For this task, the artist is to make an art doll using any medium desired. Since my skills beyond paper are limited, I defaulted to paper and glue – I’ve certainly been living in these tools for the last several months!
I created an image of myself naked, and what immediately bothered me in my nudity? Shoes. I insisted upon giving myself shoes. I want to walk EVERYWHERE and I don’t want to hurt my feet while I do it. I also went with red hair because I just didn’t have any brown construction paper and I used to dye my hair a bright, bright red.
I see myself as naked because I don’t cloak myself in the emotional outfits women my age are supposed to. In fact, my very self-concept is considered a serious heresy. I like myself. To other women who share my culture, this is horrifying. I’m fat – but I don’t think that’s that big of a deal; I still think I’m pretty. Thinking you’re pretty is a great big “not allowed!” for women. My very nudity – my openness about how I see myself – is to some beautiful and others offensive. Notably there are no mirrors and I’m not contemplating myself – I’m walking, I’m dancing, I’m walking, I’m dancing – given a choice I’d rather not reflect upon myself. My nudity is just an is. I’m a bit lonely there – I’d love to have a few friends and a lover inclined to dance with me.
The necklace is because I love how I look in chokers, and the funky eyes are because I do wear kohl a lot and my eyes are legally blue but are slowly aging into a peculiar yellow-ringed hazel blue-grey that sometimes turns bright green for no traceable reason. The ring on my left hand is my engagement ring.
I couldn’t find a way of giving myself penguin or chicken wings, so the things at the end of my hands are supposed to be veils/fans a la a burlesque fan dancer. I feel like I have wings but I haven’t quite taken off – or like those shoes have weights beneath them, and there’s something I can achieve, but something needs to grow/evolve or something needs to be released. This sums up how I see myself as an artist: I just haven’t quite taken off yet, and there’s a specific reason. I just can’t tell if the reason is a matter of growth, or of outgrowth (ie letting go of the past and the way I’ve been treated in the past.) I kind of see myself flapping the burlesque fans until I take off, or accidentally (or on purpose) smacking hecklers with them.