yinyang ladies

Jacob and I were recently discussing why Sex in the City is so good (and therefore we’re excited about the movie). For we are aren’t merely a Carrie or a Charlotte, we are ALL of them. Each character is an exaggeration on a particular part of ourselves. (Ok, maybe not EVERY person out there, but a good number of my favorite people are made up of a Carrie, Charlotte, Samantha, and Miranda characteristics).

Taking from this discussion, I have come to an acknowledgment of at least two women that live within myself (that shall be epitomized by these images before you – Ms. PollyAnna (which she isn’t, I don’t think). She’s this figurine we found in the office of this adorable young lady with her fingers crossed. At her feet are the words: ‘good luck’.) and the other is of a Japanese model, I assume, that was drawn for matchboxes. I have always thought of her as the Naked Artist though, brazen, wild, and creative.

I support people. Within my friends’ circle, I am the cheerleader, the optimist, the ‘I just got ran over by a Mack Truck, and lost the roof on my house, but am still saying stuff like 'the sun’ll come out tomorrow’ person. I have spent too much time apologizing for having a “sunny disposition”, if anything I should be writing a book about how to be like this, riiiight? I am unrepentant about my belief in people, and the greater good. So here is this little girl being my own little hopeful spirit on my desk. She’s looking out for me.

The Naked Artist is the compulsive, low on patience and high on these crucial GENIUS ideas of hers. She parades around touting ideas about the importance of art in life, and forgetting to pay her bills. She’s not really the devil, while PollyAnna is the angel, it’s more like the Naked Artist is the unkempt essence of creation. I have always admired women that fully embody the Naked Artist, even when its cost is great in terms of their lack of social mores --- they’re artists, which to me somehow makes them exempt from many of society's standards, I tell myself. I love that I REFUSE to let go of this ‘label’ as an artist. While I quickly undress from under these clothes of labels I’ve had (vegetarian, lesbian, student), I am shellacking this one upon my body as if it actually creates the art for me to merely wear its label. What does it really matter? The Naked Artist within me is there regardless of how proudly I scream about it. She sits there, scanning billboards for the ideal square, rearranging objects on her desk to the most aesthetically pleasing positions. Truthfully, the Naked Artist needs Ms. PollyAnna --- that little pig-tailed girl is the one pulling for me to create my own space, and to get a show that I can work towards and actually complete some of these pieces I have lying around.

There are more women within me, as there probably are within you. Many of the other characters I have are much less pretty and fun. At the end of the day, I wish they could all talk to each other in some surreal Sex in the City banter schizophrenic dialogue. How entertaining! How narcissistic! How fantabulous!