Thursday, February 24, 2011

Unintentional Landscape

Will the artist’s rendering cast me in a memorable light?
Will the curve of my hips frame fond memories
of past escapades in the nearby foothills?

Perhaps an internal diary of forbidden fruit
will be uncovered by a passing glance
at my simple brown breasts.

Might my ample backside
create an imaginary menagerie
of coveted and undiscovered love?

Or, will the masses simply bare witness
to the weight and marks of
Gravity and Motherhood?

© Copyright 2009 Camille Gray. All rights reserved.

I have often thought of posing partially or completely nude for a charcoal sketch or a black and white photograph. I want to see myself through the eyes or lens of an artist. This intimate act of vulnerability seems to call out to me with greater frequency. Why my sensibilities don’t call me to the nearest portrait studio for a standard package of color photos is beyond me.

One day soon I will stand before a chosen artist and bare my soul to their rendition of me. Will they be merciful, or hold me under the light of my own self consciousness and criticism? Will I need to dull my senses with my favorite adult beverage (whiskey sour) to pull off this contribution to my personal art collection? Will my love for myself and others reach a new level for having given myself over to such exposure?

If I am to remain true to the Art, I must submit to the artist’s interpretation of my body as well as the subsequent opinions of those with whom I choose to share the finished product. Only those sharing a vested and intimate connection with me will attend my viewing. My portrait is not for those given to prudish or unenlightened tendencies. It is reserved for those who truly know me, and understand the artistic pathology behind this undertaking. The spirit of their sentiment will be the invisible fixture anchoring my portrait to its sacred space in my home.

I can only imagine the improved condition of this precarious universe if each of us were to be more selectively vulnerable. I endeavor to love and to be loved; this act of artistic surrender is but another impassioned requisite of my life’s journey.