As a recovering perfectionist, I get that completely irrational, ego saving nonsense.

When I hear artists interrupting, trying to beat an instructor answering a question, or explaining their way of doing things that somehow got them a crappy drawing and refusing to try another way, it’s all I can do to remain silent and model-y. From an outside perspective, figure drawing seems like it should be easy: just draw what you see.

Actually, figure drawing is hard. And perfectionism puts a stranglehold on the ability to learn, thus leading to more frustration on the part of the artist and me the model listening. So I wrote out something that I think might help people get over their impulses to defend their inexplicable inability to draw like Leonardo da Vinci in their first class.

Drawing and art do not have to do with intellectualism or being smart. They have to do with learning how to see.

You may expect to progress more quickly because other new areas of knowledge may have come more easily to you.

Accept that this may not.
Accept that learning to draw is a process.
Accept that everyone will do horrible drawings. (Yes, even you.) Treat yourself gently.

Allow yourself to listen to the instructor and try suggestions, even if (or especially if) they don’t make sense at all or are outside your comfort zone.

The instructor has been through this process of learning how to see, understands how difficult it is, and is there guide you and help you. Don’t be afraid to do what feels unnatural.

What is important is doing the work. Draw. That is the only way to get better.

When you walk into the studio, leave all perfectionist or “having standards” tendencies behind. Your job is to do the work, not judge the work.

Keep drawing. Keep listening. You will get better. And eventually, it will be art.

“A drawing is never done, it just stops in an interesting place.”

As a figure model, I pose for artists and painters. The artists love to have someone with a little extra on their figures because it makes for a more interesting drawing. No human figure is the same, and that’s beautiful.  The human figure is beautiful, especially when seen through the eyes of someone who looks to see and create beauty.

The Greek saying “sound body, sound mind” brought us a lot of  great statues. The ideal of the male body wasn’t just about looking good, it was a symbol of the beauty of his thoughts. Obesity is wearing an out of control psychological problem on your sleeve. It’s an over-share.

Looking at people who are sick or fat  is disturbing because it reminds us of our mortality and weakness. Drink all the green tea you like, you can still get cancer. Doctors and bosses judge fatness because it looks like laziness and stupidity: those avoidable health problems linked to obesity cost money.

I’ve gained a little bit of weight, about 5-10 pounds. My boyfriend said that before I looked too skinny, but being skinny felt better to me. Now I don’t feel as free to move around. The heaviness of my belly presses on my epigastrium, and when I bike, the tops of my legs bump into it. I feel trapped. This is why I don’t understand “fat acceptance.” Being fat is accepting oppression and restriction, accepting it into your own body. Why push for acceptance of oppression?

I like feeling my body move, the muscles stretch and flex. I love how the wind and sweat feel on my skin, and how it feels to play a sport well. People who say they exercise “for their health” and not for fun make me sad. I picture florescent lights, a treadmill, a TV droning in the background. That is not healthy.

I also don’t believe in lying to people that you care about their health and that’s why you want them to lose weight. Because you can be fat and healthy (able to run around for a while without being winded). They know you’re lying, weight is personal, and they would make the choice to lose weight if they were ready. Fat is hiding. Guilt and shame have no place in something so personal as our bodies.

Guilt and shame bring excuses. Whenever defenders of fat talk about ‘hereditary factors’ or ‘medical issues’ or ‘metabolism’ or other reasons why an individual is fat, I scoff heartily. There are more fat people now than there were 40 years ago. That is not because a crap ton of new medical issues or hereditary factors have appeared, or that everyone’s metabolism ran out of steam at the same time. Gaining weight is done by consuming more energy units than you burn. This is really not a  mystery.

I believe in pursuit of self knowledge and identity. But “fat” is not an identity. It’s an escape.

We rented an apartment for the first 4 days quite by accident in El Raval.

El Raval feels a bit like Ukrainian Village in it’s hoodie restaurants, relaxed bars, and grunginess combined with weird shops. Why the bad reputation? Sometimes I feel like the same information gets recycled by content creators and no one bothers going anywhere.

The next place I visit, I’m going to get to know the city by jogging through it. Traveling light (and preplanned laziness) prevented me from bringing my running shoes, but perhaps next time I’ll chance it.

Not thinking about jogging and babies

But there are no joggers in Spain. Not once did I see anyone sweating in work out clothes. Any exercise must be got naturally by the 12 miles of strolling about that every Spaniard must do every day. And I didn’t see as many strollers. They must train their kids to walk, no whining. If ever I got comfortable comparing it to Ukrainian Village in terms of feel, the almost eerie absence of joggers snapped me out of it.

I regret not spending time alone. I regret not going to the beach. I regret not going to doing more research on where the hell to get a good meal, because we could have eaten better. Tourist cannot live on greasy prix fixe and tapas alone. I’m sure lunches could have been better, but definitely not dinner.

The Pharoah OF COURSE serves Italian pizza with Irish beer. One block from the Sagrada Familia. We didn't go.

Dinner doesn’t exist. Want a little sandwich and a beer? Fried balls of something with simple delicious plum wine? Maybe some anchovies wrapped around olives and a glass of cava? No, I’d like a hearty stew that will fortify me against a long night, and a break from all this damned drinking. Alas: “Eso, no.” I kept getting drunk on accident, and the best meal I had while there was doner kebab.

We found a Flat Iron and a Blue Line while in Spain. The Flat Iron was a rock and roll bar called Valhalla with a mixed crowd where everyone sang along to Pantera’s “Walk“. Linea Blaua was just a bar/breakfast joint (also by a Blue Line subway stop) where you could get a beer and fresh squeezed orange juice.

I eat croissants more regularly since I’ve been back, and my cafe con leche is still going strong, but I can now think of it as cafe amb let.

This was one of my favorite moments:

If someone needs some fake time demarcation as “motivation” to make a “fresh start” to improve their sorry state of affairs, it reeks of should. ”Should” is all about impressing other people, and it’s fake. Pride and vanity are great motivators, but laziness usually trumps them.

On a less hater-y, more positive note, I prefer to indulge my superstition by doing something on New Year’s Eve that I want to be doing for the rest of the year. This is why I run. I know if I go to a party, I’ll feel awkward and unwittingly drink too much or end up sitting on a couch next to other bored people. Running always makes me feel like I’ve done something worth while.

These past few years, I’ve used New Year’s Day/Eve as a time of reflection, and made goals for myself. This year has been great. I met a ton of my goals I set for myself in 2009 and 2010, and I’m very proud of myself:

1. Go to Barcelona within two years. I decided I was going to do this, but I had no idea how. I was behind in my rent payments, student loan payments, and was on food stamps. But I needed it to happen.

2. Get a independent, self directed job where I can use my creativity and writing. This one happened because I had a great boyfriend to motivate me to stop looking on the internet and get out there and meet people. And all that action, all those applications, all that smiling got me a data entry job. Which I used to grow my responsibility. I started helping and educating people and those successes and failures inspired me to write, manage social media, and make videos for my/the business.

3. Be solvent. I’m current on everything, have great earning potential, and I feel challenged and competent.

4. Run a half marathon. I did this. And could have done it better. But “could” and “should” are cousins and will be equally shunned. I was afraid of distance running, and now I’m not.

5. Get a cat. I lobbied hard for a year for this one. Now I’ve got a responsibility for 20 years. But a very cute responsibility.

6. Update my blog regularly. I did this! Mostly.

All this serves to bolster my belief that I can accomplish what I want to accomplish. I think this is why rich people get richer. They build on their success. I feel like I’m closer to being what I want to be. And that’s what New Years is about.

I don’t want to know how your business/livelihood lives and dies based on you making your customers happy. Viral marketing, social reviews, circles of influence, “engagement,” all those things have changed the tenor of business. A lot of “shoulds” are flying around.  Not taking care of customers will become known. But good customer service is NOT reminding them of how grateful you are that you’re patronising the business.

Got my nails done. This dude was running the place with his wife. He had a lot of weird nervous energy, and that made me uncomfortable. He would ask if I wanted water, then forget, and ask me again, and try to get me to like him by complimenting me on color selection, engaging me in conversation about what I’d done that day, the weather, and other stupid crap. He was getting in the way of me relaxing. I understand that he’s trying to “provide good customer service” but it was actually all about him, requiring me, his customer, to placate his anxiety about whether I was happy there or not. It reminded me about the behavior of apes, where dominant ones get woken up from a nap to hump submissives to assure the submissives that they’re not mad at them. So annoying.

I was on a plane, and the capitan came on every few hours or so to tell us something inconsequential and thank us for flying with them. I was using the in flight entertainment, and every time the capitan came on, the entertainment would cut out and the screen would inform me that an announcement was taking place. Thanks a lot.  I don’t need someone to take a minute to thank me for flying with them every few hours. I’m trapped on this plane because it was among the cheaper options. And also, I don’t want to be reminded that this company lives and dies by making its customers happy. That is not my problem. Let’s just not talk about it, shall we?

Amtrack also makes announcements every few stops or so about how happy the announcer and all the crew are that we’ve chosen Amtrack. Okay, new people are getting on and off, fine. If you must thank me, make it concise, short, and easily ignored.

The best customer service is unobtrusive, doesn’t require engagement by the customers being served, and is brief. As a customer service agent, it doesn’t matter what your needs are or what policies/procedures the company has. What matters is taking care of a customer’s problem, and if they don’t have a problem, don’t have someone get in their face repeatedly about how happy and thankful you are that they use your service. Thanking customers overmuch is just one more corporate mandate to their employees. Customers don’t want to hump you. They want to take a nap.

#1wp

Hand sanitizer lady was at the restaurant, only it was a guy obsessed with soda. That I was drinking. Only I couldn’t escape to the back of the bus. Is is rude to ignore a retarded person who smells? With people who are a little crazy, sometimes it’s better to not acknowledge them or initiate contact, because then you’re stuck trying to fill their human interaction quotient they’re desperately low on because everyone else doesn’t know how to interact with them. The dude’s brother who worked there said “Okay, relax” quite a few times because the guy couldn’t stop talking about caffeine and how he couldn’t have any because of his medication.

This guy had the kind of autism that gives him a perfect, photographic memory that doesn’t fade with time. This is why his brother really does his best to shield him from anything bad that might happen, and always interacts with him in a loving way. I’m really glad the brother was there to diffuse the awkwardness between hand sanitizer dude and me.

Yet being able to handle anxiety or uncertainty, adapting to changing situations, and knowing how to interact with people (emotional intelligence) is essential to do anything. Some of my friends don’t even seen to notice that anxiety even exists and they plow through life with apblomb. Some are paralyzed and don’t seen to notice that they’re hobbled as they mince through life.

I hate it when I get invited to a party where I’m sure I’ll meet interesting people, see some inspiring art, and find new opportunities. I don’t know if I’ll be able to keep it together and not freak out and hide in a coat room. This is something I’m working on. Because I don’t have a photographic memory. Or autism. Maybe a touch of Aspberger’s. But brain chemistry is changeable. So I’ve got to keep going to parties. So I will learn to get used to uncertainty and hand sanitizer and press on.

When I turned 18, I went to get my passport right away. It cost $55 and was good for 10 years. Unfortunately, it got stolen by some jerk mugger, so my stamps from Mexico, Spain and Italy aren’t there. My passport is as virginal as his.

I had initially thought I’d go by myself, as a beautiful meditation or pilgrimage to a place I’d been dreaming about since I’ve heard of it. Time I could spend alone, absorbing the place. Flaneur style.

Before, I didn’t really want to share this experience with him. I thought, “I want to be alone. Dear god, I desperately want to be alone.” Being in a relationship is hard, because the presence of someone else so significant in my life is a threat to my autonomy/freedom, and therefore my individuality/lifeforce. I’m almost angry at myself for inviting him, because this means that I’m ruining my dream of being alone again, in a city 1000s of miles away from any compromises I have to make to avoid arguing or hurt feelings. If someone or something is wrong, it feels extremely wrong to hold my tongue or be diplomatic. Yet I’ve never cared so much or been this careful. People who want time alone but don’t take it or don’t tell the truth because they’d “feel bad” about it I’ve always thought were pathetic losers, because essentially they’re externalizing their own neurosis and blaming it on other people because they’re too scared to take control of their own emotional lives. I never thought I’d be so stupid as to be unselfish about wanting time only for myself.

But now I’m gladder I’m going to be able to share my love of going somewhere else with him. Living in Chicago with all its different neighborhoods is not the same as traveling to a different country. You’re still in the U. S. even when you’re in Pilsen, Humboldt Park, or on Devon Street. You’re still on your own turf. He’s never been to a place where no one’s first language is English, and students learn Cervantes and Neruda and Borges instead of Shakespeare and Keats and Whitman.

We’re going to a place where he won’t speak the language, and I will. We’re going together to museums, to look at architecture, to eat and drink and navigate a new city. I’m used to him taking charge when talking to cab drivers, ordering food, planning how we’re going to get to and from our destination. Those are my weaknesses and his strengths- he’s authoritative, understands people, and doesn’t vex himself about whether he’s done something to offend someone slightly. We’re going to a place where I’ll understand more than he will.

I hope.

Even though I’m better traveled than he is, he still understands people better than me. I’ll have to fend for both of us and flex my language skills and start to be able to believe I make decisions for myself again. It’s so easy to not interact with the world when I have a buffer and an extension of my will. It’s so easy to sit back and let him take charge. I hate that I’ve let that happen. I almost think I have no executive function anymore.

This post echos this post by someone who went to Turkey alone instead of with her boyfriend.

It’s a romantic idea to travel together. I won’t let him get “hangry.”

Customer service people are trained to make small talk when a customer obviously isn’t into it because it’s the teller’s way of trying to control the tempo of the interaction- that’s sales training.  Which pisses me off even more than the fact that neither of us care how the other is “doing.” I’m not going to help someone trying to sell me an image of my bank.

And it’s just wrong to use someone’s first name in a bank. If we’re going to pretend about something, let’s have a bank pretend to be customer oriented, formal, and trustworthy. Along with that goes using customers’ last names. One more step in that slouchy direction and you may as well call your customers “Honey.”

Maybe next time I go to the bank, I’ll feel better if I express my true feelings. I can suggest a separate line for people who don’t want to deal with stupid small talk but need more than just the ATM. I’m sure this wonderful customer feedback would be welcomed in to the starchy corporate embrace, and they would want to know more about how they could best serve their hateful customers that would really rather not interact the end of a long day. Because they always ask how I am. Because they care.

During my breaks, I try to be productive, so I was paging through some of my old work, looking for good stuff. One of the artists asked what I was studying. I told her I wasn’t in university despite my college rule composition book. You can learn so much online on your own time… for free. I learned HTML for example.

“What’s HTML?”

I asked hesitantly “… are you serious?”

Another artist jumped in, “It’s like when you type in a web address: HTML doubleyou doubleyou doubleyou dot-”

I absolutely did not start laughing.

This is one perk to modeling- I get to see the perspective of the older generation.

Working 11 hour days beginning with office work and ending with modeling is harder than I thought it would be. I modeled last week 4 out of five days. And did showings on the weekend. Well, I scheduled showings and people flaked. But it still feels like work because I put in the time being anxious about: being late; having to interact with people; looking professional while sweating slightly and locking up my bike.

I’m glad I have a bike to ride. That 15 minutes to work and 30 minutes to modeling and 30 minutes home from modeling is my only exercise. Modeling is also great exercise.

But biking isn’t as awesome as running, because the attention is on not being rude to other bikers and cars, and not getting killed by someone making a right turn in front of a bus or opening their door without looking. And modeling isn’t as awesome as yoga, because there’s no threat of pinched nerves, greyed out vision, or muscle spasms.  Exercise without the threat of physical harm is what I’m missing right now. I miss running, but only way to get myself to run is to sign up for a race and have a deadline. So I’m going to sign up for the Chicago Rock and Roll Marathon.

I’ve modeled sweaty and tired from biking, smelly from not showering, and mentally fried from banging my head against work problems. It’s felt like marathon modeling. Even coffee doesn’t help as much anymore.

Because while there is flow in physical activities and making art, there’s also an intellectual demand. Hate it when I blow my load at work. I feel like that should be creative cross training. Maybe I just need rest.