Saturday, March 24, 2012

The eye of the beholder Part II.

      It turns out that my first self-portraits were not satisfactory. Using my most emotionally/personally successful photograph as a base, I created a series of self-portraits revolving around my struggle of starting an adult life without my mother by my side.

      These were the most difficult photographs I've ever taken, not technically, but emotionally. It took a lot to show myself like this. But like I've mentioned in previous posts, I deal with my emotions by throwing them into the world's eye. It makes them real. It makes me less numb. It lets me knock down the wall.

This is the original from the last set.

Nudity = vulnerability. 
Being poised on the outside doesn't mean being happy on the inside.

Philippians 1:3-4:
"I thank my God every time I remember you;
in all my prayers for you, I always pray with joy."
When I remember her, joy is the last thing on my mind.

I look at her face, and I feel disconnected from the world; I just fade, and nothing/no one can pull me back.

Monday, March 19, 2012

Sunshine is the best.


A small pond next to my apartment beautifully reflected the sunset and blue sky this evening. I'm posting this picture in celebration of the unusually warm weather we've been having. Spring is almost here!

Saturday, March 17, 2012

The eye of the beholder.

      These are five self-portraits I created for my Elements of Fine Art Photography class at RIT. I tried to make them distinct from one another, since it's difficult to keep interest in the same subject over and over. I'll give a brief description of my thought process for each one, but interpret them as you wish. 

This is the first one I created. It signifies the mental and emotional stress I endure every day when I think about how much I miss my mom (that's her picture in the locket). Sometimes I feel blinded and strangled by this invisible daily battle.

This is the second image I created. This one and the next one go together in a sense, but  their meanings are different enough to keep separate. This portrait focuses on my hair--Nearly every day, a stranger stops to tell me how much they love my hair style. It's happened so much that I feel like my shaved sides and feathery front are what almost define who I am.

Number three: captured in the same style as the previous one, but holds a different meaning all together. This time I focused on what is just beneath my defining hair--it's what constructs every girl's sense of worth and self-esteem at some point in her life. I captured my curves. I love them. I have a very positive self-image; I wouldn't change a thing about myself. 

#4: I am an odd human being. Take this as you wish.

This is the last, and to me, the most compelling self-portrait of the five. I applied makeup to only half of my face and then photographed my whole face and only manipulated and "fixed" the side, which had makeup. This is all one photograph, and the right side of the image is completely un-edited. I wanted this to serve as a wake-up call to those who see beautiful faces in magazines and think all of that magic is just expensive makeup and complex lighting. There is a lot of post-processing involved in the glamour shots we see every day--I altered the arch of my eyebrow, plumped my lips, lengthened my eyelashes, and even changed my eye shape.
. . . Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.

Saturday, March 3, 2012

Birdie.

      Spin and core class: "It's just like riding those exercise bikes, but a little more intense," I was told. 
"A little more intense" meaning it would send my fragile and dehydrated body out the door within the first 15 minutes, knees shaking and barely able to tell the instructor what was wrong as she ran out of the classroom after me.
    Okay, strike one in the wellness class department. Time to find a different one last-minute.
    Hip-hop dance class? Oh wow, one spot left! And my roommate is in it! But it doesn't fit in my schedule. Damn.
     Let's see... Beginner's yoga? Why not? 
     The next day, I tentatively entered a room lined with large windows, floor-to-ceiling mirrors and littered with blue yoga mats, right next-door to the dark room from which I had breathlessly stumbled out the day before. As I walked towards the center of the bright and cheery room and saw all of the equipment some students already had piled around them, I realized that I had no idea what was going on. In a hushed tone, I asked the guy next to me if this was indeed beginner's yoga. He looked at me and whispered back, "Yeah, I think so."
Bam.
I just met Kevin.

      We had only just introduced ourselves when the holiday break approached and we saw nothing of each other for over a month. The first class after the break, we ended up sitting next to each other and re-acquainting. One thing led to another, and all of a sudden he was saying "Cool, I'll call you later," like the cute boys do in the Disney Channel movies. 
      We sat in a cafĂ© over hot chocolate and talked about the basics; likes and dislikes, quirks and talents. It turned out we had little in common. But then I asked him what his favorite movies were.
      He listed one after another, and each time I would shake my head muttering "Never seen it" or "Never heard of it". After a few more misses, he sighed and said "I don't even know why I'm going to mention this one. I know you've never heard of it...but I really love 'The Room'." 
     My heart stopped. I was speechless. I fell limp gasping for air, then sat up to pinch his leg and asked if he was a real human being outside my imagination.
      "The Room" -- a film starring, written, directed, produced, and executively produced by Tommy Wiseau -- is the best worst movie of all time. (Here's the trailer, see for yourself.) My good friend Stephen introduced it to me a few years ago, and since then I had never heard of another individual who liked it, let alone even heard of it. The fact that there was a handsome green-eyed man in front of me who bought me hot chocolate and was actually quoting this amazing movie with me just made me feel like anything was possible. After my initial shock wore off, we headed to my apartment to watch it together. After a night of bonding over Tommy Wiseau, we decided to have another movie couch date, and another. We got to know each other a little better each time, and one evening, our Facebook statuses changed from "single" to "in a relationship".
      Since then, we've watched many more movies and continue to grow closer with every plot twist and dramatically delivered line. We stay up until the wee hours of the morning Googling the weirdest characters and story lines, while talking about everything and nothing. I just feel a connection with him. I love his sense of humor, and his hair. Even all of my friends and family like him. He supports my chocolate and bunny addictions, he helps me with my photo projects, he is smart but not condescending, and he actually cares about how my day was. It's incredible.
     One night, I had a bad cold. I coughed and coughed until my chest hurt. All of a sudden, his arms were around me and instantly everything was okay. He asked me if I felt any better. 
I replied, "Yes. I'm happy." 
      Feeling my lips say that felt strange, and after I thought about it, I realized it was because I hadn't said it since I lost my mom. 
Finally. 
I'm happy. 
Thank you, Kevin. I'm happy I have you.