from a summer friday afternoon drawing
Today
I went to draw. I was late, but they let me in during the session
anyway. Walking in, I got the nod to a key post, my personal favorite,
and looked up to see a face and body dripping with attitude. She was stunning, regal, romanesque, zaftig. She weighed roughly 300 lbs., flesh folds swinging, draping triumphant.
She was an actress, a seductress . . .
she was beautiful!
I
teared up recognizing all the large women in my life. Cooking and
cleaning with them, I'd studied their dimples and creases. As a child,
I couldn’t help but marvel at the vast creamy curves. I learned to
appreciate their warm, soft embrace, and began to understand true
beauty. Nothing has ever been so comforting as sitting in my mother’s
lap crying, hugging comfort from her flesh.
At
session’s end, I found myself going up to thank her. She had given me
something, a piece of herself. Her attitude infected me: brazen whimsy using a mirror, a fan, or even the pink parasol.
“Have to pay the rent,” she muttered, her façade crashing to the ground.
Hell—she’s just like the rest of us. No it isn’t easy—but it’s how she survives.
Aviva died December 28, 2007
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