Tuesday, March 29, 2011

Sculpted, beautiful nudity

Oh, how I have missed you my blog! I'm pretty much my own biggest fan (convenient, stalking oneself is so easy) and was disappointed at my lack of writing over the past two months. I fully blame myself; I've been trying to go to bed earlier which takes away from late night writing time. I have also been a bit sick for the past 10 days and spent most of my time either working or laying in bed spooning my pillows. Related: I'm an expert Big Spoon (or Spooner). If you are a fantastic Little Spoon (or Spoonee), drop me a line. Just be warned you'll wake up with me latched onto you and possibly drooling on your back. In some cultures drool is a sign of respect and admiration, and like passing well wishes onto someone in a very special/literal way. I'm not sure which cultures, but surely there must be at least one... Ideally, candidates should be male.

The downside of being sick (apart from actual being sick part) is that it's so isolating. Days and nights are spent either alone in ones office or alone in ones bedroom. Then you hear about a news story that eventually makes it to press that someone died in her apartment and no one realised for five months. You start wondering why people don't miss you and realise it's only been, like, three days. One friend who knew I was sick brought me popsicles ("This is the weirdest request I ever heard from a sick person,") which was more symbolic and meaningful than the birth of babies via stork delivery.

But anyway, I'm almost better. On Thursday I will be 100% better, tomorrow 96.4% better. Frankly, sleeping up to 12 hours a day/night is wasting my time and I am accomplishing nothing other than supporting the pharmaceutical industry through my dependency on cold/flu meds and cough syrup. I am so sick of the taste of cough syrup. My disgust alone should be enough to will away the last bits of cold particles.

On Saturday night/Sunday morning I kept having dreams of rejection. "You aren't good enough to be in the club!" "You can't hang out with us!" You kind of feel like garbage when you wake up from dreams of people telling you that you suck. How it related to life at that moment was so obvious that I felt like rolling my eyes and saying, "Really, dream? That was the best you could do? Get a bit more creative, please." Then the next night I had a dream that I had before long ago, shortly after a break-up/departure of an ex-boyfriend. This time in my dream I recognized that I had been there before, saw the ex-boyfriend there, and knew I had to change the ending of the dream and trick him into leaving. I'm not sure if I succeeded or not, but I woke up a bit confused to what year it was. ("Aloha 2009!")

Since I like to have some sort of point to posts, instead of, "My name is Jennifer and I like to write about my feelings!" (note: I actually don't like to write about my feelings, I would rather you leave with a smile on your face and a chuckle of laughter burning in your throat) today's post is about naked statues.

Oh, Poseidon - so manly! I want to bite you.

Featured above is Poseidon - Greek God of the Sea, Neptune in Roman Mythology. He bears little resemble to my first experience with someone by the name of Neptune: Sailor Neptune.

I am Sailor Neptune, not Poseidon. I am focused and determined and this is not the star crystal you are looking for. Move along.

I'm not a huge art fan. I respect the talent required to create a painting, and I enjoy standing extremely close and looking at the many layers required to create depth, colour, shadow, etc., but I couldn't spend all day happily strolling through an art museum. I do, however, like statues. In museums, on street corners, where ever. But I do sometimes wonder why Greek/Roman Gods and Goddesses are often naked. I can't imagine someone approaching me and saying, "I admire you, you do wonderful things, you must be remembered forever in a replicated stone carving of yourself..."

I, bashful yet proud, concede that yes, I am a wonderful person, and the people must remember me.

"Wonderful!" says the Sculptor. "I will create a naked, 8-foot tall tribute to you. I may save you some embarrassment and place a small maple leaf over your left nipple and a piece of seaweed over your lady bits, but I will still leave unflattering rolls and your ass crack. People will love you!"

Maybe it's harder to create a naked person? Does doing so give you more credibility as an artist? I know from drawing that it was always easiest to draw bodies covered in clothing, and the hardest part was always hands and faces. Clothes can look like anything, people parts have to actually look like people parts since we all know what they should look like. In fact, I can't help but wonder if the Nike statue ever had a head. Maybe the person creating it got frustrated and lobbed it off in anger.

Heads and hands are hard to perfect.

(I think this statue is beautiful and apparently it's housed at the Louvre, which I skipped on all three of my visits to Paris. Only now do I feel guilty. Sorry, Goddess of Victory, I am unvictorious in seeing you.)

To the person who may eventually create a naked statue of me, I have a few requests.

First, I want a lot of hair. Massive, wavy, voluptuous hair with side-swept fringe. It needn't be long, just wide and tall. I must be wearing my Jesus sandals, for they are part of my soul. I would like to look powerful and brave; this can be accomplished by giving me a war wound on my upper right thigh and claw marks on the left side of my core. If you are having trouble making my rear look flattering, I am not opposed to wearing a cape.

You don't need to include the scar on my back. It's from having a mole removed. Not very exciting. You do, however, need to include the long scar on my thigh delivered by Kitty 17 years ago. If my teeth are visible I wouldn't mind having braces. I never had braces and I think they look kind of cute on adults.

While I don't need six-pack abs, I wouldn't mind you taking a bit of artist creativity and shearing off a smidgen of my beer belly. Also, don't give me a belly button piercing. I don't like them. If you must be creative, give me wings or a keytar. Me riding an elephant would also not be discouraged.

Above all, do not sculpt any ingrown hairs. They hurt and leave scars.

Thank you.


Kalena said...

While I know you don't care, I had to share with you that in a magazine I recently read, Jesus sandals (or as they called them "manly gladiator shoes" are on their way out. Just a heads up in case you feel the need to stock up before they all run away!
Hugs and Spoons!

Jen said...

Oh, that's fine, because I will ignore their advice due to my crooked toes that do not appreciate flip flops. Also, Jesus shoes are entirely different than "manly gladiator shoes".

But I appreciate your advice and yes, stocking up will be critical :(