by Heather Plett | Mar 14, 2010 | Beauty
“A life without delight is only half a life.”
“In order to become attentive to beauty, we need to rediscover the art of reverence.”
“If we attempt to own beauty, we corrupt it.”
“The call to the creative life is a call to dignity, to a life of vulnerability and adventure and the call to a life that exquisite excitement and indeed ecstasy will often visit.”
“We have a sacred responsibility to encourage and illuminate all that is inherently good and special in each other.”
“It is a wonderful day in a life when one is finally able to stand before the long, deep mirror of one’s own reflection and view oneself with appreciation, acceptance, and forgiveness.”
“Your strange and restless uniqueness is an intimate expression of God and who you are says something of who God is.”
“Rather than trying to set out like some isolated cosmonaut in search of God, maybe the secret is to let God find you.”
(Just a few of the things I underlined in “Beauty: Rediscovering the True Sources of Compassion, Serenity, and Hope” by John O’Donohue.)
by Heather Plett | Mar 9, 2010 | art, Beauty, grace, journey
He stood there. Naked and unflinching. Stared at by a dozen eager art students. Each of them trying to capture the curve of his belly, the shadow between his butt cheeks, and every flaw and imperfection on his face. Not even a hint of shame appeared – not a wince, not a clenched muscle in his jaw, not a discrete turning to hide any part of his body – he simply posed as the instructor told him.
It seemed fitting and somewhat ironic that in the middle of this particular journey that will lead me (in just 2 days) to lie beneath the surgeon’s knife and give up a part of my own profile, I was sitting in an art studio staring at a naked man.
What did his nudity have to do with my upcoming surgery? Well, I’ve been thinking a lot about the human body in recent weeks. Trying to come to terms with how I feel about my own body. Trying to determine just what my personal body image is. Trying to hold each of the body-related thoughts along this journey captive while I examine what they mean and how their stories shape me.
I have never been very comfortable with my own nakedness. I dress quickly when I emerge from the shower, never stopping to look at myself in the mirror. Even before the children were born, I couldn’t leave the bedroom unless fully clothed. Much to my husband’s chagrin, I wear pajamas to bed and cannot sleep unless I am dressed. Taking the above photo was one of the most awkward things I’ve ever done.
I don’t want to be naked. I don’t want to be reminded of my flaws and imperfections. I don’t want to see the way one heavy breast hangs nearly an inch lower than the other, or the way the cellulite bubbles on my hips. If I keep it all covered, I can pretend I don’t hear the screams of “unworthy” sounding off in my head.
Years ago, there was an artist visiting the Winnipeg Folk Festival who was displaying the most beautiful sculptures of pregnant women. I longed to be sculpted by him, to be made beautiful in my nakedness at the hands of an artist. But I wasn’t pregnant at the time. He told me how difficult it was to find women who were willing to model for him. He gave me his card and said if I were ever pregnant again, I should call him.
I was pregnant again. Twice. But I didn’t call. Part of me ached for it – wanted it so badly. But part of me couldn’t get past the shame and awkwardness of knowing someone would see my every flaw. I don’t even like the way my husband stares at me when I’m naked, how could I let an artist do it?
In two days, I’m having breast reduction surgery. You might be thinking “perhaps you should get your body image issues in order before you do that” and maybe you’d be right. But the truth is, this feels like the right time for me. It feels like something I need to do to feel more free and alive in my body. That might seem messed up, but it’s my truth and it’s the journey I’ve chosen.
It’s about having the freedom to run down the street without holding my chest tight with one of my arms. It’s about not feeling the ache in my shoulders or back. It’s about not having the underwire cut into my ribs under the weight. It’s about being able to buy a “normal” bra and not being told by the sales clerk for the umpteenth time “we don’t have anything in YOUR size”.
Will it make me feel more comfortable with my nudity? I don’t know. I’m pretty sure it won’t be a cure-all, but maybe it will help me take baby steps. And maybe someday, a little further along the journey, I’ll let an artist sculpt me, flaws and all.
As I got lost in the meditative act of outlining and shading the muscles, the bum, the groin, and the slightly drooping stomach of our model last night, I couldn’t help but sit in awe at the wonder of the human body. It’s a beautiful thing, this mass of sculpted muscles, skin, hair, sagging bellies, protruding birthmarks, imperfect lips – all of it. We are indeed fearfully and wonderfully made. In the likeness of our Creator.
Even me.
by Heather Plett | Feb 9, 2010 | Beauty, Uncategorized
Sometimes you’re looking for magic
and then when it comes
you’re too busy to notice.
Sometimes when the clouds have moved away from the sun
and the light is just right
you’re distracted and looking the other way.
Sometimes you forget that miracles aren’t just the big life-changing moments
but the small life-pausing moments.
And then sometimes
you’re standing still
at the right place at the right time
with your eyes wide open.
And suddenly
you remember what awe feels like.
by Heather Plett | Jan 28, 2010 | art, Beauty, Creativity, journey, women
How does one prepare for the day when a surgeon will cut off a piece of what makes one a woman?
I’ve been thinking a lot about bodies lately. Christine intrigued me with her choice of “embody” as her word for the year. And then Leah invited us to focus on the body as our creative muse this month. So since the beginning of the month I’ve been contemplating how I wanted to incorporate “body” into my creativity. I was full of ideas and just needed the time to play with them.
Then the envelope came in the mail. The envelope that held the letter that says in simple Times New Roman font, as though it were no more important than my daughter’s next soccer practice, that my breast reduction surgery has been booked for March. Gulp. Suddenly all creative ideas were blocked and all I could think of was “I’m going to lose a piece of what makes me a woman.”
Don’t get me wrong – I really want this surgery. I chose it. I’m so tired of the aching back, the carvings in my shoulders, the sore ribs from impossible under-wires, the impossibility of finding double H bras for less than my mortgage payment, the shirts that never fit, the near earthquake that’s caused when I try to jog – all of it. I want it to be over.
But that doesn’t mean it’s not complicated. It took me a long, long time to come to this decision, and I won’t back down now, but there are so many mixed emotions that play tricks with one’s mind. All of those memories of the babies I’ve nursed, the pleasure I’ve shared with my husband, the aching fullness of unused milk when the baby who was meant to nurse has left this earth – they’re all wrapped up in my identity, my shape as a woman.
And then there is the message I’m sending to my daughters. Is it okay for me to have plastic surgery, when I want to encourage them to value their bodies and not let media images dictate how they view what they see in the mirror? I would be lying if I didn’t admit to myself that at least part of the reason for this decision is about my own complicated body image.
Tonight I finally had time to disappear into my studio for awhile to play with paint, ideas, memories, heartache… and breasts.
I started with a few of those images that surround us – the perfect bodies with the perfect breasts. No, those aren’t the only reasons for this choice, but I have to at least acknowledge them and let them be a part of the picture. And the truth is, not even those women in the magazine ads are completely content when they look in the mirror.
As I prepare for this journey, I will try to acknowledge the hope and the hurt, the beauty and the ugly, the truth and the lies I tell myself. I know that I will be changed in more ways than one.
P.S. I had thought I’d be a little more private about this journey, but for some reason, I feel compelled to share it here. I know that you, my kind readers, will hold these words gently in your hearts as you have so often done when I’ve been vulnerable. If you’re interested, I first wrote about it here, when I went for my original consultation with the surgeon.
by Heather Plett | Jan 6, 2010 | Beauty
Do you ever stop and stare at the art on your window pane?
The endless variety?
The symmetry? The precision?
The delicate brush strokes mixed with bold connecting lines?
The way the sunlight changes each piece at different times of the day?
The bold and unorthodox lines? Sometimes balanced, sometimes not?
The soft edges mixed with dazzling sparkle?
The playfulness of the artist’s dancing brush strokes?
Some days, the best you can hope for is just one glimpse of beauty in the middle of the messiness.
by Heather Plett | Dec 12, 2007 | Beauty
Do you ever have those moments when you know there is something powerful and awe-inspiring at work in the space where you are? Something beyond yourself that makes you catch your breath with its beauty or power or inspiration? Something that gives you a tingly feeling because you know you were blessed to be there at that moment?
It’s not necessarily a big moment – sometimes it’s something very small and seemingly insignificant – but it’s usually a moment that changes you in some way. Sometimes it’s just a song that fills you with inspiration and hope. Sometimes it’s the glimpse of your child at play. Sometimes it’s a deep inexplicable knowing that there is goodness or beauty in the world.
I’m not sure what to call those moments, nor how to accurately define them. Words just don’t seem to suffice. I heard someone describe them as moments in which you “experience the sacred”. Others refer to them as “spirit-filled” moments. Probably for each of us, a different definition holds some measure of truth.
I had one of those moments on the train last week. As I gazed out the window at the passing scenery, I found myself mesmerized by the beauty of snow. Snow painting the tips of evergreen trees. Snow melting into droplets on the window. Snow crushed by the tires of a car. Fluffy white blankets of snow with just the hint of day-old footprints cutting like giant quilting stitches through middle. Snowflakes falling gently from the sky and mingling with the millions already on the ground.
Just then, a song started playing on my mp3 player. These were the opening lyrics: “Look out your window on a winter’s morning, your breath is steam and there’s frost falling, and the sun casts a spell upon the road. A thing of beauty is not a thing to ignore.” Wow. What a moment! This was not just some random snow-covered landscape. This was a thing of beauty. This was a gift from God for my hungry eyes.
While I sat there in awe of the snow and the song and the presence of God, the train rounded the corner and the vista changed. There spread in front of me was the great Lake Ontario in all its cold blue wonder, capped by white icing on the edges of the waves, blending into the blue, green and grey of the sky. The second verse of the song came on…“And the water does a dance upon the stones – I sit and listen, I will not ignore.” My eyes filled with tears at the pure wonder of it. I think I was shaking a little, feeling the indisputable presence of the sacred.
It is impossible to accurately capture these moments in words or even in pictures. Even the memory of it doesn’t do justice to the power of the moment. I am so grateful, though, that I was there and that I was open to encountering God.
Here’s a video that someone put together using the song as background. It’s quite lovely to watch. Be inspired.
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3zc0wHCT2hk&rel=1]
Thing Of Beauty
Hothouse Flowers
Look out your window on a winter’s morning
Your breath is steam and there’s frost falling
And the sun casts a spell upon the road
A thing of beauty is not a thing to ignore
Great song of beauty
Stand by the river on a moonlight evening
Lovers are loving and grievers are grieving
And the water does a dance upon the stones
I sit and listen, I will not ignore
A thing of beauty is not to be ignored
Can’t you see (can’t you see)
It in the secrets of the dawn? (thing of beauty)
Can’t you feel (can’t you feel)
Can’t you feel it in the place that you come from? (thing of beauty)
Face up to morning
Face up to day
Face up to reality
And face up to your ways
There is so much to breathe, see, know, understand and do
And I believe in things of beauty
Do you, do you?
Can’t you see
Can’t you see it in the secrets of the night? (thing of beauty)
Can’t you feel
Can’t you feel it in the wonder of a birds first flight? (thing of beauty)
Can’t you see, can’t you see it
See it in the gentle falling of the snow?
Can’t you feel, can’t you feel
Like a mother feels when she knows her child has grown?
Come to conclusions
I believe we all do
To look around us and the taste of the fruit
Set free your morals
It should be written on every door
A thing of beauty is not a thing to ignore
Can’t you see (can’t you see)
It in the magic when a boy meets a girl? (thing of beauty)
Can’t you feel it, can’t you feel it
In the wonders of the changes of the world? (thing of beauty)
Can’t you see (can’t you see)
It when right comes out of wrong? (thing of beauty)
Can’t you feel (can’t you feel)
It as it goes on and on? (thing of beauty)
Can’t you see (can’t you see)
It in what’s left beneath the ground? (thing of beauty)
Can’t you feel (can’t you feel)
It in the mystery of sound? (of sound, thing of beauty)
Can’t you see
Can’t you see it in the glory of the sun? (thing of beauty)
Can’t you feel, can’t you feel it in the wonder of the one…
One
Can’t you feel one and only?
One and only
Can’t you feel it, can’t you feel it, feel it
Thing of beauty?
“A life without delight is only half a life.”
