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When I write about Natalia this is how I picture her. She's charming and happy and full of personality. ( Just like my granddaughter.)
I visualize what every one of my characters look like--from the color of their hair, to the way they walk, from their fingernails to the lobes on their ears. I like to know their birth dates and if they're right-handed. So look out. I may have your photo here some day as one of my characters. I'll make up all sorts of crazy things about you and most will be untrue. (Photo courtesy of Cynthia BeMent)
Below is a story that won a contest in The Writer's Digest:
Wednesday’s Exposure
When I first told my family about how I’d spent my Wednesday evenings for the last six months, they didn’t believe me. After all, I didn’t fit the typical nude model persona. At 70, I didn’t have perky breasts or taut skin. But I told them, “There is beauty in the aging body, too. Modeling nude isn’t about sex, it’s about capturing the soul within the human body and revealing it an artistic way.” The challenge for Dr. Henry’s art class was to show the beauty of my aging form.
After my husband, Robert, died of a sudden heart attack three years ago, my life felt empty. I didn’t feel like I belonged to our couple’s bridge, cooking, or travel clubs without him. For months I floundered, not knowing where I belonged. I roamed the halls of our home asking, “What now?” I’d find myself absorbed in drawing Robert from memory only to laugh at how my drawing looked more like a stranger than him. He’d always encouraged me to take up my art again. Maybe it’s time. I’d given it up years ago to raise our family, but when I saw a drawing class offered at Oakland Community College a few miles away, I decided to enroll. That’s when I met Dr. Henry, the director of the art department.
Dr. Henry encouraged all his students, including me. He challenged me and opened my eyes to see art in all objects. Before long I couldn’t look at any object without thinking about its form, shadows, and creative significance. Simple objects like chairs, tables, and mirrors became living things and before long I dreamt of them coming to life. In the beginning, I drew still lifes with pencil, progressed to charcoals, and then water colors. Then a year ago I began painting nudes. Six months later Dr. Henry approached me about being a model.
He said, “Mrs. Parker, now that you’ve drawn nudes for several months, I know you understand and appreciate the complexity of this type of art. It’s difficult to find mature models with your beauty who are willing to endure sitting for my students. Would you consider modeling for my Wednesday evening students?”
Blushing, I looked away and said, “I’ll have to think about it.”
“If you’d feel more comfortable we could drape you.”
“How long would I have to sit?”
“We’d start out at half an hour intervals and work up to hour sessions when you’re ready.”
I couldn’t believe my ears when I heard myself say, “I think I’d like to do that for your students, Dr. Henry.” After all, he’d given me hours of his time and expertise and I felt like this would be a way of giving back.”
Since then, 30 students had spent hours in the classroom trying to capture the soul beneath my aging beauty. They’d been complimentary and respectful. Even though I found confidence and acceptance in them, I worried that my family wouldn’t feel the same way.
As I looked at their faces I knew they were shocked, but I had to finish my story before they heard the rest from someone else. Unfortunately, when this all began I never thought about the possible consequences. Hoping for the best, I shut my eyes and whispered, “And that’s how I ended up on display in the downtown art exhibit.”
