The intent behind this project was to really try to work through and deal with some of these issues. It’s one of those deep rooted mentalities that I refuse to pass along to future generations, so I know the importance is paramount.
Dealing with a distorted body image goes back pretty far for me-- all the way to 8th grade. A friend of mine wanted to “match” outfits: denim skirts and and tank tops. The night before, I made her promise me that I wouldn’t get made fun of for wearing a skirt. As a thirteen year old, I was convinced that my legs were “too fat”, to the point of begging her to tell me the truth to avoid humiliation at school. That breaks my heart. My legs weren’t fat. I was young. And athletic. And innocent. And I cried over wishing my legs were the size of all the other girls legs. Looking back, I wish that young girl could’ve seen that she was normal, healthy, and strong. My quads and thighs were developed from years of soccer. They weren’t twigs. And that should have been okay. Little girls shouldn’t be crying over their bodies. Women shouldn’t be crying over their bodies.
I’m not sure why it takes my brain so long to separate reality from perception pertaining to my own body image. I don’t think I’m the only one out there with this problem. I can quite literally see a photograph of myself, and instantly dislike it-- pointing out a physical flaw that captures my attention. Because I keep my galleries open in my editing software, I will see those same photos weeks, months, or years later and oftentimes see a completely different image-- seeing past the flaw that originally blinded me.
Fast forward to this series of self portraits: I have no idea how I had the confidence to order a nude bodysuit and manage to put it on in front of the camera that first time. It kind of baffles me. I had ONE photo in mind, and that photo involved my husband. So I composed the photo and we captured the image. With no other plans in mind, he suggested that this photo needed to be the final photo of a series. I just thought I was finished.
So I kicked him out of the room, because let’s be real... nobody really wants to be seen in a nude bodysuit and insecurities were rising. I started off with a few self portraits, and couldn’t believe the raw emotion that translated through the photos. I had to walk away because it was actually really difficult... I saw every unflattering angle, pore, stretch mark, and ounce of cellulite. But I had this creativity ignited in me that drew me back to the front of the camera the next day. And this time I had a confidence to capture my body as art, and not as the subject of some project on insecurity. It was liberating, and I was finding that I was actually pretty good at finding light and angles and creating interesting visuals. And every session I would walk away with a photo that I was really proud of. In the moment. Not two weeks later. Or a month later. That moment. And for me, that was proof that this project was a success.