Keep it Real
This month, in keeping with the fact that we are in a new year, I’ve been having a look at myself. Specifically, I dug through a bunch of my old artwork (going way back into high school days, through to college), seeking out what I call “old school selfies” (i.e., self-portraits). The purpose of this exercise was to see where I’ve come from, and how my art has evolved, and to consider if my self-perceptions have evolved over time too. A voyage of self-discovery.
Spurred by this age of selfies and social media presence/followings, I have been thinking about how much we, as a society, are desperate to portray ourselves in ways that we perceive as positive. Of course “positive” is quite a subjective term. While one person might want to show themselves being fit, active, and healthy (I admit, I admire and aspire to such a lifestyle), another might want to reveal that she/he is the ideal parent, or highlight how super sexy and stylish they are, or to trumpet their glorious intellect, or, or, or. . . The list is endless. I’m not saying the pursuit of excellence is bad. What I do question is the value (or harm) in being so caught up in what I broadcast to the world about me, Me, ME that I miss out on being present in my own life, body, family, and community.
After a shower, moisturizing my Sahara Desert-like skin
When I meet a new person, though I find it interesting to learn what they do vocationally, or where they live, or how many family members they have, one of my preferred questions is: “If you had a day to do whatever you wanted, what would you do?” I’m interested to know what hobbies a person has, what makes them tick, what makes them come alive. That tells me a lot more about an individual than what job they have. Heaven knows not everyone has the fortune of doing a job about which they are passionate!
What strikes me, repeatedly, is the surprising number of times that such a question yields a blank, sometimes baffled expression followed by either a cop-out answer (“Oh, I guess I’d binge on Netflix”) or a confession (“You know, I’ve been so busy these last years that I’m not really sure what my hobbies are anymore.”). Maybe those answers go hand-in-hand. Maybe binging on Netflix actually is a valid use of a day for those who are so busy they simply need a rest to let their overworked selves vegetate and recuperate from the mad rat race they’ve been living. What I fear, though, is that a lot of people are generally out of touch with who they really are, what makes them themselves, what brings them joy, and satisfaction.
When we can never be still, never be alone, never be quiet, and must always project some high-quality (possibly partially true) version of ourselves, we run the risk of forgetting who we are. French Pholosopher Blaise Pascal said “All of men’s miseries derive from not being able to sit in a quite room alone.” I don’t know that I’d go as far as to agree the all of humanity’s troubles stem from this lack; however, being alone and quiet is increasingly rare and possibly scary concept for our society. Why? It demands that we look at ourselves in an honest light – not comparing with others, or trying to be more or less than we are – and that means being vulnerable, and real. It means admitting we are not just a carbon copy of that person we esteem; it means allowing ourselves to be unique, one of a kind, imperfect. The beauty of humanity is, in part, the diversity therein.
The older I get, the more I appreciate authenticity. Sometimes an honest response is so uncommon that it’s jarring. An amazing woman I worked with a few years back always took an interest in my art and even purchased some. Naturally, when I had an exhibition, I told her about it and gave her a brochure. Without skipping a beat, or apologizing, or making an excuse, she said something to the effect of “Oh, I’m way too lazy to go out to those sorts of things, but I’d love to hear how it goes! Thanks for letting me know.” Nobody had ever previously been so bold as to just say that my thing wasn’t their thing and that, no offence, but they’d pass. It shocked me. But then it impressed me. There was a woman who knew who she was, what she valued and wanted to spend time on, and was kind enough to tell me the truth and spare me wasting future brochures on her. She wasn’t rude, but she was real. I am not yet able to respond so firmly as her in complete honesty because I am a bit of a people-pleaser and don’t like to rock the boat. I’m working on it…
This New Year, I don’t want to craft a “New Me”. Rather, I want to better understand who the “real Marion” is, not so I can make a statement or be contrarian (though that rhymes nicely with my name), but so I can live more authentically. How refreshing it would be to unapologetically be genuine without worrying that we don’t measure up or are flawed! We are all works in progress. Looking back at some of those old self-portraits, I see lots of things I’d change, but at the time I created those pieces, they were my best attempts. Sometimes they failed, and I hated the result (such as the Basket Case self portrait shown here); but that merely shows there was room for improvement. Other times, the result was satisfying and pleased me (see “Obedience” graphite on coloured paper). Why can’t we bravely give ourselves the space to breathe, to shake off the encumbrances of culture, and dig deep into learning what makes us come alive? Why can’t we stop taking duck face selfies and be real? Real will be messy sometimes, and magnificent other times; but authentic is always more beautiful than phoney.
Keep it real, folks. I’m going to try to.
“Basket Case” – Not a winning self-portrait. I hated it while I was working on it and still consider it a veritable flop.
