My face with the underlying anomaly that no doctor has yet been able to definitively pin a diagnosis on, that colors my skin reddish, or greenish, or purlish, or bluish (often dependent on the weather) that engorges with emotion, blood pressure, exertion, and exhaustion.  The face I have identified with all my life, that like Georgianna in Nathaniel Hawthorne's "The Birthmark," I've felt was a valid, integral part of me I couldn't think of living without.  The birthmark a tangle of vessels so deep they could not be taken without taking a good deal of function.  The face I've liked because it set me apart, kept me all my life from looking like everyone else and only ordinary.

This face, now that I'm looking at it in my middle age, having lived with it through youth, when differences mattered and kids either were indifferent or cruel, through adolescence, when I wondered if my misshapen mouth would ever be kissed.  Through college, when my face became an obsession, my self-portraits taking me on an internal journey of the meaning of art in my life, and images of my bared, lopsided face won its own strange approval.  As Kathe Kollwitz once said, "Le beau c'est le laid."  (The beautiful is the ugly.)

This face now, for some reason, has come to plague me again as never before.  Looking in the mirror this morning was not about art, or love, or compassion or courage.  It was about identity.  Who am I now, and what do I see?  I left my last job to write.  When I write, when my identity is being a writer, I can exist invisible, face unseen and soul carried by the words.  But now I am in the workforce again.  In a position with exposure to people I don't know.  How much explaining will I need to do?  How much proving of ability will I need to demonstrate before my "do" value compensates for my lack of good looks?

I start again, the way I have had to start anything again, given all the starts I've faced in my life.  Why does this one bother me more?  Why does my face, the one I have lived with and by all these years, peer back at me from the mirror as something I've never seen before, a version that crept up on me when I wasn't looking?  A truer version, or a more clever, determined imposter?  Who can no longer hide behind the invisibility and anonymity of her words.

I leave behind the candies, the sweet smell of the candies. I miss my father and my brother, too.

I leave behind a beautiful yellow bird. The bird is mine, but the bird has to leave to fly back to his home. I love this bird so much. I want to take him with me forever, but that is impossible.

I leave behind my favorite food, chilaquiles con crema. Mmm, I love it so much!

I leave behind the air where I breathe when the stars shine so much the sky expands into blue.

I leave behind my house and both my parents and my cousins I play with. We play, running, jumping, and holding hands. We are the best friends in the world. I leave behind my best friends, Sarahy, Adriana, and Lilian. Lilian and I once went to the same school, and we would run together holding hands.

I leave behind my toys. I leave behind my doll, the one I play with every day on my bed, dreaming that I am the mama and she is my baby.

I leave behind so many other toys. And also my other friends. Their names are Rosario, Pilar, and Asucena.

I leave behind the flowers in my backyard. There, in my backyard, I play with my many cousins and my many friends. We play the cachadas. We play hide and seek.

By Aline, 7th grade
[photo by Jamuudsen via flickr]

I'm from the white daisies in my backyard,
the sharp chlorine in the blue swimming pool,
and the brown, soft and cozy fur on my dog.

I'm from the deep snow in my yard,
the green frogs hibernating in the snow in the garden,
and the warm, black dirt on my face.

I'm from the great leaves and the wood on my family tree,
that are all over me.

by Rob, 3rd grade
[photo by tipper via flickr]

Here’s another shot at a self-portrait. Completely “guy” mode here, which is a little sad actually cause it shows how un-macho I am.
That one day stubble is gone at the time of writing, and generally that’s as far as my beard growth goes. I tweeze the hair from my moustache area cause shaving leaves dark patches there. People say it’s sore but I don’t think so, but then again I epilate my chest!
A mistake I admit is that I overplucked my eyebrows lately, and it’s a mistake I have learned from.

Self Portrait Shit by Andreas Serrano

Via Art Fag City

And yes, even I must confess, I took this pic myself (by making very creative use of my bathroom mirror). What makes a great profile shot? Personality. I want my readers to want to come and hang out with that smiling blond woman in the sidebar. Come on, how can you resist? She's looking right at you, hair all n.i.c.e., smiling engagingly (maybe even a bit cheekily), well articulated intellect sparkling in those baby blues, and all the while making sure you see that quaint little wedding ring on her finger. Ya sure, the perfect pic for what I'm going for. Except for one thing. One huge thing.

So here it is blogosphere, I can't keep "it" in any longer...

My nose is not that big! It is in no way, shape, or form, bulbous!

Thank you. Thank you very much.

And thank you for tolerating this rather narcissistic post. So... how do you add a profile pic with real personality, but don't want to compromise on the snoz?  Use an action shot! (See below)

So this is great...this post just graduated from "rather" to "completey" narcissistic. And my punishment? Having to stare at this new set of giant-bodybuilder-neck photos. Sigh. At least the nose is better. lol

JoeZakaria
+o12 251 6345
MySpace
Flickr

Official Photographer For Istiadat Penyempurnaan Pemindahan Balai Nobat Diraja Istana Alam Shah Klang. Assigned by The Selangor’s Sultanate

The ONLY Official Photographer Team for “Merdeka Rasaksa” in conjunction of the celebration of 50th Anniversary of Malaysia Independance. Assigned by The Malaysia Governmen

]]> http://stolenlight.wordpress.com/?p=98 Mon, 01 Sep 2008 11:53:22 +0000 stolenlight http://stolenlight.wordpress.com/?p=98

Captured with the D200

coolphotoblogs - listed | i am vfxy

Grifonul=o pasare fabuloasa care imbina – prin capul si ghearele de vultur – energia celesta cu puterea terestra – sugerata de corpul de leu. Se cunoaste ca antichitatea a consacrat grifonului sarcina de paznic al comorilor. Grifonul apare frecvent pe pietrele dacice, anterioare cuceririi romane – cit si dupa. La fel, le gasim si pe Columna Traiana impodobind armele dacice. Celebrele coifuri dacice, numeroase fibule, piese de harnasament, atesta o bogata traditie geto-dacica legata de grifon.

[Self Portrait]

Sept 1 2008

Free Hand Digital Media

Produced one rough sketch today for class on Tuesday. Most of my time was taken with the research. I need to do two more. The idea is to bury the image of my face in the center of an orchid.

I also did the photography for a distorted self-portrait. I'm stealing a suggestion from Elisabeth's class and shot myself looking straight down. At this stage of life, gravity pulls on the skin and really produces an odd face.

I'll work more on this project tomorrow. Sadly, I can't say I am feeling any excitement about this at all.

Let a girl dream.