Embrace
I happen upon the ad by chance: a graduate student from Rome, studying at Montana State, in need of models for a series. We stand surrounded by the eleven massive paintings, as he explains the origin of his limbless interest: appropriately, the great Italian statues. The paintings each follow a sort of formula: belly button landmark, vaginas eye level, hung such that feet, if the giant headless women had them, would stand flat on the floor. The vagina is the focal point, drawing the eye into the center of womanhood and secrets. Francesco likes the way these giant women invite the viewer to engage, each one silently asking many questions. Is she looking at you? Is she playing with her hair? What are her arms doing?
My question is not about the subject, rather the room in which she is standing. Where is that light coming from? One subject appears to be standing under a single white beam of moonlight high above, while another appears to be lit by a whole window of warm afternoon sunlight directly ahead. It is their sheer size that grabs me first. They are massive displays of femininity, each one coyly revealing something about the model. He asks me to choose what light best represents me.
“Did I ask a difficult question?” he inquires, when I have no reply.
I have been nude in front of artists and photographers before, and have little modesty in the studio, but when Francesco dials his tripod to aim straight at my crotch, I wonder briefly what I have gotten myself into. My apprehension is instantly trumped by a fascination with watching the light bounce off my body in the mirror opposite me. His instructions are simple: pay attention to the light, and give him changes within it. Suddenly, every curve becomes an angle for reflection, every imperfection something interesting and elegant.
My favorite of the paintings is one of a larger woman, thighs rippling, rich folds at her waist. I love the movement of the light over every dimple in her skin, the way her body portrays a confidence and womanliness in its maturity that slender, perfect bodies do not. Francesco agrees, and we discuss the cultural boundaries of perceived beauty as he snaps photographs at will.
Sometime, years ago, I came to accept my body and love myself in a very healthy way. Since that time, I have wondered periodically if I would be happy in the body of a thinner woman. After three hours in front of Fancesco’s camera, I am further convinced that I would not. I am invigorated by the power of the artist, and how his brush strokes can bring forth the beauty hidden beneath the surface of women of all sizes and shapes. My healthy self esteem has taken a corner and become stronger yet, fueled by the appreciation of an artist who validates things I have told myself about the female form: that it is our imperfection that makes us beautiful.
Check out Francesco's work and the whole "Embrace" series at http://www.francescogillia.com/. I am proud to be painting #12.
My question is not about the subject, rather the room in which she is standing. Where is that light coming from? One subject appears to be standing under a single white beam of moonlight high above, while another appears to be lit by a whole window of warm afternoon sunlight directly ahead. It is their sheer size that grabs me first. They are massive displays of femininity, each one coyly revealing something about the model. He asks me to choose what light best represents me.
“Did I ask a difficult question?” he inquires, when I have no reply.
I have been nude in front of artists and photographers before, and have little modesty in the studio, but when Francesco dials his tripod to aim straight at my crotch, I wonder briefly what I have gotten myself into. My apprehension is instantly trumped by a fascination with watching the light bounce off my body in the mirror opposite me. His instructions are simple: pay attention to the light, and give him changes within it. Suddenly, every curve becomes an angle for reflection, every imperfection something interesting and elegant.
My favorite of the paintings is one of a larger woman, thighs rippling, rich folds at her waist. I love the movement of the light over every dimple in her skin, the way her body portrays a confidence and womanliness in its maturity that slender, perfect bodies do not. Francesco agrees, and we discuss the cultural boundaries of perceived beauty as he snaps photographs at will.
Sometime, years ago, I came to accept my body and love myself in a very healthy way. Since that time, I have wondered periodically if I would be happy in the body of a thinner woman. After three hours in front of Fancesco’s camera, I am further convinced that I would not. I am invigorated by the power of the artist, and how his brush strokes can bring forth the beauty hidden beneath the surface of women of all sizes and shapes. My healthy self esteem has taken a corner and become stronger yet, fueled by the appreciation of an artist who validates things I have told myself about the female form: that it is our imperfection that makes us beautiful.
Check out Francesco's work and the whole "Embrace" series at http://www.francescogillia.com/. I am proud to be painting #12.
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