick sketches of the model in front of us. At the end of that time, we would then rotate onto the next station. That would give us an opportunity to sketch each of the models. Duvall told us that quick sketches, with the models moving into different poses every couple of minutes, were important in getting a good feel for the model and what pose would be best for the afternoon session.

Our lunch break was short—significantly short by French standards—since many French people take long lunches, sometimes with a rest period included. There was no rest for us, since Duvall wanted to pack as much into the class time as possible. Once we gathered again, the models came into the room, disrobed and went to their appointed station. It was at this time that we could choose which of the models we wanted to start with. I started with the young lady—Sophie—who, without a doubt, was beautiful and very fit. I later found out that she had been a gymnast in college and was now a yoga instructor at a local studio.

My sketching of her went very well, as did my sketches of the other three models. However, I was quite taken with the young man—his name was Joseph—and his ability to emphasize, even show off, his musculature as he moved into the various poses. He wasn’t overly muscled but very toned and somehow knew what positions best suited our needs, an obvious result of having experience in the practice of modeling.

Over the next two days, we had the great opportunity of getting to know our models. Sophie was a lab technician. The older man, Henri, was a retired teacher. The older lady, Marie, was a housewife who loved to garden. “I especially love to go out into my backyard naked.” Then, with a slight giggle, she added, “It is the best way to be with nature.”

My time in the class was well spent. I learned a lot from Duvall, which proved to be valuable in my later painting of nudes. One of the things I appreciated was his allowing us to try out different methods or techniques as we painted. And, while not pressing us too much in our timing, he challenged us to paint as quickly as we could, partially to be able to experiment with some of the techniques that he showed us.

It was during a break on our second day of class that I ate a quick lunch with Joseph. During that time that I found out he was studying architecture at the École Nationale Supérieure d'Architecture de Paris, which, according to him, was the best architectural school in all of France. He told me he was from Montpellier, a city in the south of France, situated on the coast of the Mediterranean. He also told me he had been heavily involved in sports during his high school year and now worked out several times a week at a local gym, which explained his very muscular physique. When I asked him how he ended up being a ‘life model,’ he said he came from a nudist family and was very comfortable when naked. With a lovely French accent, he said, “I’m naked most of the time when at my apartment. So, when I found out I could earn extra money doing modeling, I was happy to do it.” He then smiled as he said, “La vie est belle.” Meaning, “Life is good.”

Jospeh then asked me about where I came from. When he learned I lived in Chicago, his eyebrows raised and he excitedly said, “Mon Dieu! I love Chicago. It is such a beautiful city.” Continuing with excitement in his voice, he said, “Of all the cities in America, it is Chicago that is most famous for its architecture. It is the place where many famous architects lived and worked, like Frank Lloyd Wright, Louis Sullivan and Mies van der Rohn.”

I saw that Joseph quickly latched on to me because of my Chicago connection. He began a series of questions that came at me in a staccato-like fashion. Unfortunately, our lunch time came to a quick end as Duvall gathered us once again for a few more hours of painting. But before Joseph left me, he asked if there was any time he could talk more with me. Knowing that Juliette and Jim were going out with friends that evening for dinner, I said I would be available for several hours that night. Joseph quickly set up a time to meet at a restaurant in center city Paris. Giving me a bit of insight, he said, “No worries. It’s not a tourist trap. No high prices like some places. And very good food. It’s where real Parisians eat. I know you will like it.”

That evening, just as my watch showed 7:30, I walked into the Bistrot Des Tournelles. I found Joseph sitting at a small table. After I was seated, we were both given menus and asked if we wanted drinks. We both ordered Cabernet Sauvignon, which was quickly served. Our very polite waiter, Pierre, then asked for our food order, recommending the evening special: Provencal beef stew served with a side of asparagus and an order of pomme frites. We both agreed on it. After Pierre said, “And excellent choice,” he disappeared.

Not only was the atmosphere very French—the building was old but well kept—but the food was outstanding, as was the wine. And, as Joseph had said, not terribly expensive. The beef was perfectly cooked, drowned in a delightful pepper sauce. The asparagus was delicious as were the pomme frites which were thin sliced, salty and piled high.

As delicious as the meal was, the real delight was in getting to know this young man who, as naked as I saw him over the three days of class, was well dressed in a casual but fashionable manner. I was especially taken by his choice of shoes, a pair, he said, he had bought on a trip to Rome. He smiled as he said, “The Italians know how to make a good pair of shoes.”

Our visit lasted long after our meal was consumed. Not wanting to take up table space inside the restaurant, we asked Pierre if we could move to one of the small patio tables in front of the building. He said yes, and we did, staying there, slowly drinking more wine as the evening sky turned dark.

That visit at Bistrot Des Tournelles was the start of a friendship between Joseph, the nude model, and me, the student artist. Even though I had sketched and painted Joseph during my time in Duvall’s class, he was literally a distant person, a professional model—a nude model at that—standing in front of a class of painters. I didn’t get to know the real Joseph until our night of talk in center city Paris over a tasty French meal and several glasses of wine. Fortunately, what started there lasted for a number of years.

Upon my return to Chicago and in the months after, Joseph and I communicated through emails and texts. Even a few phone calls. Finally, it was Joseph’s trip to Chicago, one that was planned so that he could visit a number of important architectural sights, that I was once again able to paint him. For several hours one evening he posed much like he did in France: naked. Because of his background in nudity, he was quite comfortable and certainly not embarrassed to expose his body to me for the purpose of being painted. And, as he did in Duvall’s class, he posed with experience, even suggesting some poses that would be best for my paintings.

The painting I have posted here is one of several I did of him. I call it ‘Another Pose for Joseph.’

In the almost two weeks he spent with me, I found him to be a delight. Because I drove him to a number of the places he wanted to visit, I learned quite a bit about architecture and the men who designed some of the homes and buildings we viewed. I also learned more about this young man who, because of his intelligence and drive, I knew would go on to develop a successful career in his chosen field.

It was as I dropped him off at O’Hare International Airport that Joseph said, “Au revoir, mon ami.” Then in English, “Until next time.” He then gave me the traditional French kiss—a peck on each cheek—grabbed his suitcase and disappeared into the terminal.