In 2013 Naomi started focusing on life modelling after working individually with local artists on a series of events and exhibitions in Brighton. She then became a regular life model at several of Brighton's long standing and popular art groups. This lead to her later going on to model on intensive art courses around the country. Naomi is also a member of Brighton's Drawing Circus who ' are a troupe of Brighton-based artists, models, art tutors, musicians and performers who seek to promote a sense of wonder at the visual world through innovative drawing classes'
Naomi now models on average at 5-6 different classes a week, in Brighton and in London mainly but sometimes further afield if travel is included. She has experience in mixed pose classes, long poses over several weeks for EG: for oil painting and sculpture and also short dynamic gestural poses and even moving poses. Her dance and performance informs and inspires her poses.
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Naomi started her career as an agency represented alternative model and this provided a lot of experience early on with photoshoots both in the studio and on location.
Naomi also worked as a film extra and as a 'track girl' for a large motorbike racing event and other promotion roles.
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Naomi has been performing aerial hoop for several years at intimate parties, festivals, club nights and large corporate events. Naomi has her own equipment including A frame for freestanding rigging and public liability insurance. Naomi's repertoire is varied with several different routines from an enchanting dive into magic and sorcery to a Jessica Rabbit inspired aerial striptease and a medieval / Game of Thrones inspired aerial routine with chains. In addition to cabaret performances, Naomi also performs freestyle aerial to bands and DJ's and regularly models with The Drawing Circus with her aerial hoop, sustaining suspended poses for artists to draw from. All costumes are handmade and individual.
Videos can be found on https://vimeo.com/user80323068
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Dance/ Performance: Naomi is a burlesque artist creating high energy pieces that incite ‘riotous acts of joyful disobedience, celebrating empowerment and rebellion’. Acts have a strong narrative with a neo - fetish theme sometimes combined with other art forms such as poetry or aerial.
Naomi is a podium dancer with several years experience performing her solo routines for cabaret and clubnights and also for bands and DJ's at events and festivals.
She has performed in and lead a dance troupe that specialise in crowd-enhancement- encouraging people to dance, express and participate in the atmosphere of the festival, party or event and to play with flash mobs and interactive performances, stunning costumes and walkabout pieces.
In 2016 Naomi has also danced on/ featured in two music videos as the central character. Bands/ DJ's that she has danced with include Johnny Cage and the Voodoo Groove, Dutty Moonshine, DJ Marky, Slamboree Soundsystem and the Illuminaughty collective.
In 2017 Naomi performed her aerial and burlesque routines at Torture Garden, The Curtain, Poetry Brothel London, Behind Burlesque Infinitease, and Gypsy Disco
And so far in 2018 has performed at The Brighton Fringe Festival with both burlesque and aerial as well as Slapstick club, Skirt Club, Sassy Cabaret and for A Secret Circus as well as in Glasgow at The Riding Room
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Naomi has participated in running events in Brighton, hosting a charity night with bands, DJ's and life drawing and has worked as series presenter for independent TV show Indiecan, also providing voiceovers and interviews.
Naomi has featured on several music videos and on various promotional material.
These independent testimonials were given by artists Naomi has worked with.
Naomi completed her MA in Creative and Critical Writing in 2011 at Sussex University. She has had several poems published on online blogs, to promote an art exhibition and has read her poetry as part of the Brighton Fringe and at performance poetry nights in London and Brighton.
They brought you in one autumn
Rain caught in your hair, loose leaves clung to your bare legs.
Fecundity flung about in verdant disarray.
Wet snout, sharp teeth, loud voice to howl
They tried to iron out your curls
But there you go again, like the old witch wrote
Climbing all over the furniture and putting your ankles in the air
She taught you how to look for baba yaga
Amongst the old bones
Left like rubble
In the earthquake shell of your old skin
You shed, fled, flew out the doorway
Casting off the trappings of a divinely decadent feast
Casting aside pedestals, lovers, trinkets (whores like those)
Casting off the shackles of an ornately gilded cage
You’d rather die standing...
‘What’s a pretty girl like you doing here... ‘
But just like de Beauvoir in Paris
You drank pints and talked loudly, took up space
Wipe your mouth with the back of your hand- why shouldn’t you?
‘You’d look prettier if you smiled’, he suggested
So you bared your teeth
And swallowed him whole
‘All the better to eat you with’, after all
You threw the high heels that they bought for you
Out the window of the top floor
And climbed up on the desk,
Scattering paper in an avalanche of irrelevance
... Or was it irreverence
You don’t recall, because you ran as fast as you could
Through the streets, like bad weather, like Medea
Like Medusa, for fuck sake
Turning men to stone
As your roar drowns out the cat calls anyway
People shifted uncomfortably
And retreated into doorways
Embarrassed that you laughed
when you were happy
And howled when you were sad
She bears the mark of the vermilion tear
Or was it tear...?
So feared, so venerated.
There is no lack here.
Your four footed shadow traces the portal
‘Better to reign in hell’, she said.
Sometimes a whole eternity can happen in one afternoon
We had some good years over those few days
I rage my storms upon your rocks
But 'make a wish on Venus in the morning sky', you say.
She trines at midnight, and all the stars aligned despite ourselves.
A love that does not require that I am good.
You know I am not good.
'Lay waste my garden in the caution flung wind' the Prophet says
Your curdled sanguine kisses
Infected with the godless curse
Of a haunted man.
Now I wear your spunk filled locket around my neck
Like a valentines shackle
But I also can harness blood
To be my reckoning
No fickle king, can sit on his throne
And tell me not to cast spells with my thighs
Go on, find out if I sink or if I float.
Sure, no demon greater than the one curled up around the corners of my mind.
But it is the same with you.
I cast my runes of divination
And will call upon my coven
The creation of a marked woman is no mean feat, to own one's own atoms
And dance with the devil.
Just like the rest of us, I'd like to be wrestled to the ground naked by angry nuns
While I comb my tangled red hair
Baphomet can point his pins
And Jesus can wash my sins
But in the ritual dance of divinity
We are better possessed than possessions.
Emancipate your earth - forged body
Extricate your nimble fingers
From the imaginary tasks they flutter to
And make them sticky
Liberate your cyclone mind
From the eyes-down, mouth-shut
Of feeling like you just have to survive.
Deliver yourself up
Into the arms
Of the playful sky.
A woman once let me sleep
In her field
During a summer storm.
The air was close up
Against my sapling skin
And I felt homesick for a place
I'd never been.
Swirling geometric portals
Scarred the landscape
Like platonic solids
Momentarily resting in the mortal realm.
'Walk them', the woman instructed
As she turned to leave.
In the asthmatic morning
I traced them with my
Puckered newborn feet.
Like the morphic resonance
Of your porcupine limbs.
The bruised sky buckled, to reveal
It's swollen tear-stained cheeks
And out of the void, sprang the hare.
Leporid dynanite, like galvanised violence ;
Your frantic glare holds apologies for no-one;
Trickster guardian of unicursal truths.
Sky and storm, like a double-edged axe
That belongs to only you.
In the molten mahogany of your unblinking eye
Lies the etchings of cavemen, hurricanes and the toppling of empires ;
Algebra, dark matter and a half remembered song.
And in this claustrophobic
The dusty covering is swept
From my liquid crystal heart
And I know I have come home.
A bitter fruit tree grows
Where your heart once was, dear
After the crumpled faded daydream
Of your half-love half-light
But I saw the women marching
And I knew I could no longer plant such riches in a paltry fallow bed, where the sun doesn't reach into the corners
You always said I wasn't house trained
So here I am, finally, in a room of one's own,
And if I want to roll around, shred the carpet, piss in the corners, and stay up all night. I will.
If I'm the second sex, then give me the second set to this house, to this city, to this boardroom.
If we all walked out today your sandcastles would fall, your schoolboy knees would bruise and I wouldn't care at all.
If you can hear over the sound of the crunching of eggshell egos
You better realise that I will die standing before I live another day
Where my voice isn't heard,
Where my desire lays like still born fruit under the death-grip glare Of the son's of royalty.
At their banquet of blood I would smash every glass as I mounted the table and cried
'I AM STILL NOT ASKING FOR IT'
We Were Wild (Published on Elephant Journal)
You were wild once. Don’t let them tame you, she said
We laughed at all their petty rules
Brushed our faces with stars and falling leaves
We danced and cavorted;
Mud-spattered paws. Bare skin. Quick wit.
We laughed with wide eyes and open mouths.
Clawing, tasting, grasping at stolen snatches
of perfect Free.
Twirling and entwining our magnificent powerful bodies,
pushing them further
wringing out final sparks of ecstasy
Under the moon, in the trees, in the Wide Open
We saw the Goddess in each other
Drunk with love
And bowed deep
Holographicon (Published on House of Alchemy Vsionary Art blog)
Do you hear the primordial sound
Of the universe singing itself into being? And marvel at the delicious Fibonacci fractal magnitude of the spines on a feather?
You are called to the particle event horizon
Where every moment is now.
Stand in front of your wonder and press your fingers into the dreamtime
Do you taste in technicolour fragmented textures, Nebula Alchemist of infinite IS? Is the dream really dreaming you?
Rise up untamed, unfettered, boundless and free
And take your place at the table
Do you come before your own wonder like a child;
Remembering, in fact, into knowing?
Vulca (Performed at Rhapsodies in Red at The Old Market Brighton)
For years you contorted my mind
Disfigured my essence
And I wondered what I could do
To bathe in that sun
But now, Hot burning magma
Spits up from my core
The audacity to summon a soul
From the stars
With all the ferocity
Of Amazon warrior ancestry
Willing to cut off a breast
In better order to fight
With all the fragility of starlings eggs
Woven high into the sky
The spitting hot burning wrath you invoke
And angle the barrel at me
Mars parches gaias thighs
And turns her flanks to incandescent rage
But was it not Freya
That drove the fire chariot across the sky
With the sun?
The true elemental warrior, while Icarus flew too close...
The carelessness to call forth
To participate in a union
With Clytamnestra herself
Whose own tree bloomed
Tirelessly through the seasons
Heavy with fruit and the giving
Weight lodged firmly on her broad back
Untouchable to any man
The carelessness that led me
To seek out so much more of the same
From other wayward wounded warriors.
I couldn't save them
And I couldn't save you.
I hope one day you stand
With the sun warming your face
Feeling the planets
I hope you stand in the ashes
Of your own pain
And are reborn
As I am now
All that remains is to thank you
For the part you played
In calling me here
From the stars,
In sending atoms dancing,
Singing into alignment
That I might be here in this moment
Cataclysmic comets we collided
Ancient harmonies spinning us together
Maybe I wasn't what you were expecting either
But now I realise it was me... Who chose... You.
Shaman (Published on Elephant Journal)
A shaman once told me
I needn’t be afraid of the dark.
He pushes his hands into the damp earth
And sings songs at the moon
While creatures gather around him.
Lately my walls have been blasted away,
An oaky darkness brought screaming
into the light,
My hands covered in earth and deep roots untangling
coiled in my fingers, keep unearthing—
He laughs and calls it medicine.
Dark lumps pulled up now
by my hands in the undergrowth,
Solid shapes, fecund and round;
The shaman brushes the earth from them
And I see that they are fruit.