I went through the photos from the “Nothing But Light” photoshoot tonight. Vodka and tears were involved, both in generous quantities.
At first it was hard to see anything but the things I hated. The bad hair day. My face, dotted red from electrolysis. The discomfort. The sadness. The trying to be home in my skin, and not succeeding. The trying to hold it together.
But ultimately it was cathartic. Confronting images from a photoshoot where I’ve felt the ugliest I have in awhile, there were bits and pieces that I could look at and not flinch at, sometime even embrace. The occasional look in my eye, the curve of my calf, my nails looking long and elegant. The times when the vulnerability showed through. Even the wariness and guardedness.
I’m still having trouble being self-accepting of the body I see in the photos. In the mirror I can see what I want to see, but the camera is a harsh mistress that sees things as they are, not how I’d like them to be. Seeing the body I have now, not the body I desire. But I can now look at the photos and… well… maybe not embrace what I see, but rather come to a detente with it. That’s a start.
There’s ultimately about a half-dozen photos I’m giving the photographer permission to use publicly.
BTW, the photographer has a new website: http://www.nothingbutlight.io (NSFW, since the point of the project is that it’s nude portraits.)