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Aug. 18th, 2006
I was pretty freaking tired at work on Wednesday, and while on break, I lamented that I'd have to go home and get ready to work again. "Oh, you have another job?" asked one of my co-workers.
"Yes. I model."
When I tell people I model, the reaction is almost always the same: surprise. I guess it's difficult to reconcile the frazzled-looking frizzy-haired chick with the bandage on her nose with something like Tyra Banks or Cindy Crawford. Because high-fashion model is pretty much always the first thought. When people find out I actually strip off and pose for artists, they're often intrigued. "Oh, I could never do that," they might say. Or, "I wish I had the self-confidence to do that." Or, the absolute worst, "I'd do that, but I don't have the body."
As if artists draw the line (snick) at only recording athletic builds. I know that when I draw, I like to have a variety of physiques, ages, and genders to work with. I find beauty in fat people: unexpected cleavages, the soft fold of flesh, the heaviness of breasts lying across a meaty belly. I find beauty in thin people: transluscent skin acting as a slight protective membrane between bones, veins, and air, the sharp angles of scapula, clavicle, and pelvis. I find beauty in people with athletic builds: the long, straight lines of well-muscled thighs, the straining hummocks of biceps and gluteals. And I find beauty in the "ugly": scars with provocative stories, and the coiling stripes of stretch marks.
For a while, when I worked at a shitty retail job, I'd watch people pass by and imagine them dressed up in fabulous clothes. The greying worried-looking woman in the dowdy dirndl was transformed into a goddess by my imagination: sumptuous raw silks and Indian cottons in shades of gold and red, her hair brightened and lengthened, her shoulders rolled back and down, and her posture proud and uplifted. Even without the mental costume change, just the change in posture was enough to make men and women bloom like night jasmine. I see it often enough in dance classes, when someone with years' of slouching and curved-down shoulders suddenly straightens up and stands tall and proud. And I love seeing people see it in themselves when they catch a glimpse of themselves in the mirror. For that split second, there's confusion, then satisfaction.
"Is that me?"
Then "Yes, yes, it is."
-------------
And now for some links....
Dentist Puts Gold Teeth on Pet Cat: This cat looks like the anti-Fang!
Normal Hymenal Configuration: Creepy, creepy discussion thread about JonBenet Ramsey. This whole story is such a trainwreck.
Jasper Tree: The weirdest picture I've seen all day. Involves a Caucasian Mr. T bevy, the colour pink, fortune cookies, and cephalopods. NSFW due to an erection which I almost didn't notice.
Oh yeah. I'm changing a bunch of my user icons, just 'cause.
"Yes. I model."
When I tell people I model, the reaction is almost always the same: surprise. I guess it's difficult to reconcile the frazzled-looking frizzy-haired chick with the bandage on her nose with something like Tyra Banks or Cindy Crawford. Because high-fashion model is pretty much always the first thought. When people find out I actually strip off and pose for artists, they're often intrigued. "Oh, I could never do that," they might say. Or, "I wish I had the self-confidence to do that." Or, the absolute worst, "I'd do that, but I don't have the body."
As if artists draw the line (snick) at only recording athletic builds. I know that when I draw, I like to have a variety of physiques, ages, and genders to work with. I find beauty in fat people: unexpected cleavages, the soft fold of flesh, the heaviness of breasts lying across a meaty belly. I find beauty in thin people: transluscent skin acting as a slight protective membrane between bones, veins, and air, the sharp angles of scapula, clavicle, and pelvis. I find beauty in people with athletic builds: the long, straight lines of well-muscled thighs, the straining hummocks of biceps and gluteals. And I find beauty in the "ugly": scars with provocative stories, and the coiling stripes of stretch marks.
For a while, when I worked at a shitty retail job, I'd watch people pass by and imagine them dressed up in fabulous clothes. The greying worried-looking woman in the dowdy dirndl was transformed into a goddess by my imagination: sumptuous raw silks and Indian cottons in shades of gold and red, her hair brightened and lengthened, her shoulders rolled back and down, and her posture proud and uplifted. Even without the mental costume change, just the change in posture was enough to make men and women bloom like night jasmine. I see it often enough in dance classes, when someone with years' of slouching and curved-down shoulders suddenly straightens up and stands tall and proud. And I love seeing people see it in themselves when they catch a glimpse of themselves in the mirror. For that split second, there's confusion, then satisfaction.
"Is that me?"
Then "Yes, yes, it is."
-------------
And now for some links....
Dentist Puts Gold Teeth on Pet Cat: This cat looks like the anti-Fang!
Normal Hymenal Configuration: Creepy, creepy discussion thread about JonBenet Ramsey. This whole story is such a trainwreck.
Jasper Tree: The weirdest picture I've seen all day. Involves a Caucasian Mr. T bevy, the colour pink, fortune cookies, and cephalopods. NSFW due to an erection which I almost didn't notice.
Oh yeah. I'm changing a bunch of my user icons, just 'cause.
