Writing by Isa Denney Strother // Photograph by Tiziana Gualano
To me, the human body is a work of art; each human being the exclusive owner and rights holder to their very own one-off work.
A body is a soul holder, a brain machine, an automobile for your thoughts, a printing press for your mind. Each body has infinite potential; it starts as a blank canvas and later can portray your whole aesthetic. It’s a comprehensive comic strip of you, staring the one and only you.
A body is a model; you can twist it into a multitude of shapes and give it a multitude of names. Dress it how you please, and ornament it with all the precious jewels in the world. It can be full of holes or covered in inks or paints.
To me a body is like a tree; it starts small and when you bury it in love, and rest it in the sun, you become the strong queen or king of plants you were born to be. A body is a home, a place for your spirit and mind to hide inside and shine out off.
Bodies come in all shapes and sizes, which yes, is a cliche, but art is a cliche.
Bodies are imperfect, and that is the unique perfectness of each. I have freckles and uneven tans, and marks, and oily skin, and hair that doesn’t behave. A have a right to cover that up however I please, and it doesn’t make me ashamed or self-conscious. It just means I like it that way.
If you are painting for yourself, no one can tell you what to paint; if you are living for yourself, no one can tell you how to live.
There are thousands of individual styles and mediums for art; some are just a collage of other people’s works, and some are works a whole life in the making. Some are made of a series of lines on a page, never contacting, and some are just a fluid motion in one colour.
All bodies are beautiful and help to make up the bigger network, the gorgeous gallery of humanity; made of skin and blood and bone and all the pretty pieces of yourself.[share]