Geelong Art Society/ Aberdeen St Geelong, March 2026

John rings the bell. Says ‘It’s three quarter time’ but this isn’t a sporting match. It’s just a five minute break. He always wears his bright red jacket and cap. I like that.

It’s a new experience for me – modelling (clothes on) for a portrait artists group. I was invited to do it, two hour sessions, Wednesday mornings for three weeks.

Twenty five artists are deep in concentration as I’m sitting in a comfortable chair raised on a small stage. Told to keep my chin up and aim my eyes near the top of the window looking out on the old roof of the gallery. Most of them take photos of me close-up on their phones. The room is almost silent, everyone working, and there’s a song list playing quietly in the background. Sting, Toni Childs, Annie Lennox, Carole King – all my faves – and what’s this? An Icehouse song? I can’t quite grasp it. There’s a hairdryer blasting intermittently over the music, the dryer aimed at my paper face in an artist’s  hands, a work in progress. I think the song might be ‘Man of Colours’.

And he says, “I..
I am a man
A simple man
…A man of colours
And I can see
See through the tears
Tears of a man
…A man of colours”

Usually if I’m up on stage, it’s work. I’m interviewing other writers or artists, launching someone’s book, giving a talk about something literary, hosting an event.  But this is just ‘being’. It wasn’t what I expected. I don’t feel at all self conscious. The artists are reducing me to colour, tone, form, lines, shapes and shadows in their chosen mediums. Charcoal, pencil, pan pastel, water colour, ink, acrylics, oils.  Who I am is irrelevant. I’m just a natural phenomenon, sitting in a chair, an object to paint or draw.  I’m still. And I’m alive. Still life.

Some of the artists tell me they wished they’d had the time to do this years ago. That they should have been doing it years ago. There’s a tinge of regret that the practicalities of their lives eliminated the opportunity. They are not playing, they take what they are doing very seriously. Some are trying it out as a new hobby, others are very experienced and professional about their work. Each one of them is a man/woman of colours.

Portrait by John Barton.

Odd little things are said to me:

  • I prefer to work on the model in profile. Otherwise noses look like potatoes. (Oh).
  • Leave your glasses on, you look better with them. (Oh).
  • It’s hard to see your eyes with your glasses on. (Oh).
  • Just have a natural expression on your face, that you can hold. (Oh).
  • Have you been out in the sun this week. You’re pinker. (Maybe).
  • Your hair is lighter. (Maybe).
  • Could you smile. (Yes).
  • I won’t do your lines and wrinkles. They are depressing. I want to make you look younger. (Oh).
  • Sorry, you have nice lips and I’ve messed them up. (Oh).
  • I love your lines and wrinkles. They give your face so much character. (Oh).
  • Sorry, I’ve done something weird with your shoulders. I’ll try to fix them. (It’s probably me – channelling Sting).
  • I can’t paint the detail on your face because my brushes are dirty. I use dirty brushes. (Me: Is that some special technique? Her: No, I’m just too busy to clean them).
  • Can you see yourself? (I can).
  • You’re there somewhere. (I am).
  • You’re very good at sitting still. (Still. Life.)
  • Could you please sit still for another ten minutes. (I’ll try).
  • Are you going to watch the Matilda’s in the final? They’re incredible. (I will).
  • I’ve made your hand look like a boxing glove. Hands are hard. (That’s all right).
  • I’ve made your face look masculine. (Oh).
  • I’ve made your face too fat. (Oh).
  • I’ve made your forehead too something. (Oh).
  • You’re easy to draw. (Oh).
  • Do you think I’ve got you?

Some of the artists finish early. Pack up carefully and leave quietly, just give me a wave as they go to the door. There’s nothing at all they need to say.

 He says, “I keep my life in this paintbox
I keep your face in these picture frames
And when I speak to this faded canvas it tells me
I have no need for words anyway…”

Stereo Story 886

Janet Brown will be co-presenting a panel about playwriting at the inaugural Surf Coast Writers Festival in Torquay, Victoria on Saturday morning, 27 June. More details.

Janet Brown is a short story, short film writer and playwright. Her plays are published by Australian Plays, and several have been staged. She's also written a novel and non-fiction books. She lives on a farm in the Victorian Surfcoast hinterland.