Last night I asked Courtney to take pictures of me. I have been looking in the mirror lately, actually taking to time to look at myself before I hustle the kids out of the door in the morning, and I began realizing that the image I see is different every day. It so often depends on my mood or my self-esteem on that particular morning. Just as frequently, my reflection seems to determine my mood. You know what I am talking about. It is impossible for you to gain 15 pounds in one day, but you and I both had days last week when we swore that was the case. Or, we looked in the mirror and admired that same body, those same curves that we cursed the day before.
The more I noticed these drastic changes from one day to the next, I wanted to see a "real" image of my body. One that was removed. That didn't turn with my own movements as in a mirror, but one that I could post up on the wall like a cover girl. Hence, the pictures.
What I saw when I looked at my body from different angles was the same self image I saw reflected in the mirror. Changing with each shift in perspective, my body seemed to project the self that I felt most connected to at the moment the picture was taken. Now, what does that really mean? What do we see when we look at ourselves in the mirror? In photographs?
Now, let's be real: I have had three babies. I am about 20 pounds heavier than my before-baby weight. I need a hair cut. I AM A PARENT!!! And a wife, and a student, and a latte addict. Self-professed, all the way. That all being said, I don't expect to see Sophia Loren or Iman when I look in the mirror. But looking at those photos, I didn't focus in on my physical imperfections, but rather on the disappointing and inhibited attitude that my face and body displayed.
My sister recently told me that she remembers seeing an art exhibit, painting or sculpture I think, when she was just moving into adolescence, in which the renderings of beautiful women focused on their ample waists and hips. I don't mean curvy like a perfectly smooth curve, I mean curvy like love handles, creases in the skin of their waists, little ripples of fat that accentuated the shape and appeal of their bodies. It was at this moment, when viewing these women who she saw as both beautiful and real, that my sister decided she loved "rolls."
Do you love your rolls? I don't, not every day. Courtney does, every day. More importantly, my body is a part of who I am. By expressing it with confidence, I change the way that I feel about it. I change the way that I am perceived.
Look in the mirror tomorrow and make a conscious decision to LOVE what you see. For yourself and for those around you. We love to see you smile.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
2 comments:
So true true true! I am there, and Bob loves the curves too :) And I also have come to believe Bob when he says that my attitude / confidence affects how I look to other people. Try it. When I'm confident, I just shine, and other people see it, too. Love it. Now I just gotta do it more often :)
When I first took life-drawing classes in my freshman year of college, I was astounded on the impact it had on my perception of bodies- all bodies, mine included. To spend time just looking, and looking, and looking again at a very bony, skinny young woman, and the next day at a really fit, 50 year old man with a pony tail (a retired kindergarten teacher), and then the next at a large, voluptuous woman with many, many rolls, and the next at a short, compact young man, and then next at a slender woman with enormous breasts, and the next at one of the most beautiful, elegant 60 year old woman I've seen, with bright white hair and a body well settled into - not too slender, not too big, but asymmetrical and personal.... Some models have tattoos, some have personal space issues, some fall asleep while we draw them, some clearly enjoy being viewed, some are warm and chatty... And I spent two exhausting hours each session trying to make marks that perfectly described these gorgeous, lyrical, elusive lines of their bodies, or use value to indicate the reflected light bouncing off the platform onto their thigh muscle to create a glowing, living warmth. I began to enjoy every body - although, I must admit, the very skinny woman was much harder to draw than the others. But I began to love everything about these bodies - the skin, the hair, the features on the face, the nooks and curves and dimples and muscles. I was striving to depict their perfection as actual, whole, living beings. And in turn, I began to understand that the variety made them all interesting - and that my body, likewise, had the same features, and the same variety when put up near these bodies. There was great variety, but also unifying sameness - the essence of the human body was present in each one, and that essence was beautiful. Exquisite. Flawed and completely engrossing. Nothing has ever done so much for my self-image as this first year of drawing bodies at age 18. And sure, since then, it's come and go - and I've at times spent more time fixating on my perceived flaws, on changes, on growing rolls or dimples hidden under my jeans or above the waist - "my extra," I call it, as I eat more pastry and the extra becomes more plentiful. But that formative time of glorying in the body had a substantial impact on my concept of my body. On seeing it clearly, for what it is, honestly, now, with compassion and admiration.
Post a Comment