Ivory Tower

                                ARTISTS AND MODELS

Artists and models, the very phrase has a resonance: visions of long haired dark eye lashed men and young naked models with bodies like ripe fruit spring to mind. And of course the boundless sex between them when the artist's frenzy to mount his muse takes over from his previous obsession to have her every dint and dimple faith fully reproduced on canvas, easel and paint scattering in all directions as they howl in pleasure.

Not the current crop of artists of course, the chicken in formalhyde set with their video installations and condoms full of their own poo. I'm talking about a breed that was fading at the turn of the century and more or leSs died out once the first world war started. The Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood were the archtype, cross pollinating as if their lives depended on it, their studios running with sperm along with the paint and turpentine, but then how could any red blooded artist have resisted the lure of these studio temptresses, stretched and posed in front of their burning eyes.

And of course Augustus John, the randiest of goats, fathering a whole army of children by a good dozen women, his conquests including Ian Fleming's mother as well as Lady Ottoline Morrell the famous Bloomsbury hostess.

Who else should we add to this list? I would guess Lawrence Alma- Tadema, a Victorian painter who gave us mythical landscapes peopled largely by nubile female in diaphanous garments that clung and emphasised and largely failed to cover their lush bodies. Overwhelmingly a man who metaphorically a least painted  with the brush tied to his over eager cock. Arguably his best know painting is The Tepadarium showing  a fully naked woman holding strigel (A device that scraped off the sweat induced by the heat of steam baths)

 but even serious art scholars tend to agree that the sweat this lovely creature emitted was following a long lovely session of self pleasuring.

 Did Mr A-T lend the model a hand to ensure that the finished  painting had credibility, well it would only have been polite!

And more up to date, (circa nineteen fifties) what about Alberto Vargas who produced a virtually unlimited output of naked females  for Playboy magazine so that  American males from middle management to red necked truckers could have something they could  wank over? All his females were a wet dream made flesh with the sort of lush upthrust breasts that made even the famous Playboy centre folds look flat chested, and their glossy lives revolved around cajoling  the poor exhausted male to whom they were addressing their double entendres to put them out of their misery and come and fuck them senseless.

I honesty don’t know what Vargas’ relationship  was with his various models but if they did not reward him at the end of each session with a thorough seeing to it simply would not have been fair.

In Educating Anna (Oh haven’t  I mentioned it before, my erotic book that’s being re-published later this year?)  Anna commissions a series of erotic paintings for one of the rooms in her house and when one fails to arrive goes to confront the artist George Darke. She falls under his spell and ends up  agreeing to model for him,

foolishly accepting that it will be a case of “my studio my rules.” She finds that this includes being tied naked to a tree while he paints her as an old world goddess, and submitting to being spanked naked across his knee as a reminder that he is in charge,

all the while trying not to let him know that this is what she hoped he would do to her.  

She discover that the rumours that he mixes his own sperm with the paint to give his paintings a final erotic edge is true, and when her painting is nearly finished,  she is happy to helps him do this.

What happens however is that by the time George is done with her painting he is finding Anna  so beguiling that she is able to turn the sexual  tables on him as now she holds the balance of power.

But you’ll just have to read it!