Guest Blogger: AliMarie Photography

I am so excited to introduce you to the woman who captured my bald head so beautifully a few months back: Alissa Miller. I asked her to share her thoughts on beauty and how she sees her role as a photographer of beauty that is uncommon. Here's what she has to say:

"A warm hello! What a treat to share my thoughts in such a transformational slice of cyber space. Photographing Wendy was a joy and inspiration that continues to change me. As an artist and divinity student, I strive to combine my love of photography and passion for seeing healing in the world. Wendy's shoot allowed me just such a privilege.
So, what is it about photography that cultivates healing? Certainly, photography has the power to cultivate pain in our world. We are bombarded with images that few of us measure up to, which often nurtures a gut-wrenching dissatisfaction with our internalized hopeless inadequacy. This quietly instills a tragic self-hatred within many of God's beloved.
And, more, we're given a monolythic portrait of humanity. This simplistic perspective of our actual complexity, creates a divide between what is normal and what is not, what is acceptable and what is not, what is beautiful and what is not. We find our eyes squinting into critical glares that blind us to God's true and messy beauty.
The fracturing of the human spirit in the wake of unattainable perfection suffocates the life abundant that Jesus came to give. A life of abundant embrace of all that doesn't fit the norm. A life of abundant love for all... including ourselves.
I am drawn to a ministry of challenging these monolythic norms of perfection, a ministry of redefining beauty. My goal, as I pear through my camera lens is to capture the profound, divine beauty that radiates from each of us.
I find myself called to be a minister outside the church: loving people where they are, giving them the space to share their stories and capturing their unique beauty as a reminder of their unquestionable worthiness. It is through this ministry that I hope to bring about God's healing, love and courage to those who find themselves on a beauty margin.
Lofty, dreamy hopes, yes? I know. And I'm a lofty dreamer. But, I have seen the way that being given the space to unabashedly embody all that you are in front of a camera changes lives.
As each of us strive to unabashedly embody all that WE are, let's search in the mirror today not for our supposed short-comings, but for our deep, irrevocable beauty, a beauty that each of us bears differently and hearkens us back to the beauty of our Source.
Thanks for letting me steal your ear... or eyes... for a moment with my chatter. I'd love to continue the conversation with you on Facebook at facebook.com/alimariephoto.biz. Or wander my website at www.alimariephotography.biz. "

Measuring Up

Time for another post about Barbie. She's just indomitable. Now, we've all heard the argument that Barbie's measurements are not anatomically possible, but have you ever visualized it?

http://mightyhips.wordpress.com/barbie-doll/

There you have it. :)

Now, I don't actually think this is what Barbie would look like as a real person. I think she would look more like what's represented here:

Still, looking at that top image is a great reminder about the importance of proportion. We feel uncomfortable when we see things that are out of proportion. Or we laugh. We get camera lenses with hilarious distortion effects, or we hang out in front of fun house mirrors.

Regardless of our reactions, we know what an acceptable human form is. Diseases that cause people to have over-sized features or diets that shrink body parts down give us the heebie jeebies.

Most of us, though, don't see these anomalies on a daily basis. We do, however, constantly size ourselves up, literally. "My (fill in the blank) is too big/small." Says who? Have you actually measured the part in question and compared it on a medical chart? Do you honestly think people are looking at you and seeing a distorted image that defies human proportions?

Usually, the answer to the last two questions is "No". That first question goes to the heart of what this blog is all about. Who decides what is beautiful, or even what is normal?

When I look in the mirror or at a photo of myself and complain about how small my head is, what is actually bothering me? Am I really upset that my head doesn't take up as much space as the person's next to me? Or am I comparing my head size to the "ideal" version of me that exists in my head?

Here's a better example: when I complain about my flat chest, what am I comparing myself to? That's easy: Barbie. Marketing and media have determined the most beautiful proportions for women. If I don't measure up (ha!), I feel less womanly, and less human.

Head size hasn't exactly been marketed, but clearly I have some idea that heads should be a certain size. Whenever I watch the newest Pride and Prejudice, I can't help but laugh at how small Keira Knightley's head looks next to Donald Sutherland's.

It comforts me to know that a beautiful, well-loved actress appears to have a pretty small head.

So you might be wondering, "How small is her head?" Well, here it is. This is a picture of me with my students last fall:

There I am, on the bottom row, second in from the right. It's a small head, right? :)

Why am I so self-conscious of my head? Can we allow ourselves, and others, more room for varying measurements without getting squeamish? Even though that life-size Barbie doll looks ridiculous to us, what if there were really someone in the world who looked like that? Could we make room?

Proportions are useful inasmuch as they are functional. If a person is up and walking around, smiling and breathing, why should their measurements matter?

Lots of questioning and disconnected thoughts here. Care to weigh in?

Perfection

It never fails. Just when I was gaining confidence and stepping out proudly with my bald head...

Last week I bent down to pick up the laundry in my closet, and I hit my head on the sharp corner of the shoe organizer my husband had just put in there. Oh, the drama. I yelled and cursed, I rolled on my bed howling, I ran to the mirror to assess the damage. It would have been hilarious as a scene on "Modern Family" or something.

The absolutely UN-funny part, though, is that I now have an L-shaped gash on my head, marring (perhaps forever) my beautiful, perfect head.

In this heat wave I have wanted nothing more than to strip off my head coverings and let my skin breathe...but I haven't wanted the world to see my scar.

Who knows, maybe it won't actually scar. Maybe it will heal, nice and clean. But I find myself reciting my old mantra every time I look in the mirror: "Of course, this would happen to me. God must have thought I was getting too vain." I really don't know why I automatically go to that line of thought, that any physical imperfection is there to keep me from being vain.

But I do. I see these imperfections as punishments, blemishes that keep me from looking the way I want. I still remember that on my wedding day I had a couple of scabs on my arm from some bug bites I had scratched too hard. I tried to cover them up with makeup, but they showed up in some of the pictures. I wasn't too bothered by it, but I did feel a little sorry for myself, regretting that I hadn't taken better care of my skin (for my wedding photos).

Yes, I am a perfectionist. I can't stand to have my kids wearing clothes with stains on them. I donate my clothes once they get stains on them that won't come out. If I paint my nails and then one of them chips a little right away, I want to hit something. If I have just mopped and a new little dribble of milk ends up falling to the floor afterward, I turn into a crazy lady.

I don't know why I can't handle little mess-ups. A child therapist I know recently gave me an accidental insight into this. Speaking about a child, he said that some kids really like to organize toys because it helps them to order their thoughts as well.

I suppose there is some mental equivalent to my need for a pure canvas, an unscratched table, an unstained shirt, or a zit-free face.

The solution? Redefining perfection.

Is perfection the absence of flaws? Or are flaws indicative of being perfectly human? (Deep thoughts with Wendy...)

When I look at my head, now scratched and scarred, I will try to see it as a story I am in the middle of telling. Who wants a story with no conflict? A happy ending means nothing without the conflict. So that's it. My head is a story waiting for its happy ending. And aren't we all?