I was tasked with taking some full length nudes for a project I will be participating in later this year. Yikes!! Talk about being out of your comfort zone. Although the project requires me to be photographed nude, it will be done by a professional photographer, with professional equipment, and a professional eye. I am definitely not a professional and have neither of those things.
I’d put it off for a few days as I couldn’t find a full length mirror or someone to take the photos of me. How do you lose a full length mirror that’s been hanging on your wall for the past 7 years, you ask. Have your mother come visit for two weeks. I can’t find anything! Oh well, time to figure something out. I propped my little cell phone up on the washing machine, set the timer, and went about taking the required photos. I needed three full length standing nudes, front, side, and back. Three pictures. That’s it. Simple. No, not so simple.
I took a tonne of pictures and with every one I felt my confidence fading away. Oh my gosh, do I really look like that? Those are horrible! That fat, ugh. That dimpled skin, ugh. My knees, what happened to my knees? And where did that belly come from?! I cried. I picked three, sent them off to the photographer then I crawled into bed, pulled the blankets up around me and cried.
I take a lot of pictures of my naked body and share them here or on Twitter, but they are different. They are specific parts of my body, parts I like, or angles I like, parts I can edit. They are not the whole thing, my full body au naturel, running to catch a timer under crap lighting in my front hall in the middle of the night. Where’s the “sexy model” filter when you nend one? There are no filters, no editing, no playing with the angles.
This morning I was still feeling down about all those damned pictures I took last night. Maybe if I delete them the whole experience will disappear with them and I will feel better. I pull out my phone and open the photo album, finger ready to mass delete. One gone, two gone, another. Then I came across one that I had forgot I set the timer on. That one isn’t bad, my boobs look great. Okay, keep that one. Next? Delete. Delete. Delete.
Okay, so deleting all the pictures didn’t make me feel better. Quelle surprise. That one that I didn’t delete though, the one with the fantastic boobs, that one made me feel better. I cropped out the cross hanging above my front door, though on hindsight it may have worked with today being Good Friday and all, and voila, we have a #Boobday picture.