Body by...

When my then four-year-old poked his head around the full length mirror at Halmoni's house and exclaimed, "So that's what I look like!" I knew it was time to get a full length mirror at our apartment.  Until then, it had been very pleasant looking at myself from the shoulders up.  I could better ignore everything hippo-esque that was happening from the shoulder down.

Some say our bodies are made by God, but let me just say I have concerns about possible design flaws.  I want to know about warranties and limited lifetimes.  I would like to know why we always need to pee in the middle of important things.  Why can't bloodstains be easily washed out and why are knees bony enough to cut through the thickest denim?  Why, if they're so bad for you, do brownies taste so good?  And why do other good-for-you things--canned peas, for example--taste so terrible?

I might, perhaps, enjoy a body by Mattel.  Barbie has aged pretty well, hasn't she?  And she never has to wear a bra.  Those suckers stay up all by themselves!

What about a true artist?  Couldn't one of them do better?  I pondered that and concluded that some of those artists have been looking in my mirror.

I have hair by Lichtenstein, one piece never where it ought to be:

photo credit: http://www.flickriver.com/photos/32357038@N08/3232232973/

Eyebrows by Dali except perhaps with more emphasis on the upswing:

 photo credit: http://www.studiolo.org/Mona/MONA14.htm

Arms and thighs (except less firm) by Picasso:

photo credit:  http://konangalfilmsociety.blogspot.com/2011/01/contemplate-art-gallery-konangal.html


Belly by Rubens--well, he just about captured it:

photo credit:  lawsonmedsoc.wikispaces.com/7.+Diabetes

But worse than having artists in my mirror is having them in my mind!  And here's how that works:

Head by Magritte:

photo credit:  http://www.wikipaintings.org/en/rene-magritte/son-of-man-1964

Logic by Escher:

 photo credit:   http://apaintbrush.blogspot.com/2010/04/escher.html

Sensibilities by Munch:

photo credit:  http://www.ibiblio.org/wm/paint/auth/munch/

 But as much as I am unhappy about my body and my brain at moments, as much as many of us are, it occurred to me that these works are, in fact, art.  They are, in some semblance and by the acknowledgment of many, beautiful.
  
My problems are not insurmountable, and even in our ugliest moments, there is still a beauty.  And even better than the beauty is the fact that it is shared.  We are not in this alone, and by sharing our moments, the ugly and the beautiful, we gain strength and solidarity.  We gain hope and the will to overcome.


So yesterday as I was about to meet an older friend and told myself I couldn't wear jeans and a t-shirt, I thanked heaven for control top hose and blouses that can cover the tops of dresses that do nothing for you.  


"It's really pretty on the hanger," I said.  "But when I put it on, it's like a hippo in a tutu a la 'Fantasia.'"




photo credit:  http://doesyourmamaknowaboutme.com/i-want-a-hippopotamus-for-christmas/fantasia-hippos/

"Really," my sister said.  "It can't be that..."


I took off my blouse and showed her the whole dress.

"Oh.... Um, yeah.  It's that bad."

But I snapped a picture anyway.  After all, you've gotta share the good and the ugly, right?  And there's always a little bit of both present.

Oh, and I also wiped the mirror before I snapped the shot so that there were no child-height toothpaste splatters.  My children noticed it was clean after their bath, and now, instead of toothpaste splatters there are moisturizer butt marks (the little one had to tiptoe to reach).  I did not, however, take a picture of that.  Enough sharing is enough for one day.