Go-go dancers pose for edgy artistry

Todd Hagerich sized up the room. Laying his sketchbook on a table, Hagerich chose a seat near… Todd Hagerich sized up the room. Laying his sketchbook on a table, Hagerich chose a seat near the middle of the South Side’s Gypsy Cafe, just right of center. Opening his bag on his knees, he pulled out a box of pencils and a sharpener. Behind him, a woman looking oddly like a dominatrix in a quilted purple bikini absentmindedly put an unlit cigarette between her lips. The monthly meeting of Dr. Sketchy’s Anti-Art School was about to begin.’ Molly Crabapple created Dr. Sketchy’s in 2006. A New York resident who learned to draw in Paris’ famed Shakespeare and Co. bookstore, Crabapple worked as a live model after dropping out of art school. She eventually performed in burlesque and cabaret, where she was piqued by the genre’s performers. She wondered why art classes didn’t engage more interesting models. The result? Dr. Sketchy and his anti-art school. Instead of learning to sweep their soft-leaded pencils across a page, copying the curves or protrusions of hired models that hold long poses, they draw roller derby girls, go-go dancers and burlesque performers who don’t merely hold poses, students act, they dance, they change positions frequently; They tease the artists.’ It is to art what Bill and Ted and their excellent adventures are to history. Begun in a small Williamsburg cafe in New York, Dr. Sketchy’s has now spread to locales across the globe. Pittsburgh happens to be one of them. ‘It’s become a worldwide phenomenon,’ said Joe Wos, the Pittsburgh organizer of Dr. Sketchy’s and the executive director of the city’s Toonseum, a museum that spotlights the art of cartoons. ‘It’s an opportunity for everybody,’ he added, ‘for the models, for the artists, for the person who has never drawn before.’ ‘It’s a really open atmosphere,’ said DJ Zombo, the musical choreographer. ‘All sorts of people come here ‘mdash; tattoo artists, fine artists, people who want to look at girls.’ Set up with a computer in the corner of the cafe, Zombo projects a sanguine impassivity ‘mdash; he has the air of a man untouched by the madcap quality of the room around him. ‘It’s hard to surprise me,’ he said, surveying the room of Dr. Sketchy disciples, the usual mix of businessmen, eager art students, the quirks of professional illustrators and the wandering eyes of the uninitiated. Informed by Crabapple’s interest in burlesque, Dr. Sketchy’s is the lampoon of all things serious, an outrageous performance that entices more than it satisfies, hides more than it reveals. ‘This is basically movie-animator heaven,’ said Clint Fischer, a Pittsburgh native who majored in fine arts. ‘The poses are a little faster, everything has a little bit of comedy to it. This isn’t stuffy and academic,’ he added. I expected mysterious models in heavy make-up, dark red drapes, Bertolt Brecht’s ‘Threepenny Opera’ and tragic humor ‘mdash; I didn’t even put full nudity past them. But rest assured, there is no nudity. ‘We’re actually the only live drawing session that has a policy against it,’ said Wos. ‘We like the innuendo, we like the humor, we like the playfulness of it. It’s never raunchy, it’s always sort of balancing on the edge,’ said Wos. As the name for such an art forum is copyrighted, groups in each city must contact the founders to host an official session, but groups new to Dr. Sketchy’s do have some freedom to custom-fit the experience. And despite the group’s edgy reputation, the reality of Pittsburgh’s Dr. Sketchy’s was quite different. In a brilliantly lit room, beach bunnies sipped Coca-Cola in 1950s bikinis and held innocent poses, while the other models stood behind the bar eating dinner. It seemed a far cry from Crabapple’s intentions of breaking the mold. A feeling of complacency pervaded the room until Aloha Lola took the stage. Pretending to be a dashboard hula dancer, Lola yawned, bored and bobbing, as the audience laughed, appreciating her ability to use her body to communicate a story. As the sound of Elvis poured from Zombo’s speakers, she jumped from her perch, hips freed by rock ‘n’ roll, and cavorted in a tiny grass skirt. Lola, aka Paige Turner, is one of the Rebelles, a burlesque troupe from Asheville, N.C. ‘Burlesque wasn’t something I saw myself doing,’ she said, ‘but the Rebelles are a very strong group ‘mdash; they celebrate all body types, they have a lot of smart satire and drama, they’re very well respected.’ A beautiful woman with a fresh face, sporting a set of long, fake eyelashes and a jet-black wig, Lola seemed too straight-laced to be suggestive. And in that Lola became the exemplification of burlesque and the closest Pittsburgh came to Crabapple’s intentions ‘mdash; she upended expectations. Even as she whipped off her bathing suit top to reveal a pair of purple sunflower pasties, Lola didn’t give herself away. Her performer’s eyes projected a persona, walking the line between reality and laughing at it.