A hooper comes to call

Last week I had the wonderful opportunity to photograph a new model.  This is a young woman I met through Larkin at James River Tile and Stone Art when she had my artwork there.  Rachel Marie is newly out of school and exceedingly talented!  She volunteered to model for me and wanted to hoop while being photographed.  I'd never had a model do the hula hoop while I was photographing her so I figured I'd give it a try!  Many of the photos were blurry, but some were terrific!  Especially our second round of pictures when I put a strong light on one side.  It made the pictures significantly more interesting.

It was fun watching Rachel manipulate the hula hoop all around her body.  She made it look so simple and easy. It looks like a great exercise to keep limber.  My back has been stiffening up lately, so I'm thinking I should learn to do this so I can loosen it up.

Here's what Rachel wrote on her blog about her experience (notice how beautiful her writing is!):

The call.

I’d like to flatter myself and tell you that I was asked to do this.  The truth is that when I first saw Susan’s paintings hung in the gallery, I was mesmerized.  I spent a long time gazing at them and reading all of the stories written by the models.  Maybe it was all the wine, but I couldn’t help but fall in love with every single woman I saw. 

Each had a story to tell but one of the things they all seemed to have in common was that they did this in recognition of their own pain.  We live in a high pressure society that imposes standards on our own bodies, and places borders on beauty.  Most of us grew up believing these lies and whether we have grown to understand it or not, it affects the way we see ourselves and it affects the way we see others. The stress.  The self loathing.  The insecurity.  I couldn’t help but feel like I was looking at myself.  I could feel their pain. 

It wasn’t until I saw the rather large woman in “Beauty with a Veil” that it became too personal to ignore.  Her stretch marks, her folds, her sagging parts.  That woman owned up to her body.  She posed,  and Susan found elegance in her form that most of us would have overlooked because of the way we have been taught to think.  I was not only seeing myself, I was seeing my mother.  That was when I approached Susan about photographing me naked. 

The motivation. 

The last few years have marked the span of an important metamorphosis.  Before I moved to Richmond, I was living my life for other people.  I went to the Christian university my mother wanted me to attend. I let my boyfriend cut off my hair and convince me to start straightening it.  I had a job that was paying me $7.50 an hour with a 45 minute commute.  I was underpaid, oversexed, miserable, and being told that I was a sinner. 

Masochistic behavior, abusive relationships, and confusion had piled up on me.  My body was no longer my own.  I fed it to the wolves, willingly. 

When I moved to Richmond, I made a hard choice.  I promised myself I’d stop living my life for everybody else.  I am here in this body now, and it belongs to me.  I am still learning what that means. 

This is part of my process.

It is so moving to me to understand people's motivation for posing for me.  And so glad I've been called to do this work.  It is powerful stuff.

Preparing to go out for dinner - should I care how I look? Can I NOT care?

Last night Larkin Garbee, co-owner of James River Tile and Stone Art here in Richmond, hosted a five course Valentine's Weekend Dinner to celebrate the exhibition of my paintings which she is holding at her establishment through March 13.  It couldn't have been more wonderful.  She and her staff did a fantastic job displaying the artwork.  The dinner was delicious.  Each course was paired with a different wine.  Then at the end of the evening there was a raffle.  Four people won the centerpiece from the table, a beautiful candleholder carved out of rugged walnut.  Then the last person won a $1000 commission from me.  I'm very excited about the woman who won - she and her husband have two small children (10 months and 3 years, I think she said), and she'd like to have a picture the kids can feel comfortable with as they grow older.  They're very comfortable with nudity now, and the mom is hoping they'll continue to be so as they get older.  Seeing an image of their mom throughout their lives would only, I would think, increase the dailiness and normalcy of it.  I love her thoughts on it and look forward to painting her!

The Preparations : }
I had to laugh at myself as I was getting ready for the dinner.  I felt very excited about it because I would get to meet a lot of people who are interested in my work, and I didn't have a clue how it would be.  Around 5:00 I pried myself away from the work we were doing stretching a canvas because I knew I would need some time to get ready.  It seemed important to look nice.

Therein lies the irony, right?!  Here I am espousing that women are gorgeous simply because they exist, and I start to get all worried about how I look:

* I need a haircut - my very excellent haircut of 3 months ago is no longer so chic and tidy.
* I hadn't shaved my legs in a month or more - winter takes away that incentive - I was thinking I'd wait til shorts weather, but I figured I'd need to wear stockings, and you never know who'll look/care/notice/judge.
* I considered that I might put on makeup - which for me, at the most, consists of lipstick - which Chris hates because he doesn't like getting it on him - it feels so unnatural to kiss my coated lips too.
* I planned to wear my snazzy red dress which makes me feel brilliantly gorgeous along with a fabulous peacock shawl which a dear friend of mine gave me.  I put on the dress - no problem - then flung the shawl around me.  I tried it this way and that, pulled it over my shoulders and held it in one hand.  Put half of it over my shoulder with the other half hanging down.  Tried it on like I meant it.  Chris looked at me and laughed (in a friendly manner) and told me I am just not the type of woman who can wear a shawl like that - I don't have the right panache.  I don't stride and strut quite right.  I love it when women wear shawls well, but I think he may be right.  I myself am not quite able to pull it off.  So that left me needing to stay warm in a sleeveless dress in mid-February.  I rummaged through my closet with increasing concern that I wouldn't find a thing.  I tried on silk overblouses, but my artist's eye just wouldn't let me wear pink with red or orange with red, and the purple one wasn't the right style.  All the while I was aware of time ticking away.  Finally I chose a mustard colored loose jacket I wore for my opening at October and hoped no one would know it was a tried and true outfit.

All the while, I was thinking about the utter absurdity of worrying about how I look when that's my whole message!

Chris, too, was working hard to look just right.  He wanted to know what color shirt he should wear.  Maroon.  And pants?  Grey.  "Should I really wear grey khakis?  Are they fancy enough?  Should I wear these?"  I replied, "Sounds like you don't think you should wear the grey khakis."  Finally he came to terms with wearing the grey khakis.  Then I noticed that the back pocket was almost worn through, so he had to change them anyway.  Back to the drawing board.

We laughed at our efforts and how different they are from how we normally dress - my standard dress these days is painting pants, a turtleneck, and a sweatshirt.  Some days I'll put on something else if I'm going out first, but usually I'll even go to the store or to teach or to meetings dressed like that.  My social engagements are fairly limited these days to places where being dressed like an artist works.

Chris finally decided on nice slacks, a maroon shirt, maroon and grey tie, black shoes, and a sports coat that almost matched.  I wore my red dress, panty hose, a mustard colored loose jacket, and red shoes with no heels (nothing will get me to wear heels - I had plantar fasciatis (sp?) a few years ago, and heels hurt my foot within moments of putting them on.)

Chris watched me put on the panty hose - it may have been the first time he'd seen me do so.  He asked if all women go through this.  I told him I guess I put them on like anyone else does - gather up the leg all the way to the toe, slip them over the toe then pull them up to the knee.  Do the same on the other foot. Then stand up and grimace broadly while trying to get them up to the waist without creating a run.  Shimmy and squirm and pull and grunt while trying to get each leg even.  Reach inside them to pull up underpants.  Pull up each leg separately to get them up to crotch level so you don't experience a wedgy the entire evening.  Pull up on each leg gently yet firmly so there are no sags or bags without causing a run.  Hope you don't have to pee until you get home again and can get out of the things.

Chris asked why women don't wear stockings like they used to.  I explained about garter belts but then remembered that I used to wear thigh highs when I had to wear anything, and they were a much more comfortable solution, unless they'd lost their elastic and tended to fall down around my ankles while I was carrying a kid from the car to the store or wherever.

Should I care more how I look?
I don't know - I guess I have to recognize that I am simply not equipped to be a fashionista.  I just don't have it in me to care about the right color panty hose for the season or the right shade of lipstick.  Actually, I felt very fashionable (in a sneaky kind of way) over Christmas when my nieces sneered at the idea of wearing lipstick and said no one did that anymore - gross!  Perhaps I'm actually leading fashion trends instead of just being oblivious to and disdainful of them!

Seriously, though, I never have followed fashion trends.  My mother always looks terrific.  She's a snazzy dresser, matching her ensemble and jewelry and other accessories beautifully.  She has a real flair for looking terrific.  But I have never heard her mutter about how she looks or whether something she's wearing is in fashion or whatever.  She dresses without fuss, as far as I know, and looks good.  I don't think she's ever bought a Vogue magazine or anything like that.  So I grew up not really knowing that women worry about how they dress (thank goodness!).  At my high school,  we wore uniforms, so at the time I might have become aware of dress, I didn't.  I'm thankful for that.  My high school was full of very wealthy people who, I'm sure, had wardrobes far more extensive than mine and who probably didn't shop at Sears and JC Penny.  If I had been aware of their wardrobes and had felt a need to compete with them, I think I would have felt quite inadequate.  That could have been painful.  Instead, I put on my black watch kilt, regulation white oxford shirt, blue cardigan, blue knee socks, blue shoes, and camel's hair coat and went out the door to have a great time learning! 

I pay attention to what I wear when I go out, and I like to look nice, but I am blessed with a husband who thinks I am the most beautiful woman on earth no matter what I wear, but he especially likes it when I'm in jeans and a T-shirt, so I don't worry about dressing for him.  The times I get most concerned about how I look are when I'm going out with other women.  I think that's true for most women - we assume our women friends will notice what we're wearing and how we look and may even comment on it.

I think actually, that most of our anxiety about how we look comes from worry about the judgments of other women.  How sad.

How about if we stop talking about looks altogether?
I have an acquaintance who recently had a baby.  She has asked people to NOT comment on how the baby looks - don't tell her she's pretty or cute or any of those other endearments which come so naturally.  I was put off by that at first because I felt stymied - that's what came flowing out of my mouth naturally.  What else was I supposed to say?  But she has really helped me become aware of just how ingrained it is in our society, or at least in me, to comment on a baby's looks - and, of course, it doesn't stop with infants.

What if we stopped commenting on how people look?  What would happen if we began, instead, to comment on their brilliant thoughts?  or their wonderful ideas?  or their courageous actions? or their feelings?  or sensitive thoughts?  I wonder if we would focus on those positives how long it would take to shift things from an outer to an inner focus?

If you're up for it, try it for a few days, and let me know how it feels!  I'm very curious to see what's possible if we give up our worries about our physical selves and focus on our interiors instead...