Coloring Emotions

When I was a melancholy teen, I occasionally entertained myself with drawing. As serious teenage artists whipped out portraits and dragons, I drew the best of cartoons. Before you do yourself the injustice of guessing which is the best cartoon of all time, I’ll simply remind you. It’s Darkwing Duck, who is still my hero today. I also drew pictures of my teenage heartthrob, Elijah Wood, who lost all sex appeal as Frodo. What did I ever see in him? Oh, that’s right, talent.

There was no method to my madness. I’d never taken a class, and I didn’t draw regularly. I only had computer paper and some chewed up school pencils. I did it for a while and set it aside.

A few years ago, I went to Spain. If you haven’t been there, it is the art capital of the world. No, Italy is not. Nor is France. Both produced amazing art and artists, but Spain produced Picasso, Dali, and Gaudi. In Spain, every person and every thing reflects the nation’s pull toward art. You must go. In fact, stop reading this. Go now. Your life will be better.

Now that you’ve returned, you can see how this reinvigorated my desire to draw and even paint. So, last summer I picked up real paper and a variety of pencils that my sexy artist husband gave me (Didn’t I tell you, he’s an artist? And he’s sexy?). And for Christmas, he gave me an easel and some paint. I’ve only just begun, but I thought I’d share anyway. I’m focusing on capturing emotions. These images are based on photos or video footage I’ve seen and that have often left me crying. Feel free to make comments, especially if you remember seeing some of these people in the news.


This is the mother of a boy who was murdered in the Orlando night club shootings. I drew a before photo and an after photo. The before picture captured her expression before she knew whether he’d been killed. This after picture shows her change of expression. 


This is the Aurora movie theater killer on trial. I didn’t get his expression quite right. The real picture has a look of, “I can’t handle your emotions” to it. This one looks more lost and boyish. It works either way.


This is me visiting Aphrodesias in Turkey. I examined women ancestors from ancient time. I love the theme of time in this photo and considered giving myself wrinkles.


This was my first painting. It’s based on a made-up photo that captured the loss and “deadness” of child soldiers. It was the first time I realized girls were used as soldiers too. I bawled every time I painted this.


This one isn’t done yet. I saw this image online, and it was so intense it scared me. I’ve also never done non-cartoon animals, so I’m still trying to figure it out.



The “I” is in the Beauty of the Beholder

I’m dedicating this blog to all people who have felt self-conscious about her or his or trans-gendered body. Although I talk about fashion models, this blog is not intended to ridicule any models or to place values on people based on their bodies. It’s meant to call out an industry that has done damage but still has a purpose. As a former lifestyle model, I’ve seen both sides of the industry and relate it to my personal early struggle with an eating disorder.

I believe that judgment of a person based on bodily shape and size is a learned behavior and one that all genders suffer. Like a lot of girls, I wanted to be a model as a kid. Afraid of cameras, socially awkward, graceless, and fat (to be defined later), I would be an unlikely model. I didn’t want to do it because of the good pay and benefits. I wanted to do it so I would look pretty and people would like me.

Most companies prefer models with scrawny bodies, because that is what we collectively value. Statistically speaking, if we see scrawny curveless women and men with zero body fat modeling clothes, we’ll buy the product. I’m convinced that’s why we went through a skinny jeans phase.


I’ve always loved the Victoria Secret angels and even had my favorite, but is this what we want? These lovely ladies are usually considered too old for the job by age 23, with 19 being the golden age. (Photo by


The industry wants skinny men too. Anorexia in male models is epidemic and also understated. (Photo by

Because I still wanted to be a model, I starved myself on purpose as a teenager. Some would have labeled me as anorexic, but the anorexics would say I wasn’t anorexic enough. Bitches. My ribs looked like a xylophone through my skin, but my eyes hadn’t sunk into my skull yet, so I wasn’t considered a true go-getter.

Eating disorder books describe it as an illness in which we hide shamefully, frightened of our own condition and powerless to save ourselves. That inaccuracy is the failure to cure the illness itself. Like many, I loved the disorder! Where I had no power in the rest of my life, I felt completely powerful over my body. The boys finally flirted with me, and girls were jealous. Even middle-aged women told me how much they wished they looked like me. I had loads of positive attention, because we collectively value the images above. But I was not healthy.

Through the years, I found that I needed to eat to have the energy to get through college. Eventually, I had too much important stuff to deal with than getting people to like me, so I found power in other areas and eventually obtained a healthy weight and body image.

In my late twenties, I finally become a model, although I was short and fat. When I say fat, I don’t mean fat. I find the word as derogatory as the nasty words used to disregard people by race, religion, ethnicity, and sexual orientation. When I say fat, I mean a normal, healthy weight. I use that word because the employers who turned me down said that I was “too fat” to model for them. The first time a designer said this to me, I laughed out loud. I really did think it was funny for a grown-up to call a young woman “fat”. Later, I’d shrug and passive aggressively indicate that I’d rather model well-designed clothing. Luckily, I found a handful of jobs that actually wanted people to feel good about the products they sold. Being called fat was one of the more liberating parts of my life, because I really didn’t care anymore. Doctors said I was healthy. I agreed because I had been working hard to eat a well-balanced diet with regular exercise. That some companies still rate models based on their size tells me what a ridiculously infantile business modeling can be.

You might ask me why I did it, if I no longer did it to be liked. The answer is ART. Seeing how a different hairstyle or radical make-up could alter my own perception of myself intrigued me. I experimented with it, because I loved seeing the business woman in me, the mother I’d never be, the goth chick I admired, the rich person I did not, etc. Below are a few of my favorite modeling photos:


Today, the market is starting to favor the beauty of all bodies, and I’ve placed my monetary vote by supporting these businesses. So, the remainder of this blog will be dedicated to a few companies that have featured lovely models working in a more honest fashion industry. These men, women, and transgendered people are healthy. Like all models, they have to exercise and skip the daily donuts, stop chewing their nails, stand in awkward poses for hours on end, and fake smile while selling a product they may never use. It’s a business and a job, but it isn’t one that should devalue people.

What are your opinions on our fashion industry? How do you decide to choose what to buy?