Another Body Blog

Hot Damn, it's Crystal Renn!

I've always had a very strong relationship to my body, and I know other women can relate. It's a stereotype that we get together and whine about our 'huge' thighs and barely visible wrinkles, but stereotypes have to come from somewhere. And I've been in one of those body circles enough times to know one thing: satisfaction is the Holy Grail. Within my particular group of friends, self-flattery is very, very rare. And yet, as I look at all of the women I spend time with, I can't see what they could possibly complain about. We seem to save the ultra-critical (and cruel) lens for our own bodies.

Yet, as every feel-good women's magazine has told us time and time again, there is nothing to worry about. It takes all kinds to make a world, and that goes for bodies, too! They've also had countless articles and polls about how men feel about our bodies. The result is relentlessly unanimous: they love the way we look. And no, they don't see the wobbly bits and other flaws as detractors, more like things that make that woman unique and memorable.

So, what are we worrying about?

As someone who has gone from deliberate food abstinence to dancing and feeling incredibly confident and sexy (and everywhere in between), I can tell you it is all in our heads. That doesn't make the feelings any less real.

When I was withholding food from myself, I was very young. This was in junior high. I couldn't control very much in my life, so my body became my project. It happened by accident. I started to eat smaller and smaller amounts, and I'd get compliments on my figure. I was also in martial arts from age seven to fourteen, so my small frame has always been fairly muscular, never Natalie Portman-esque and delicate. This was, of course, a time when my body was changing on its own. As I developed more of a woman's body, I was unable to stop controlling my size, and I felt disgusting. By the beginning of high school, I was noticing that men - not just boys my age - would stare at me. The attention made me feel like I'd done something wrong.

The sexuality of my figure was something I couldn't control, and it was something I would grow into more and more. I wasn't obsessive like I was in those earlier years, but I'd keep an eye on how my body reacted to my lifestyle. I kept a finger on the pulse of my body. And that's when I spoke in those cirlces. Other girls would butter me up and then complain about their own issues.

I have by no means have had a very bad relationship with my body. And I know many women who have. I'm thankful for it, and what it allows me to do. I've got the luxury of being able to complain about petty things. I'm aware of that.

Going back to the picture I topped this blog off with: that is the beautiful Crystal Renn, a plus-size model. One of the most successful in the industry in fact. Over the holidays, I read her book Hungry, which I recommend to anyone who is interested in this topic. She's gone through a similar journey to mine, but in greater extremes. After trying to get a career going as a straight size model - a period of several years which involved extreme diet control and exercise bulimia - her body began to rebel. She was in the office of her agent when she realised how disconnected she was from her body. When she moved into the plus world, she was able to use her talents and her intelligence, both of which had been robbed of her when she was starving. She does, of course, have to monitor her appearance, but it is more of a careful watchfulness rather than oppression.

It breaks my heart to see so many women at odds with their bodies, distancing themselves from the corporal by measuring everything. Even in many western Yoga studios, the emphasis is on the "burn" and getting a cute butt, not on the fusion of the body and the spirit. My mother, trained as a Yoga teacher, is always puzzled when she hears someone say that they've gotten hurt during a session. "If they actually knew what was going on in their bodies, this wouldn't ever happen" she says "We don't allow the body and the mind to be one. Rather, our bodies become a project."

To any woman who has read this and can relate: listen to Crystal, listen to those very cute magazine articles that tell you how great you are, listen to the man or woman in your life who adores your bum and your tummy. And, most importantly, listen to your own body and what it needs. When you tune in, you'll be healthy.

Take care!

Taking Credit and Taking Charge

I always find it difficult to take compliments for work that I have done and I can detach from criticism. I just don't feel like I own the product. At the same time, however, I feel proud of what I have done.

I've been reading Leonard Nimoy's I Am Spock, which is great if you want lots of Star Trek Trivia. But, at the same time, he spends much of the book talking about his relationship to "the pointy-eared guy", and how Spock has helped Nimoy to be successful. There are debates between the actor and the character over who should take credit for a compliment. Nimoy also has countless stories about going to the writers and producers to change scenes to adhere better to the essence of a character. If he was given a story line that required Spock to fall in love, for instance, Nimoy needed good reasons for an emotionless character to feel this.

It's an important thing to remember, and I've heard many directors say it: when all is said and done, the storyteller with the closest connection to the audience is the actor. After rehearsal, it's all about the people onstage. And in film, the lasting product that we see is the performance that the actor has given. There is, of course, less control in this process due to editing and such. You always identify with the actor however.

Considering that, I agree with Nimoy's insistence on keeping the character straight. I am sure some of the writers must have wanted to strangle him at times, but I feel I would do the same thing. The actor is the guardian of his character. Especially in a television setting, consistency is important.

And just one little note: it is also interesting to go from William Shatner's Up Till Now to I Am Spock, just based on their retelling of some of the same events, including Shatner's on-set pranking. They are very different people and especially different actors, and this has made for quite the extracurricular study session!

Bring it ON!

I'm in love with the idea of having my own company, with my contemporaries, all contributing to one altruistic goal of creating Great Art. And in a way I have it. I have the opportunity to work with my classmates and have access to these wonderful spaces. And, in this university setting, I've got an all-access pass to people of all different backgrounds and sensibilities. I'd love to get it going.

Sometimes, though, it is difficult to think of myself as an artist. Sometimes it is really hard to shake the desire to want an A- at least on a project that you're working on rather than getting caught up in the process. And sometimes it is hard to not create a project based on what you know the instructor likes.

The irony is that they are always telling us to do the opposite, to take risks and to not care what our grades are. "They really don't matter", one of my instructors has said. She waved the matter away with a flourish of her heavily-jeweled hand. "What I'm looking to see you do is to put yourself out there! Forget your fears. No one is judging you." But they are. We all are judging each other, to a certain extent. And despite its connotation, judgement doesn't always have to be critical.

It is finding that balance of reckless abandon that makes for creativity, the mania that infects us until we quench it by producing art. It is a divine energy, the same that has entered saints and mystics for thousands of years, telling them why things are the way they have become. In this world, we need to find a way to balance the rawness of the divine with the consistency that is the manufacture of art.

I found myself in a bad place about a week and a half ago, on the fourth. We'd just finished our end of the semester with the annual coffee house, and there were parties to follow. I watched all of my friends leave the building, forgetting I was there in their excitement. I walked home, sat on my bathroom floor and collapsed. Waves of powerful anger, fear and despair were coursing through me, and I wanted out. The next morning, I felt heavy, weak....but purged. I realised that it was everything I had held on to for the entire semester. All of the anxieties and stress that I felt I couldn't show in the semester had to come out sometime. That was also the night I took out my mother's rosary. I don't pray with it regularly, but I needed something tactile to reconnect me with God, with the heartbeat of everything else that was alive.

I truly believe that creativity is what joins us to our god, and the artist can experience periods of disconnect, which feel very hollow. What happens when we are alive and full of the energy is a high, and when we fall below neutral, it becomes hard to handle.

Part of tapping into the energy is being open. One needs to be healthy, rested, and willing to accept failure as well as success. And one needs to understand that nothing we do is something we can take credit for, not entirely at least.

I am thankful for having become more adult this semester, but I am also thankful for not losing the explorer inside of me; the little one who is willing to try anything, even if it means being laughed at.

You may hear more about Grenadine Dance later...

It's Music - Covers Edition Addition

Catharsis

A lot of things have come full circle for me, especially in the last few weeks.

We've recently wrapped up Romeo and Juliet (it closed on the 21st - can you believe it?), I've finished my papers and I am now moving on to finalising my other assignments. When things meet again like this, it feels very complete and yet, like I'm missing something.

I think with closing a play this feeling is especially strong. We started rehearsals in the middle of September, and we've been working on Shakespeare in class for the entirety of the term. When it closed, I was holding hands with Lord Capulet and the Nurse, crying onto the silver makeup I would never wear again. Here we were, at the end of a two month-long process, done. With a play, with any performance, the nature of the beast is that it is ephemeral. One night is never like the next, no two audiences are the same. We have many pictures, but that doesn't begin to capture the experience that we all became a part of.

In our acting class, we had to write a very long paper about Shakesperean text. Basically, how what we've studied and what we've done onstage have done for our development as actors. I've not only changed as an actor, but as a human being. I've been working, maintaining friendships and relationships, delving deeper into academia, learning how to cohabitate ... to use a cliché, I am leaving the world of G the girl behind and becoming more of G the woman.

In performance, all of my professors want to see me become more adventurous, stronger and when appropriate, more sexual. More take-charge. I am also in a job right now where I am in charge of putting on a radio show, delegating tasks and having more responsibility than I have ever had as an employee. I am beginning to see the parts of me that emerged when I was ten, the parts that I will need as a mother. I really feel this semester has been very instructive, and I owe it to everyone I've worked with. I owe credit to myself.

I've always had trouble seeing my self-worth. Like many people I know, I'm ready to put myself down and pick out flaws long before I'll ever compliment myself. But now, I feel proud of what I've accomplished. I am proud of the person I am becoming and I can't wait to keep figuring this person out.

If you read this, and you know who I am, if you've spoken to me or gotten to know me in the past few months, I thank you. You're great.

Gargle

Reposted from an old blog of mine


I tried to write some poetry last night
but the well was dry, taxed too far
I've stolen sips once in awhile
and the perfect water kept my throat wet
Tangible and tasty droplets teased my tongue
and I drank until they became grains of salt.
That was when I choked.
Some of the brine is still in my eyes
and they sting, everything is seen through a new lens.
Yet the blurred faces still make sense to me.
And I understand their smiles.
Perhaps someday my vision will clear.
Maybe I will never be thirsty.
I think I will drink my water
From another pool, this time.

The following is a proposition.

Let's be entered as a better presence. Let's be understandable and understated.