Art

A few weeks ago, a friend of mine applied to the Animation Program at BYU. Consequently, she needed models for some figure drawing sketches to submit with her final portfolio. Without really thinking, I volunteered myself and before I knew it, I was standing in front of her, posing, in nothing more than a sports bra and swimsuit bottoms (leaving little to the imagination). The whole experience was uncomfortable to say the least, but in all honesty, I wouldn't have had it any other way (for the past few years I've been too ashamed of my body to go swimming or even wear shorts in public. I guess I didn't want other people judging my body as harshly, or harsher, than I already did). I was able to prove to myself that I was finally okay with how I look...in all my chubby glory.

Needless to say, this was something I needed--a mile-marker on my journey to self-acceptance.

Random: I made my very first loaf of bread this week!

I wanted to end this post with a quote about art, but coincidentally I came across a quote from one of my favorite books, "Eleanor and Park" by Rainbow Rowell.

"Eleanor was right. She never looked nice. She looked like art, and art wasn't supposed to look nice; it was supposed to make you feel something."

Utah can be a hard state to grow up in. For some reason, women here tend to have a standard of perfection that is nearly impossible to reach (Did you know that Salt Lake City has been dubbed the "Most Vain City" due to the number of plastic surgeons and plastic surgeries per capita?). As a child, teenager, and even now as a young adult, I find myself struggling to meet these expectations on a daily basis. Like Eleanor, I never seem to look "nice" enough (especially on BYU's campus...home of J Crew fanatics, and Herschel backpacks), thin enough, or pretty enough. Causing me to constantly question both my aesthetic and social value. 

We often refer to God as being the master artist, but how often do we refer to ourselves as His masterpiece? 

Today while moving some things into my new apartment complex, I couldn't help but notice how I didn't seem to match up to the other girls in my building (BYU...go figure). After telling my mom how much of an outcast I felt compared to them, she told me: "Beauty isn't how you look, it's who you are."

At the end of the day it doesn't matter how you look, but rather, how you make other people feel, and ultimately how you feel about yourself. 

...Maybe that's what Rainbow Rowell was trying to us.