Shit colored glasses - Part deux
Again, giving credit where credit is due, it was at a posing workshop taught by Sweet Louise, aka my friend Caroline, aka muse, client, and teacher, where I first heard the phrase 'shit colored glasses' as we were all instructed to leave those stinky spectacles at the door. Pardon the term, I do realize it contains a 'dirty' word but even dirtier are the feelings of 'too fat' - 'too old' - 'too big' - 'too small' - those feelings of inadequacy and the horrible dysmorphic view we seem to have *only* when we view ourselves. I can't think of a better name than shit colored glasses. Appropriate.
Back to the panicked voice over prep from yesterday's post - I knew what I wanted to say and I knew that I didn't want it scripted, but I really felt the need to gather my thoughts and my words so I didn't sound like a complete and utter ding-dong for my voice over about-me promo thingie.
To refresh my mind and yours...
"I choose to specialize in the VERY intimate genre of boudoir because it allows me the freedom to pay attention to the details, I’m afforded the luxury of time to explore all of the angles and perspectives from which I shoot. I find an insane amount of inspiration in the courage it takes my clients to come to me… because, let’s be honest, it is no easy thing to contemplate, consider, decide and then schedule to bare most of ourselves to a perfect stranger. I know this is hard… I’ve done it myself. I do not take on this task lightly… I appreciate that my clients come to me in a very vulnerable state and trust that I will capture them well…
To borrow a phrase from my friend Caroline (aka Sweet Louise) we women wear shit colored glasses when we look upon ourselves."
So in addition to the inspiration I find in the courage of my clients, I also get this amazing rush upon the reaction of their portrait reveal. The reveal is usually met with a sharp intake of breath, a sense of wonder and sheer joy as they see themselves, almost as though it were the first time they ever laid eyes on themselves and realize.... "I am beautiful".
You'd have to see it, feel it and witness it to completely understand. It's like they see themselves as the world sees them, truly seeing - without these awful shit colored glasses.
That's a rush, my friends. To bear witness to *that* is powerful. To have been a small part of that realization, a true gift. Gives me goosebumps. Have I mentioned that I love my job? I do.
How lucky am I?