“She's beautiful,' he murmured.
'She's a metre across the hips, easily,' said Julia.
'That is her style of beauty,' said Winston.”
'She's a metre across the hips, easily,' said Julia.
'That is her style of beauty,' said Winston.”
-
George Orwell, 1984
I never identified as a “big girl”. I
knew “big girls”, and just didn’t see myself in them. However, by 13, I was
already heavier and curvier than the majority of the girls in my grade. And these
days, at a size 14-16, bra size 36DD, and a weight that I wouldn’t fib about
but wouldn’t be particularly forthcoming with, either, I realize I am probably
seen as one.
Is that my identifier? Because the
things that I see as a key part of my
identity are not so obvious. But how do I tell you about being the child of
deaf, divorced parents, or about being happily raised in a non-traditional
family, or about being 22 and never having had a guy tell me I was pretty? I started
following a different train of thought, thinking instead about facets of my identity
that are not important to me but are obvious. The clearest was this idea
of being a “big girl.”
Rubens came quite immediately to mind. Peter
Paul Rubens, a Baroque painter in the 16th and 17th
centuries, is known for painting beautiful, full-figured women. In his milieu,
they were considered “the apogee of beauty” (Alastair Sooke, BBC Culture). And
where I have never identified as a “big girl”, I am quick to identify with
Rubens’ women.
In our culture, “big girls” can be cute
or even pretty, but they are not and cannot be beautiful. Perhaps that is the
reason I balk at the label. In the shower, on the beach in a favorite swimsuit,
in bed wearing a rom-com-esque men’s button-down, I feel beautiful. My thighs
more than touch, my stomach has rolls when I sit on the beach, that men’s button-down
fits. But I don’t feel just cute or pretty; I feel beautiful.
Ruben’s depiction of Venus, the goddess
of love, beauty, sex, and desire, has rolls when she sits. She has cellulite.
She has cankles! The goddess Diana barely has a jawline. Rubens’ own wife is
painted with a slight double chin. But his women are beautiful.
In Jenkins’ “How Texts Become Real”, he
speaks of placing materials in “the context of lived experience. [They] assume increased
significance as they are fragmented and reworked.” I fragmented Rubens’ art and
milieu, pulling just his women, then considered beautiful, into today’s fashion
editorials. I wanted to prove that beauty then can be beauty now. Because perhaps
if you see Venus on a modern beach, her stomach folded as she sits, and still think
her beautiful, you might reconsider. Rubens’ women, “big girls”, plus-size, curvy,
call us what you will - don’t need to be the “apogee of beauty” anymore. Just
let us be beautiful.
This is lovely, my dear. Your writing is spot on. And I love you. And you ARE beautiful. And that's all.
ReplyDeleteThanks for reading baby girl! And I love you. <3
DeleteYou're beautiful <3
ReplyDeleteThanks mija. You are, too! <3
DeleteI really love this! You, darling, are beautiful inside and out :)
ReplyDeleteThanks Gem!!! <3
DeleteI really love this! You, darling, are beautiful inside and out :)
ReplyDeleteWow. Great post. I love how you bring Reubens into a modern context. And thanks for having the courage to discuss something that is implicitly taboo. It's really encouraging and makes me want to be more accepting of bodies generally, including my own.
ReplyDeleteWow. Great post. I love how you bring Reubens into a modern context. And thanks for having the courage to discuss something that is implicitly taboo. It's really encouraging and makes me want to be more accepting of bodies generally, including my own.
ReplyDelete