An Untitled Curiosity

So, this piece has undergone quite the transformation. For the longest time it sat untitled, and I knew that it should have a title. I thought of many. “Red Light District” at its earliest form, then “Battle Dress” and “Duality” were my favorites towards the end… and to be honest, if it were titled based on the uncomfortable conversations I have had with men since its debut, it would sadly be called “Yes, It’s The Artist,” as that seems to always be their burning question. Instead, though, it was left untitled for so long. And I just didn’t realize it’s because it was unfinished.

Initially when I painted her, she was red. I think maybe I was angry then, probably at a lot things. People always talk about art being therapeutic and healing, which it is, but not a lot of people talk about the ugly parts. So much of my art was painted when I was angry, it was a place I could be alone and bitter and not wear a mask of positivity. There were no “happy little accidents” in my studio. Only horrible, awful mistakes that I could aggressively rework until my perfectionism was satisfied. And that sounds so unhealthy to say, but the truth is a lot of times my studio is a rage room for me to express my frustrations and turn them into something beautiful.

And at the beginning when I was painting this piece, I was dealing with a lot of body dysmorphia, and not only was I angry with the person I saw in the mirror, but I was angry with everyone else too. I was angry with the men who dismissed my insecurities because they couldn’t see beyond the curves that appealed to them. I was angry with the women that shrugged me off because they couldn’t see what I saw and therefore it didn’t make sense that I felt the way I did. I was angry with the person I used to be, because she was so unhealthy and so tiny, and it created such unrealistic expectations for what I thought I should look like. I was just so angry, and so the painting was too. And unsurprisingly, I hated her. I tried to rework her, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t see beauty in her. So, for years she sat in a closet, waiting.

Then, 4 years later after a lot of work on myself, I finally pulled her back out of the closet and started again. This time I was happy with the way she looked. At first. I liked her curves, and the softness to her. I even put her in a show, and hung her in my studio, but she was still untitled. And while she was (literally) laid bare for anyone to see, I noticed this lack of comfort creeping in - not only with me but with people seeing her too. Some people were crude to be honest, some were bothered and disturbed, and some were just politely uncomfortable. And I think I was okay with those reactions at first, but then I wasn’t. Maybe just because this is a small town, or a more conservative one, I guess I didn’t realize how poorly a piece like that could be received. Afterall, art and nudity have coexisted since the beginning of time. And yet as I watched people and their reactions, it started to eat at me.

It was frustrating, and unnerving, and admittedly made me incredibly self conscious. So, for a while I hid her again. Behind the door, or a stack of unfinished paintings. Then one day I decided to add a veil. I draped a sheer cloth over her, and at first it was mostly a social experiment that manifested from my frustration. One that I didn’t expect to last long, but I was curious about how she would be received once she was covered. The shift in attention was so interesting to me. People used to actively avoid looking at her. Some wouldn’t even step into the studio, or if they did they would look intently at every piece in the room but avoid her wall entirely. Their discomfort was almost palpable, and for me it was infectious. But the moment the veil was added… that sheer little piece of cloth that hid absolutely nothing, but offered the illusion of modesty, well it was like she became the only piece in the room. People would come and stand in front of her and stare for such a long time. Some would say nothing, others would ask questions. And so many of them just itched to pull back the draping, that curiosity taking hold.

She suddenly became a crowd favorite, and I realized she finally had a title: Modest Curiosity.

Anyway, I guess in conclusion. this piece has gone through quite the journey with me. And I learned a lot about my own perceptions, but also, I learned a lot about others as well. Now when I see this piece, I see the body of mother, someone capable of creating, growing and sustaining life. I see someone with soft curves, that has maybe learned to love her body, even when it’s changed and doesn’t look the way it once did. I see the wholesome and beautiful attributes of this piece, but I also see the other side of it too. I see someone sensual and seductive, a goddess in her own right. More than anything, I see someone that loves herself, that loves all of herself for everything she once was, is now, and is capable of being. And I think it may be too much to hope that others can see all of that in a single, rather simple painting, so if nothing else, I hope this piece makes people curious.