In 1982 the artist Claudette Johnson was creating a portrait for her degree show at Wolverhampton Polytechnic. The woman she asked to model for her, dressed all in black, ‘put her hands behind her head and planted her feet wide – a position of supreme confidence.’ 

In 1986, now based in London, Johnson asked two other women to adopt poses that reflected who they were. One, wearing jeans and a plain blue sweatshirt, held her head slightly to one side and clasped her hands in front of her. She looked somewhat shy and reserved. The third model, in sharp red trousers and a white shirt, sleeves rolled to her elbows, put her hands on her hips and regarded the artist with a stern, perhaps suspicious, stare. 

The three large portraits were presented together in the piece Trilogy at a recent show at the Courtauld Gallery in London. (Now finished, I’m afraid. But you can still buy the excellent accompanying text: 'Claudette Johnson. Presence'.) They prompt us to consider the ways character and identity can be communicated through posture, bearing and disposition.

Born in Manchester in 1959, Johnson was a founder member of the BLK Art Group. She set out to ‘challenge the marginalisation of Black women’: their absence from art galleries, the passivity and sexualisation of their image when it did appear. She sought to present ‘women who were comfortable in their skin and who exuded an unselfconscious autonomy.’

‘I wanted to look at how women occupy space.’

A young woman at a blues dance keeps her eyes down, concentrating on the rhythm, lost in her own private reverie. Another with short hair confronts us with folded arms, resolutely silent. A lady in a headscarf reclines on a couch, her head resting on her arms, totally at peace. 

These are tender, intimate, respectful portraits. They have their own quiet authority.

More recently Johnson has turned her attention to Black men. A young lad in a tee shirt seems awkward, eager to get away. A chap in a vest with a necklace lies on a bench, looking past us with a wistful gaze.

Johnson works some parts of her paper with intense detail and leaves others to spare lines and strong colours: ‘solid areas of emptiness, making the absence as significant as what is present.’

On visiting the exhibition, I reflected on the many varied ways people present themselves in the world of work. Without perhaps thinking too much about it, through our posture and disposition, we can suggest apathy or aloofness, scepticism or enthusiasm. We can imply strength or weakness, confidence or vulnerability. Our demeanour can draw people in, or push them away.

Perhaps it’s worth considering the signals we’re sending out - as we enter a room, as the meeting gathers, before we even speak. Because our bodies have a language all of their own.

It’s not about adopting the ‘power stance’ beloved of politicians. But rather being conscious of who are and what we’re communicating. Johnson herself encourages creative people to find a mid-point between determination and doubt.

‘I think that as artists we tread a strange path balanced between taking pleasure in what we do and being critical of what we do…Without sufficient self-questioning the work can become self-congratulatory. Without sufficient love, the work cannot come into existence at all.’

'The first time ever I saw your face,
I thought the sun rose in your eyes,
And the moon and the stars were the gifts you gave,
To the dark and the endless skies, my love.
And the first time ever I kissed your mouth,
I felt the earth move in my hand,
Like the trembling heart of a captive bird,
That was there at my command, my love.'

Roberta Flack, 'The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face'

No. 460