Monday, September 16, 2013

the safe space project: a study in beauty.


A Study in Beauty
Page Nolker



I was a teenager when I stopped reading fashion magazines and began my long journey to stop judging my looks. At one point in my life I have rejected and resented every part of my body and appearance from my hair to my toes. My bushy eyebrows, sleepy right eye, inadequate lashes, crooked nose, too large nostrils, full lips, huge smile, revealing gums, protruding chin. My right index finger is fatter than the rest and I once longed for square, strong fingernails instead of the ones I have. Of course my breasts didn’t measure up to my expectations as a young woman—whose do? My two birthmarks came under critical scrutiny before I even hit my teens; no one else I knew had them. I have judged my vagina, my ass, my thighs, behind my knees and I recall more than one adolescent summer spent obsessing over my toes and wishing that feet came without them. 


That kind of self scrutiny is crippling so in my early twenties I bought a painting by the artist Margaret Lazzari from her study on beauty and made the subject my muse. I vowed to rewire my brain’s standard of beauty and learn to enjoy myself. I studied the portrait’s languid, sensual self embodiment and the sexiness inherent in her calm and self possession. She hangs in my bedroom; her radiant, compassionate warmth the first thing I see every morning. Over the years, she came to personify my idea of Grace and my feminine ideal. She became my icon of beauty; my guardian angel.  

I have spent hours in front of the mirror witnessing myself. Wondering why I never look the way I feel? Why my two profiles seem unrelated? Noting how a child and a woman share the same space. 

For six years I cut my own hair—and still do on occasion. I used to admire older women with smart short cuts and dream about finding the courage to cut mine some day when I also was older and no longer afraid. I didn’t end up waiting and the experience was more cathartic than I could have conceived. Of all my features, I hated my hair the most. I hated getting my hair cut from my earliest memories. I hated sitting still in front of a mirror being examined by a stranger—submitting to their interpretation of me. I cried every time I got my hair cut growing up and it became a family joke. My father would greet me when I came home ready with a paper bag that had eyeholes cut out. It wasn’t until I chopped my hair off and began cutting it myself, stopped caring and started walking around in the world confidently—despite my amateur effort and the occasional bald spot—that strangers, men and women, started stopping me on the street to tell me how much they loved my hair. Astounded, that’s when I realized people weren’t responding to my hair itself, but to my attitude; the energy with which I wore my hair. 

The self portrait at the top of this post was another intentional act of healing. Like getting my hair cut, I hated having my photo taken; I hated photos of myself. I arranged for a photo shoot with my niece and went to the mall for a makeover in preparation. For years, I hadn’t owned any makeup to speak of. I wore only the basics and only to weddings and formal events. I selected a young art student at Sephora and asked for his help. I explained a little about myself and intention and then handed the creative direction over to him. He made up only one half of my face and asked me to compare them. He’d done a nice job and I told him truthfully that I liked both sides. Surprised, he told me women buy makeup to hide, no one ever says they like they’re natural selves. He also told me I look like Annie Lenox. I’d heard that before. Not really knowing what Annie Lenox looked like I assumed the resemblance was surface: short hair, long face; an androgynous look. 

The truth is: I don’t want to look like anyone but myself. I prize being original; my own one-of-a-kind in everything I do. Still, curious I went home and googled images and videos of Annie Lenox. Unconcerned about the details of similarity, I studied her energy. I wanted to see how Annie Lennox embodied her beauty, her self. 

Actions speaks louder than words and confidence conveys more than a perfect smile, pinup figure or beautiful hair. My whole is greater than the sum of my parts—priceless wisdom I spent the first half of my life learning. 




**You can find more of Page's insights and personal journey at babeeffect.com**






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