A poem by Marissa McLain
Modeling for art is such an alternative way of experiencing your body and a completely new way of people looking at you. Society views our bodies as objects of which to cover, expose, apply, inject. Art views our bodies subjectively, allowing for all curves and lines that no one really sees to be celebrated in all their beauty.
I break space with my limbs
Open, naked on a flat surface
Angled in just the wrong way
Enough to convey
A casualness to my movements.
Maybe there’s a velvet pillow to rest on
Or a free glass of wine for my lips
As jazz or the evening news
mingles
with the exasperated sighs of the artists around me.
I am still.
I am still as the descent of brushes on paper
form an image as quickly as the individual mind allows.
As the descent of brushes on paper
create whispers to soothe
the minds of those whose thoughts are the loudest.
I lay, as their challenger in the early morning and I love the way they look at me, and I love the way their eyes flicker, asking how to draw out
gentle curves or
a look in my eyes.
It is somehow done, perhaps not finished
in the space where I can peacefully lose track of time
Where my muscles scream and beg to move even the slightest inch;
As pens descend onto paper,
I remind myself to breathe.
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