Hold the pose

Alexia PdC

10 Oct 2025 — 1 min read

Vogue, strike a pose.

Shed your clothes.

Hold for 10 minutes.

Feel the slow burn.

Scritch scritch, scratch.

“10 minutes left”

In the break I walk around the room slowly, taking in the many versions of myself. Held by the artists’ gaze, I am a powerful solid body, beautiful to draw.

Self Esteem rings in my ears: “You're a good, tall girl

You're a good, sturdy girl.”

Time passes softly in this room, above a closed bar on a Monday night.

My arm aches, and I breathe into it. Would rather get bodily discomfort from posing for artists than typing at a computer for eight hours. The pain is gently pleasurable, almost a kink.

I suddenly notice the immense feeling of safety in being naked with a group of strangers, with men. A vulnerability is allowed, welcomed even.

The room is dotted with more men than usual in creative spaces. It feels good. Not sexual good, but “seen” good. Seen at last for the full person I am, Visible* armband and all.

This time I don’t disassociate; the longer poses allow me time to look around and watch them watching me, translating the light into lines. I’m physically still, but mentally active. I love this - being drawn is a love language. An honest appreciation.

And I lap up the soft applause for me at the end of the night along with the host’s compliments on my languid poses. When I put my limbs into place, I am a part ballerina caught mid-move and part chronically fatigued person. The two are an unexpectedly interesting match.

I will come back again, next time to be holding the pencil and making the body appear on my page.

*Visible is a tool built to support people with energy limiting conditions, I wear an armband to measure my heart rate and approximate energy used throughout the day

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Where are the words

A letter from the empire to himself

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Gather