I was once an artist's model, employed at the art school, to pose for painters. The teacher, perhaps sensing my inclinations, laid out before me an array of dead things for me to pose with. Skulls, skeletons, shells, old wood, fossilised creatures, a fur. These I'd drape or embrace, hold up and construct some dramatic scene with. A communication between the objects, my naked body and the scene of looking. Holding the pose for a least few minutes, I observed some inner silence. That's when the scene would emanate the strongest. Then there was emptiness, and the spectacle of death as me...