I came across this old recollection about nudies. It's really proof positive that I'm just obsessed with finding ways to get my friends to take their clothes off.
Be my friend?
One of the things I like to do when looking at the newly spit shined buildings in my always gentrifying neighborhood is to imagine what went on in them pre-facelift. I’m sure that sports fans sipping their pints are unaware that for one glorious day a few years back I brought together a group of casual acquaintances at a spot now known as The Highbury and took away all their clothes and left them standing around panting and naked.
Well, I don’t know about the panting, but they were pretty darned naked.
Okay, they had towels. White towels. This wasn’t like a porno. It was more indie film feel with all the rough around the edges kids who you always thought were kind of yummy looking.
The Highbury is a soccer lover’s dream -- televised international soccer matches all within easy access to beer. During the World Cup games, lads and lassies stumble unto the street with the aroma of hops and malt while people like me who don’t care about drinking at 9 A.M. look for coffee. I’m sure that the soccer pub who get there early for those transatlantic games love the flying balls and head butts coming over the wires. The balls and butts I was able to unveil within the walls of this sturdy old building were sport enough for me, though.
Racy to be sure, but not without cause. At one time, I ran a theatre company noted for doing “all those nude” plays. I was even once called a pornographer by a colleague. I took offense at that. I was no pornographer. I knew that because I never made any money asking people to perform sex acts in front of live audiences. If that doesn’t somehow suggest some deeper problem in the American theatre, I don’t know what does.
A photographer named Lucas used to own the building that now is home to The Highbury. He took note of some of the plays I was producing and volunteered his shutter bug service if I could provide free models. A perfect arrangement for two cheap skates like my buddy Lucas and me.
Lucas invited me to his newly acquired studio one spring day a few years back. It was our first real meeting to discuss our first big project together—shooting a group of actors wearing nothing but strategically placed white towels for publicity for a play I was directing. Lucas assured me he was the guy to do it, showing me loads of highly artistic nude shots he had taken. I recognized a local waitress in his pile of shots, and made a mental note to tip her very well the next time she served me.
Confident that Lucas and I could work together (we immediately felt at ease making fun of each other’s receding hairlines) we set the date to shoot our models. As is often the case in my career in the theatre, my next job was to do a lot of fast-talking. I had hired actors, but the nearly nude photo shoot would be a surprise. Calls to the talent went something like this:
ME: “Hi, its me. Can’t wait for the play to begin.”
ACTOR: “Me, too. I’m learning my lines.”
ME: “Good, good. Say, are you available for a photo shoot in Bay View this weekend.”
ACTOR: “Sure. What time? And what should I wear.”
ME: “Noon. Oh, and, don’t worry about your wardrobe. I’ll take care of it.”
Okay, I omitted a small detail in talking to those actors. Wardrobe would only mean a towel and a smile.
In a brilliant stroke of genius, I also asked all of the designers and technicians to come, promising a full company group photo. We would all stand proudly draped and tucked. If my photographer friend wanted talent to expose some flesh, I was ready to provide the mother load.
We all assembled at the then dark and mysterious photo studio, now vibrant and exciting Highbury building, and immediately everyone knew something was up. I was standing at the entrance to the building holding three-dozen white towels. These actors and artists were smart—none of them suspected I was going to sponge up a flood with my booty.
After everyone had entered the building, I gently explained the idea. Everyone would take their clothes off, I would hand them a towel, Lucas would shoot loads of pictures, and we would have the most fabulous publicity shots in the history of theatre production. I must have channeled Abraham Lincoln at Gettysburg, because no sooner had I finished then one of the actors started to disrobe and reach for a towel. Soon everyone was shedding shirts and pants and reaching for a white wrap. Even a reluctant sound designer got into the game, now permanently recalled in a poster size photo I hung across form my desk.
The afternoon turned out to be full of fun, and, honestly very innocent. Lucas knew a thing or two about making people feel comfortable (coffee and donuts work well with towel clad models), and everyone looked like international models in the final photos. Even I am able to look at a picture of myself dressed only in a towel and not run from the room screaming. The man was an artist.
Lucas eventually sold the building and moved West, but continues to shoot great pictures. If he ever comes back in town, I’m going to buy him a beer at the Highbury. And who knows, maybe we’ll bring the towels and a camera for any willing models. Some memories should never die.
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