PROS-PER-IT-Y:
The prose of human beauty and sweet, ripe nature, perfectly balanced.
It is big as one of everything in creation, and as personal as your own paradise.
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Nude Modeling for Sport
Valentines Day: I hope everyone is tangled in Eros! Be it wicked, be it creative, or just plain strange...
I sometimes model nude for artists. Rarely have I felt more than a smudge of discomfort about this, through the initial moment of naked revelation to the part where my bits and pieces sometimes are seen by folks I hope not to see again. I do enjoy it. I meditate during poses and face those mean spiritual challenges I otherwise try not to think about. But as of tonight, something has changed. I have re-titled it:
Nude Modeling for Sport.
That takes some of the inspired woman standing cold in a shell image down to earth with a thud, doesn't it? Why would someone stand naked....for sport? What kind of reward is in that? You can't mount your rivals pretty head on a wall, and I'm pretty sure no one is keeping score in a black book, so why? I guess realizing that the day will come when my golden brown hair is the color of dirty snow and my plump buttocks hits a floppy angle toward my ankles (and that is really hoping from what I've heard) I want to tell my Grandbrats all the adventures Granbitchy had when she was young and free. And the extra money now doesn't hurt either.
The artist who hired me for tonights session au deux was on the "friendly" side to begin with, but two unmentionable expletives more than my intuitive and "professional" self were comfortable with. Before you say "Well why did you model on Valentines for the friendly artist in the first place?" I would like you to imagine yourself as someone who has been paid for the promotion of artistic merit: a worthy job! But how would you feel if you were naked in this near strangers living room on Valentines evening, and he says he wants to "draw and also, talk with you, get to know you"? Err, get to know me while you pretend to sketch the perfect circumference of my areola? Please. And so he goes on to discuss his spirituality in lofty tones, while the three wicked candle placed on the green carpet rolls it's flames as if to say "COULD ONE OF YOU SAVE ME FROM THIS CLICHE AND BLOW ME OUT? NOW?". I don't blame it. I too quickly think of ways to direct the conversation to superficial topics. I am sitting naked, and a near stranger I am not fond of in a close way is talking about God and what they perceive about Spirit. Sounds like good fodder for the true friendship of Danielle Steele and Deepak Chopra. In this reality though, I am uncomfortable, vulnerable, stripped of any layer of man made defense to say anything contrary or sarcastic, or even of the desire to. Try it sometime! It is amazingly awkward! He offers a glass of wine. No thank you. Do you need a break. Nope just keep drawing buddy. His XM Radio is set to Spiritual Hodgepoge or whatever it is, and oh goody, my favorite song from the musician Secret Garden comes on. This puts me back in my element now. I am relaxed in my non-relaxed Art Model pose. Yes the blood in my left arm is somewhere else in my body, my right foot is a light shade of eggplant and tingles in the way that happens after you've sat on the toilet for too long. But I am in my Art Model groove, I am the vessel for this artists' inspiration. That is, until he stops, puts down his pad of paper, and says tenderly, if not a bit wistfully, if not a bit sexually,
"What do you think is the purpose of life?"
Well Compadre, currently my purpose is to sit my naked bottom on your couch so you can make some good art is what I should have said, but being in this vulnerable state, I respond with a meek "to enjoy?". " Ah, good answer!" he says before starting on his version of What We Are About. This is no longer modeling! This is Nude Existential Discussion time! He says, "Wow, this has really got me thinking on both sides of the brain". I say, "Oh, I don't have any thoughts going through either side of mine!".
I climb the utility ladder he has propped up to make for an interesting angle and cover it with a heavy white sheet. Now I am four feet up in the air, and in case I forgot to mention, nude.
He says philosophically, "Instead of paying you x amount per hour, plus x per photo I shoot, why don't I pay you a flat x amount per hour? Is that ok?" Well no, it's not! We had already discussed hourly pay, plus each photo snapped of poses! I feel more under dressed than I ever have in my whole time of undressing. Because that comes out to me not making much of my time for my boobs and whatnot on display like juicy slices of Christmas ham. And yet, I say "ok" anyway. His horny little eyes smile, happy with the bargain he's getting. Ohh, I regret taking him up at what I now sense to be a low figure throw. I am nervously eying all the hidden corners of the room, thinking about my linty pajamas at home or even of wearing a sequin mini dress in Miami with uneasy regret that neither of those are in my immediate options. He is talking away like he's narrating a book, and I am four feet in the air, quite chilly now, and thinking about money. Well, prior to this eventful eve I thought I was more spiritually minded about such matters, you know, goodwill to all and the Lord endows us with what is rightfully ours...But a sudden insight arises; I realize I am not to fork over my power in this. For the sake of womankind I am a stark naked lady lounging on a ladder! Looking down, I up his low price from the third rung. He cannot refuse. And...dare I say I detect a slight glint of pleasure in his eye? I feel righteous, like no one literally put on a pedestal should allow undervalue. This is a primitive power play, yes, but oh so appropriate on a night when Cupid recklessly shoots lust to all.
Our bargain has somehow lightened the air. Our two hours have flown by in a hundred thoughts. And it is definitely time to put my clothes back on and go home.
I sometimes model nude for artists. Rarely have I felt more than a smudge of discomfort about this, through the initial moment of naked revelation to the part where my bits and pieces sometimes are seen by folks I hope not to see again. I do enjoy it. I meditate during poses and face those mean spiritual challenges I otherwise try not to think about. But as of tonight, something has changed. I have re-titled it:
Nude Modeling for Sport.
That takes some of the inspired woman standing cold in a shell image down to earth with a thud, doesn't it? Why would someone stand naked....for sport? What kind of reward is in that? You can't mount your rivals pretty head on a wall, and I'm pretty sure no one is keeping score in a black book, so why? I guess realizing that the day will come when my golden brown hair is the color of dirty snow and my plump buttocks hits a floppy angle toward my ankles (and that is really hoping from what I've heard) I want to tell my Grandbrats all the adventures Granbitchy had when she was young and free. And the extra money now doesn't hurt either.
The artist who hired me for tonights session au deux was on the "friendly" side to begin with, but two unmentionable expletives more than my intuitive and "professional" self were comfortable with. Before you say "Well why did you model on Valentines for the friendly artist in the first place?" I would like you to imagine yourself as someone who has been paid for the promotion of artistic merit: a worthy job! But how would you feel if you were naked in this near strangers living room on Valentines evening, and he says he wants to "draw and also, talk with you, get to know you"? Err, get to know me while you pretend to sketch the perfect circumference of my areola? Please. And so he goes on to discuss his spirituality in lofty tones, while the three wicked candle placed on the green carpet rolls it's flames as if to say "COULD ONE OF YOU SAVE ME FROM THIS CLICHE AND BLOW ME OUT? NOW?". I don't blame it. I too quickly think of ways to direct the conversation to superficial topics. I am sitting naked, and a near stranger I am not fond of in a close way is talking about God and what they perceive about Spirit. Sounds like good fodder for the true friendship of Danielle Steele and Deepak Chopra. In this reality though, I am uncomfortable, vulnerable, stripped of any layer of man made defense to say anything contrary or sarcastic, or even of the desire to. Try it sometime! It is amazingly awkward! He offers a glass of wine. No thank you. Do you need a break. Nope just keep drawing buddy. His XM Radio is set to Spiritual Hodgepoge or whatever it is, and oh goody, my favorite song from the musician Secret Garden comes on. This puts me back in my element now. I am relaxed in my non-relaxed Art Model pose. Yes the blood in my left arm is somewhere else in my body, my right foot is a light shade of eggplant and tingles in the way that happens after you've sat on the toilet for too long. But I am in my Art Model groove, I am the vessel for this artists' inspiration. That is, until he stops, puts down his pad of paper, and says tenderly, if not a bit wistfully, if not a bit sexually,
"What do you think is the purpose of life?"
Well Compadre, currently my purpose is to sit my naked bottom on your couch so you can make some good art is what I should have said, but being in this vulnerable state, I respond with a meek "to enjoy?". " Ah, good answer!" he says before starting on his version of What We Are About. This is no longer modeling! This is Nude Existential Discussion time! He says, "Wow, this has really got me thinking on both sides of the brain". I say, "Oh, I don't have any thoughts going through either side of mine!".
I climb the utility ladder he has propped up to make for an interesting angle and cover it with a heavy white sheet. Now I am four feet up in the air, and in case I forgot to mention, nude.
He says philosophically, "Instead of paying you x amount per hour, plus x per photo I shoot, why don't I pay you a flat x amount per hour? Is that ok?" Well no, it's not! We had already discussed hourly pay, plus each photo snapped of poses! I feel more under dressed than I ever have in my whole time of undressing. Because that comes out to me not making much of my time for my boobs and whatnot on display like juicy slices of Christmas ham. And yet, I say "ok" anyway. His horny little eyes smile, happy with the bargain he's getting. Ohh, I regret taking him up at what I now sense to be a low figure throw. I am nervously eying all the hidden corners of the room, thinking about my linty pajamas at home or even of wearing a sequin mini dress in Miami with uneasy regret that neither of those are in my immediate options. He is talking away like he's narrating a book, and I am four feet in the air, quite chilly now, and thinking about money. Well, prior to this eventful eve I thought I was more spiritually minded about such matters, you know, goodwill to all and the Lord endows us with what is rightfully ours...But a sudden insight arises; I realize I am not to fork over my power in this. For the sake of womankind I am a stark naked lady lounging on a ladder! Looking down, I up his low price from the third rung. He cannot refuse. And...dare I say I detect a slight glint of pleasure in his eye? I feel righteous, like no one literally put on a pedestal should allow undervalue. This is a primitive power play, yes, but oh so appropriate on a night when Cupid recklessly shoots lust to all.
Our bargain has somehow lightened the air. Our two hours have flown by in a hundred thoughts. And it is definitely time to put my clothes back on and go home.
Sunday, February 10, 2008
Balls are very sensitive, it turns out.
In truth, beginning something (anything!) requires you to just do it. Extra amounts of thought almost guarantees the story or adventure stay another unwritten or another unlived version of could've, would've, should've. Perhaps a bit of thought just to be polite is kind, but like with sugar for your tea, keep it to two lumps. Now that you know my nervous thought before writing this, you should also know sharing anything I've written is scarier to me than being covered by gummyworms. Not that it is a terribly, life alteringly, my-trust-in-nature-will-never-be-the-same event, but the associated feeling I imagine would be creepy nonetheless. I always thought shy people were just writers waiting to happen, but it takes alot of balls to expose yourself.
Balls are very sensitive, it turns out.
Untill next time,
Jessica
Balls are very sensitive, it turns out.
Untill next time,
Jessica
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