In the spring of 1995 I was studying for my A-levels in Cambridge, along with my best friend, Kate. For her final art exam, Kate wanted to create a male torso in the style of a classical sculpture, which she would present along with her written assignment on the male nude. She asked if I’d be the model and I, of course, agreed – what teenager wouldn’t be flattered at the prospect of being immortalised as a Greek god?
We decided to make the cast in the garden of Kate’s family home. Wearing just my Y-fronts and a pair of Mickey Mouse socks borrowed from Kate’s dad, along with a layer of baby oil, I lay down as Kate finished mixing the fine casting plaster, which she then poured from my neck to my ankles.
