I always felt comfortable dressing and undressing in front of other women- be it in the locker room in my high-school or at a fitting room in Bloomingdale's. Perhaps because my mother always changed in front of me,
it was my understanding, for most of my life, that women can be naked around other women comfortably and shamelessly. Then I went to college in the United States. Sarah Lawrence College, to be precise. One of the most liberal, actively feminist colleges in the world. I lived in a house-dorm with 27 people, 21 of which were women, I shared a room with two women, and a bathroom with five. I had been in the room with my new roommates for about an hour, and I needed to change my clothes since it was a hot day and I was sweating in what I was wearing. Of course I am not reckless and naive- I made sure to close the curtains and the door so that any passerby's (of the opposite sex) wouldn't look up and suddenly see a half-naked 18-year-old airing out her armpits. It would never have crossed my mind to go into the bathroom, lock both doors, take my clothes with me, and come out dressed in them so as to avoid being naked in front of my new female housemates. I took off my shirt and stood in front of my dresser topless- deciding what to wear (and enjoying not wearing clothes for a few minutes in that stuffy room). I picked a shirt that had a built-in-bra, so I took off my bra and turned around- only to find both my roommates frozen in place, staring at me. Or rather, at my bare chest. Of course staring is not something that shocks me. Even girls who change in front of each other their whole lives at school still stare at each other from time to time- usually comparing body parts.
Nudity is always compelling, even when one is completely used to it. But this was not that kind of staring. One of my roommates- who I later learned was a virgin- was staring at me with pure, utter, unmistakable embarrassment. As if she were the one who was naked and had just realized she had a donkey tattooed on her left breast. The other one- who later became a dear friend- was staring with what I felt was a question mark, as if I wondering if I didn't know where the bathroom was.
Their stares were quickly masked and they each found something to busy themselves with, although their eyes couldn't help but occasionally glance over at me- the strange creature who had invaded their privacy and imposed upon them so much flesh. I did not apologize for my actions, nor did I stop doing it. I put on my shirt, and when I decided I wanted to wear a different one, I stripped yet again.
After a few weeks, my roommate who became my friend started shamelessly changing in front of us as well. But the virgin roommate never even showed us her bra. She would pile up her clothes, lock herself in the bathroom and come out completely dressed. Once, when she was in a hurry, I think she forgot her bra or put on the wrong one, she grabbed the one she needed to wear and was on her way back to the bathroom when, to her horror, someone was already in there, and so I eagerly awaited as I thought I'd finally see her break through her armor of timidity. She did no such thing.
With the skills of an acrobatic athlete, she changed her bra in the room without taking off her shirt or even showing her belly button. She left without saying good-bye, and I sat on my bed for about an hour, wondering how the hell society managed to do that to women.
In fact- it did not take me long to learn that most American women do not undress in front of each other, and that it would almost always shock them when I did.
I was taken completely off-guard one day when one of my college friends referred to me as someone who is completely comfortable with her body. I asked her where she got such an insane idea, and she answered, "Well you have no problem being naked in front of people." I quickly answered, "Women. I have no problem being naked in front of women. Because we have the same body parts! Because you're not looking at me and judging how fuckable I am when you see me naked!" She was silent for a while- as though it had not occurred to her that I might not be comfortable at all with my body, or that when a man is present I am completely aware of exactly how much skin is uncovered. I'm not sure my point made sense to her, and she asked yet another question, "But aren't you afraid of how judgmental women are?" This time I didn't know what to say. I thought about it for a while.
Whenever I saw a woman with stretchmarks or cellulite or in-grown hairs I usually felt relieved that other women also had those things, and felt a kind of unspoken companionship blossom. Yes, when I was a teenager I had rivals, and would try to find imperfections in them so as to make myself feel better, but it was not something I obsessed over or was even proud of. I told my friend this and she seemed surprised, if not skeptical. How could a woman not instantly and constantly judge another woman- especially when seeing her naked? My heart broke as I started to realize that women judging each other was, for most, considered second nature.
I thought about all of this extensively, and have not come up with solutions or answers, but I recently invented a game. I usually play it on the subway. It's a simple game- it's like people watching and energy shifting combined.
I look around at women and find one thing about each one that is completely beautiful to me. It does not have to be physical, it can be about their energy or an action they take.
Her hair, her hands, the way she's holding her son's hand, her attention to her purse, her shoulders, her elegance, her grace....
It usually puts me in a much better mood- and it tends to have a very strong karmic force. On days when I play this game, I am often given a lot of compliments, usually from other women. And when I share the game with other women, they are often delighted, and want to know what I find beautiful about them. It is different from fishing for compliments or kissing up to someone, I think, because it only works if it comes from an honest place, and it is not intended to serve the ego, but rather to guide women away from judging one another, and towards admiration and respect for each other. Try it- I think you'll be surprised.
There's something about growing older that requires one's life to have more predictability, more routine and less randomness. Hence in my life, Monday is when we make spaghetti bolognaise for our evening meal with mushrooms cooked separately in butter and oil, a sprinkling of fresh parmesan and warm bread rolls. I always wash mine down with half a pint of milk - the only time in the week when I ever drink it.
But here's the original.
I remember that the bright light that afternoon was against me. Obviously the best time to take good photos of the moai on the south eastern slope of Rano Raraku would be mid morning. Here's the same moai with image anhancement via HP Image Zone - altering the ambient light, flipping it and playing with "contrast" and "filters":-
Hey, I'm no expert but images mean a lot to me. It's how my brain works. You'll notice that every blogpost I have ever produced has contained at least one image. With digital photography available to us all, it's fun and gratifying to be able to manipulate the images we produce. Remember past years when you'd send a roll of holiday film off for processing? You'd wait eagerly for your prints to come and often when you ripped open the Kodak or Max Spielmann package you'd be disappointed. Now we have control over our pictures - no longer spoilt by careless labs or cheap printing methods.
