We. Are. Art.

It's been an amazing week.  Part of this is due to school.  Have I mentioned that I love doing hair?  Because I do.

It's also the week before San Diego Comic Con.  It is the slowest week of the year, every year.  I try not to get too excited over it, but once the scheduling goes up, its no use trying to play it cool.  We leave the day after tomorrow, and while there is a lot to get done, I am so ready to pack up and leave for the ocean, the art, the friends, the new books, and the fangirl moments where I run into my idols dressed as a little boy with antlers.

Also, this week, I worked for the first time as a live model for a life drawing class.  In other words, I posed onstage under a bright light while perfect strangers drew (or painted, or whatever) me.   I was completely nude, and it was not only fun (I kind of assumed it would be), it was also the most liberating thing that I have ever done.

I've made it pretty obvious, especially in the past year or so, that I have a lot of body image issues.  I have always looked up to the women who could bare it all for the sake of art, no matter what size.  Actually, I respected the women more, the more they had to bare.  The bigger the person, the older, the more scarred, the more they had that was conventionally unacceptable, the higher I held them in my mind.  Yes, it is judging someone by the way they look.  I'm not saying it's right.  I'm not saying that the conventionally gorgeous women who modeled were not as brave or nervous or anything like that.  But this is my blog, and I have to be honest, especially about the things I am wrong about and not proud of.  Changing history to avoid blame is one of the most dangerous things on the planet.  The Egyptians had it right.  But then again, do we really know that? 

I digress.

The idea of being naked in front of other people, it's the stuff recurring nightmares are made of.  Granted, it is Arizona, and I am usually in my underwear the entire summer, but that is at home with my daughter and husband.  They have gotten used to me sitting at the dinner table in nothing but my panties, and they know they are also welcome to follow suit.  It's over 100 degrees outside.  The doors and windows are closed.  Home is safe.  Being nude in front of strangers gave me the vulnerability to be judged by people I didn't trust, people I couldn't explain my scars to, people that could go home and call me chubby or an exhibitionist whore who gets off on the whole thing.  Slut-shaming, not even, the PROSPECT of slut-shaming, in my own fucking head.  How dare I assume.

As much as I love being naked, I don't know if I could have done it a year ago. 

I came across the opportunity, originally, on facebook.  I was offered a single-pose modeling job last winter, posing in costume for three hours at a local bar.  They have a program called Anti-Art school that recruits interesting people, usually in costume, to model for them.  Local artists show up, pay their fee, and they can sit, talk, sip cocktails, and do what they love.  It was very hard to hold to a pose for three hours, even with the breaks.  Everyone there was very supportive, and I learned a lot about my own body, particularly my back.  Holy shit.  But I liked being a part of art, since I can't draw or paint, and I consider myself a performance artist more than anything else, I felt like I was doing my part.  I thought briefly about applying at different art schools for more modeling jobs, even the ones where I was nude, for extra money.

But I didn't.  I got busy.  I had a job.  I worked a lot.  I started school.  I began my battle to love my body.

Then I quit my job.  I held onto it for far too long, and life eventually pushed me out of the cafe.  That week, I attended the Phoenix Comic Con (which was incredible, even with the insanity of cell phone service and fire alarms), where a Scottsdale art studio had a space set up for patrons to sit down and try their hand at drawing a live costumed model at the con.  The woman in charge was so sweet, and while we talked, I mentioned that I had modeled before and that I would be interested in doing it again. She got my email address, and that was it.

Surprisingly, she emailed me.  Most of the time, people don't follow through with promises at conventions.  It's not their fault.  Cons are hectic, and you meet hundreds of people and get more emails and phone numbers than you could possibly keep up with. Long story short, I was scheduled to show up at 4:00 this past Wednesday, prepared with a robe and my self-esteem.  So I did.  And once the timer started, I dropped the robe and started the two-minute gesture poses.  And my belly, my legs, my small, low breasts, my nose, all of the things I had HATED about my body for so long,  they were mine to twist, turn, contort, and control, all of the sake of helping out fellow artists.  They weren't there to judge.  They were there to do what they do.  It could have been any person up there, and it just happened to be me.  And once I started the twenty-minute poses, I got to peek at the art on my breaks.  And it was beautiful.  They all drew my belly rolls and my big thighs and my stern brow and big nose.  They didn't ignore it or change it to make it smaller a la Photoshop.  It was all there, staring back at me, on giant pads of paper held to wooden benches.  All of these people had seen everything I had.  And they made it art.  I was now suddenly the person I had looked up to for years for baring herself to a room of strangers, both confident and selfless.  I was not a goddess, nor was I a whore.  I was a human being in a body, and that body was used to make something that I found beautiful. 

When it was over, I got dressed, said goodbye to everyone I had met, and they told me I had done a great job holding my poses.  And I appreciated it.  And I will do it again.  I sang the whole way home. 

It's been a few days, and I still catch myself smiling and laughing at myself because I did get so nervous and make a big deal of it in my head.  I also smile because of how it made me look at myself, and how I haven't felt that waver yet.  I'm sure it will.  But right now, this belly is still pretty artistic. And I will continue with my quest to love it and take care of it and respect it and keep it clean and healthy. Obviously, this is not the end of my journey; that would be a little too easy.  I want other people to experience this. 

And, no, I'm not telling you to go stand naked in front of strangers.  It's not for everyone, I don't think.  Some people are not comfortable being nude, and it's a common fear.  For me, it worked.  And I think the reason that it worked is because I have always found the human body and art of all kinds depicting the body something that I found amazing and wonderful.  So my advice for you is this.  Find something that YOU find amazing and wonderful.  And be that.  If you find lingerie photography beautiful, then find a trustworthy photographer, pull out your favorite stockings, and have a photo shoot. Do something that puts you, "flaws" and all, in the middle of something that you have always admired.  Drop the fear, drop your proverbial robe, and get really uncomfortable for a few minutes.  Hold as still as you can, feel the eyes on you, and take it all in.  Count to 60 as many times as you can until you forget how much time has passed ,and get lost in your mind.  Then look at the result, fall in love with it, and surprise yourself.  Because I am beautiful.  Maybe not to a lot of society, and maybe not to myself for the past thirty years, but I am.  And we all are. Skinny women, fat women, chubby in-between women.  And men.  And everyone.  We are all somebody to look up to.  We are all art.


As I end this entry, I would just like to thank the people who I have found so inspiring so far in this body positive revolution.  They have never met me in person, but they have done things for me that no one else has.  If you follow milkyrobot, honorcurves, or tessmunster on instagram, you know that they are some of the most beautiful women (inside and outside), that are huge supporters of people of all sizes saying FUCK YOU to the beauty standard.  They are also on Twitter, Facebook, and you can follow their blogs.  I can't tell you how many times I would squeeze my belly in the mirror, feel bad, then get onto my phone to feel supported by other human beings that have struggled with the same feelings.  I also want to thank all of my "real-life" friends, who are always there for me.  And my husband, who loves me at any size.  And my daughter who would, in a perfect world, never have to worry about being an ideal size or face or being called a bad name for her appearance.  May she and her friends inspire other young girls to love themselves and start a revolution of their own.

Until next time, be respectful, be responsible, and take care of one another.