Issue 106 / Dec 2019/Jan 2020

her Nude months. A fan of the late American photographer
Francesca Woodman, who specialised in experimental photos
of herself and other women, Beija’s images are true to her
inspiration. There are lots, all of Beija at this mysterious place
on Bold Street. Taken at different times of the day and night, in
some she’s naked, others wearing underwear. Her mood varies,
too: she’s in distress in one picture, the next peaceful and happy.
Some are natural and stark, others posed and a little contrived.
In one she’s in a bath dyed red with food dye and bath bombs.
A few show her body only, no face. She knew from the get-go,
she says, which images out of the incredible 500 taken were to
be used for the exhibition. From different times of the day, when
newly woken or late at night, and in earlier images she has no
body hair. In ones taken later, armpit and pubic hair is growing
back as her confidence and sense of self makes a return.
She flicks through them and recalls each one with surprising
clarity. It’s not like looking at photos on your phone of a night out
with friends, holiday snaps or shots photographers take of her
at gigs. So what did she think of her body laid out in such a way
when she saw them for the first time? A camera taking a still of
you like this and alone, no audience to pander to or entertain,
how did she feel? It’s difficult to get an answer out of Beija on
this one – I ask her three times. “They’re sad in places and hard to
look at,” she concedes eventually. “I captured how I was feeling.
It was more, ‘This is what we’ve got’. It wasn’t a negative or a
positive.”
She points out one of her laying down with a peaceful
expression on her face, her upper body at ease and content.
There are visible love bites on her neck. “This one is after quite a
nice one night stand. I quite liked him and never heard from him
again.”
You look very girlish there: pink skin, slightly flushed.
“Yeh, it’s partly the lighting. After you’ve had a nice time with
somebody you feel… it looks a little bit like I’m glowing.”
In a remarkably beautiful photograph, Beija somehow
resembles a pre-Raphaelite painting, her hair cascading around her
shoulders in waves. She’s often booked for life modelling precisely
due to that look. Hylas And The Nymphs, the 1896 oil painting by
John William Waterhouse, springs to mind, removed temporarily
and controversially from public view from Manchester Art Gallery
last year, leading to accusations of censorship. The irony being,
if you wish to take the subversive view, it features females
surrounding and luring a young man into the water for their own
pleasures. The nymphs are calling the shots.
Beija’s hair changes in the images as we go through them, in
itself reflecting her state of mind, she reckons. In some she’s cut it,
obviously and dramatically.
“I don’t really get my hair cut often. It’s almost as if I have to cut
something off myself, [so] I’ll cut off my hair. It’s quite cleansing.”
On the plus side, it grows back.
“It grows back newer and stronger, which I like.”
Beija points out exhibition photos she calls “the sunburnt
drunk ones”. “It was on a really hot day,” she says of them,
“and I’d been out with lots of my male friends and I sat there
frustrated, [thinking] ‘Why aren’t I allowed to take my top off and
sit here? Why is it I was allowed to do that when I was six, but
not now I’m a woman. How come boys are allowed to become
men and lots of rules don’t change, especially with how they
present their body?’”
It’s the women should exist in private space only and men
alone own the public arena scenario, as old as time itself. “Being a
woman is challenging.”
Beija goes on to share stories, of being told by men and boys
when she’s not wearing a bra and the male inability to pass a
woman in a crowded space without placing his hands on her
hips, shoulders or back.
“There are people out there who don’t understand personal
space,” she laughs at the ridiculousness of the last example.
Going back to the subject of the
exhibition, I can’t help but wonder if
revisiting such a strange period in her
life is an entirely positive experience?
Most people don’t enjoy dredging up
bad stuff.
“It’s been emotional. It’s like,” she
pauses to take a breath. “Do you ever
feel sorry for your younger self?”
All the bloody time, my dear.
“If only you knew then what you
know now? I felt so horrible for that
period of time and I look back and I’m
so proud of myself for getting to where
I am now. Although I’ve still bloody
miles to go, the universe loves playing
games with me. I get lots of shit
thrown in my garden.”
Do you think woman relate to you,
because of the openness around your vulnerabilities? Women
are restricted by our biology and physical weakness compared
to men. Your limits may be different from most women but the
common bonds remain.
“[With] the openness and honesty of it,” she speculates. “I
don’t think I particularly dress up or glamourise my struggles. I
think a lot of women don’t realise that we all have something to
say. We’ve all had bad experiences and some people think, ‘Oh,
I’m a woman and that’s just the way unfortunately society is’, and
I’m like, ‘Sod that for a bunch of bananas’.
“Some women at first hate me ‘cos they think I’m being really
cocky: ‘Look at this girl, she knows she’s really thin’ and whatever.
Then they watch the show and find out all of these things and I
haven’t had the easiest time. A large amount of the time the way
women dress is for other women. I feel for women that dress for
other women and are so self-conscious that they maybe don’t
wear something they like and feel comfortable in.”
Being part of a group is a human need, though. Everyone
feels that, even outsiders.
“What I mean is, a lot of women feel really under pressure to
act a certain way and look a certain way. When people see what
I do and the confidence and the fact I feel sexy onstage… still
people ask me why I wear leotards, where I get the confidence
running around in the nip. Essentially I have always aimed to
never lose the confidence and the innocence and the freedom of
“Being told that
there was so much
my body can’t do, I
asked myself, ‘What
can my body do?’”
being a four-year-old running around in your knickers around a
paddling pool in the middle of the town park.”
This exhibition explores the relationship between you and
your body, yet you must ultimately feel let down by yours?
“You know, men can shout all they want at me. I don’t have a
vagina. You can’t have sex with me even if you tried. It’d hurt you
a lot more than it would hurt me because it’s essentially shoving
your dick into a brick wall. That’s not going to feel good. I feel in
particular with that side of things, me being told that there was
so much my body can’t do, I’m like, ‘OK, what can my body do?’
You can look but you can’t touch because of my situation.”
Incels – men who think they are entitled to sex and resent
women when they can’t get it – get
very angry. You as a woman can be
hurt in other ways by them.
“Yes,” she nods. “Yes. Been there.”
So you’re aware of your
vulnerabilities?
“Yes, I am. When I’m not at a venue
and travelling to or from I’ve had men
think I’m a prostitute just because
I’m in knee-high boots and a leotard.
That’s a very strange position to be
in but, also, unless we go for it in the
places that are safe then it will never
get to the point where we want it be.”
When planning the photo
session to go with this article, the
first thing she asked herself and the
photographer, Robin Clewley, was,
‘What am I allowed to do?’ Speaking
shortly after the session, she confesses to being “a bit nervous”
on the run up to the day.
But I want to know, how different did it feel, being
photographed by someone else?
“It was obviously different to posing for myself.”
Many photos for the Nudes exhibition were taken by
candlelight, a contrast with the professional lighting draped
across the shoot.
“Because I’m a life model subject so often, I trust people
to get me to position my body in a way that works from their
angle. The paintings and drawings I see of myself are always so
beautiful. That’s how I felt after this shoot.
“Robin made me look like a Renaissance painting. Everyone
should feel like a Renaissance painting.” !
Words: Cath Holland / @cathholland01
Photography: Robin Clewley / robinclewley.co.uk
@iambeijaflo
Inside The Walls: Nudes, Anxieties And Other Content runs at
Output Gallery from 17th January to 2nd February 2020. The
single Nudes is out now via Eggy Records.
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