I am blessed with good friends, great friends. At the risk of sounding like Donald Trump, I have the best friends, and I love them dearly. I even love them enough to occasionally step outside my comfort zone – like yesterday.
One of my friends is a superb artist, a sculptress who makes the most amazing bronze pieces that capture fleeting moments in time. When I wrote my children’s story, The Letter From Santa, she created fabulous illustrations that bring the story to life, and make it so much more than it was on it’s own. She also teaches, and runs an Art class on a Thursday morning; and she needed a life model.d
Now before your imagination runs riot – this was a clothes on gig, but even so, it’s still daunting being in a position where you have a load of people studying your physical form and then interpreting this on paper, in front of you. It’s not like I’ve been anywhere near a gym lately, but I suppose, on the plus side (plus size?) there is plenty of me to draw.
So off I trot to art class, wearing my (I think) most slimming jeans, you know, the type with a panel at the front to try and reign the belly in, and a top that is cut to flatter. Well I might as well have gone the full Reuben’s Muse look and opted for a strategically placed gauze scarf and a coy look, because I’m fooling no one! But I don’t realise this yet, because no one has drawn anything at this stage, time for me to Vogue away and strike a pose.
We do a few warm up exercises (the class, not me) with short poses, some continual movement, and then drawing in 5 strokes, 4, 3, 2, 1, before settling into some slightly longer poses that will last a couple of moments. Feeling confident, I opt for some that I am familiar with from my yoga class, yes, that would be the yoga class that I haven’t been to in a few weeks; lets call this penance. Warrior 2, Forward bend (with my butt strategically hidden behind a pillar) triangle pose… Why! Why did I choose this, my left calf started to burn after 30 seconds but I am stuck – I can’t move, I have to hold it till Jo eventually gives me the nod. Serves me right – have no sympathy, I don’t deserve it! Note to self: don’t try that again.
When the class breaks for tea break it’s a chance to have a look at the various interpretations.
The outcome of this is that my mirror is obviously in cahoots with my oven, because it is also telling me porky pies – when I see myself I can still see a waist, granted this is possibly because I know where to look, but still, I was convinced it was there.
The art class didn’t find it, despite looking hard, I have to face the overwhelming evidence that my waist, just like Elvis, has left the building. My muffin top has evolved into a three tier cake and if I ever get the nod from the Royal Ballet, it will be to play the Super Plump Fairy – not Giselle
Lots of drawings of a wee round woman bending, it is sort of funny, it would have made a good cartoon. But, I can’t hide from this either I accept that when asked to describe body shape it’s not apple or pear, but Christmas Pudding, or I do something about it, and lay off the mince pies.
Bit of shortbread anyone?