Routines, Old and New

You wake up in the morning, have a good stretch, make a pot of coffee and sit down to read about what’s going on in the world – on the Internet, in the newspaper, or wherever. And the more you read the bigger and darker becomes the cloud. You know the cloud I’m talking about. The cloud of human misery and strife and conflict. For me, this has become a detrimental routine, one that often comes close to ruining my whole mood for the rest of the day, that is if I allow it. But resistance is difficult, as I am nowhere near desensitized enough to resist the negative impact of so much tragedy and chaos. Some people are desensitized enough. I am not one of them. So after an hour of reading about rape and child neglect and infanticide, terrorist attacks and chemical weapons and car bombs, animal abuse and sex trafficking and rioting anarchists, corrupt politicians and the various cruelties carried out by asshole teenagers, and the current, seemingly unstoppable, cultural trend toward moral degeneracy, I am emotionally and mentally drained by the time I close my laptop. As much as I believe in awareness and staying informed, these days I’m regretting the routine every time. It just makes me sick. Beam me up Scotty, I’ve had enough.

Daily routines are not inherently harmful of course. On the contrary, routines can impart feelings of consistency, stability, and clearheadedness. For some people it’s a morning jog before work, for others a workout at the gym after work. For others still it’s painting or writing at the crack of dawn, or walking the dog, or even 20 minutes in the garden just picking a few weeds. A routine can also be something as simple as a morning phone call to check in on a parent or elderly loved one. Before my grandmother passed away, my Mom used to call her every single morning, a routine on my mother’s part that meant the world to grandma.

I’ve noticed that on the days when do I deviate from the first-thing-in-the-morning newsreading routine and replace it with something else – running, yoga, writing emails, making a fruit salad, tinkering around the house etc – I really do feel better, like I haven’t yet been “contaminated” by the evils and wretchedness of the world. My outlook and disposition remains truer to the person I am, who is loving and hopeful. I don’t want to bury my head in the sand, but I don’t want to defile my soul either. Well at least not first thing in the morning!

Routines, like habits, are hard to break. So while I can’t shut myself out from the news completely, I might consider moving the routine from the beginning of the day to the end of the day, when it can’t pollute my thoughts, hamper my productivity, distract me, or dampen the joy that my spirit intrinsically holds. I’m a pretty happy person generally. But the news headlines seem determined to convert us all into cynical, embittered nihilists. And that is very sad indeed.

Craig and I were discussing classical music the other night. I mentioned that one of the most uplifting pieces of music ever written, in my opinion, is the overture to Mozart’s comic opera The Marriage of Figaro. Jubilant, bubbly, and brisk, the overture sets a splendid, optimistic tone for the start of a day. Play pretend conductor and it’s even more fun! My new routine maybe? A million times better than the dreadful Huffington Post, that’s for sure.

Morning Light, by Childe Hassam:

People I Know

After 33 years working at the National Academy in charge of building maintenance and janitorial staff, he has undoubtedly earned his retirement. We all bid a fond farewell to William the other night with a lovely reception in the school gallery where hugs, kisses, and well-wishes overflowed. Back in 2005, when I showed up for my very first modeling job at the Academy, it was William who directed me to the basement-banished Studio 5. “First day?” he asked. “Yes!!” I answered with the gung-ho enthusiasm of a  new, wet behind the ears artist’s model. “Good luck darlin’!”, William said. And I smiled. Over the next eight years William often witnessed me dashing through the hallways for quick bathroom breaks between poses, spilling coffee, asking for Band-Aids, looking for lost jewelry, and noisily pushing heavy armchairs around to set up long sitting poses. Always on hand to meet the requests of instructors, teachers, and models, William was our trusted friend. I wish him all the very best in his post-Academy life. A blown kiss for Willie to augment the kiss I already gave him on the cheek.

Still reeling from the harrowing loss of his son Ronan just one month before his third birthday, Rick Louis came here to New York City, his hometown, to visit family and friends. Rick and my brother Chris have been friends since childhood, and Rick has of course known me, Chris’s little sister, for just about the entirety of my life. All of us, along with our friend Greg, gathered for a reunion on the upper West Side where we enjoyed good food and great conversation. We were the Queens kids together again, reminiscing and sharing our favorite stories. While Rick is experiencing the unimaginable grief of a parent losing a child, he is seeking, and hopefully finding, solace in the bonds of those who love him and stand by him through his trials. Like me, Rick is a yoga enthusiast. For dear Rick, a spontaneous burst of upward-facing-dog on my kitchen floor. Namaste, friend.

Out of the blue, an email arrived with a subject memo that read “Blast From the Past”. Usually those words introduce something either very welcome or very unwelcome. In this instance it was, happily, very welcome. Again, an old friend, this time from high school. He searched for me on the Internet, which brought him where else but right here to Museworthy! Jimmy wrote the nicest note and thoughtfully attached some great old pictures of our gang. The faces of Stephanie, Heather, Leonard, Faby, and Jimmy are only partially obscured by my gigantic 80s hair! But gosh, we look so young. Ear-to-ear smiles. Exuberant. Energetic. The faces of carefree teenagers who have their whole lives ahead of them. Well, we’re all in our mid-forties now, but to assure Jimmy that we’re not old people just yet, a little fun in my living room chair showing that I can still kick up my heels like  the troublemaking high school junior I once was

All of the photos in this post were taken by the most important of the “people I know”, my boyfriend Craig. Thanks for the pics baby

A Little Chagall

Helloooo friends! Hope you all had a great weekend. Mine was lovely. I posed for my last booking with Peter Cox, a modeling job I enjoyed immensely, and attended the Fountain Art Fair where I hung out with my pal Daniel Maidman. Throw in springlike warmer temperatures and now longer days, life is fine and fabulous

I’m flying out the door soon to pose for Mario D’Urso”s sculpture class but would like to post a quick Music Monday before I go. My oldest and dearest friend is a huge fan of Marc Chagall. Sadly, she and I are estranged and have not spoken in over two years. She used to read this blog regularly but I don’t know if she still does. In any case, I’d like to post this charming, colorful lithograph by Chagall titled The Accordionist, in the chance she might see it. I want her to know that I think of her often and hope she is as happy as I am these days. Miss you S. With love, sincerely, Claudia. xo

Winter Hideaway

Hey gang! The big storm is coming and I am super prepared for a wintry 48 hours of snowed-in warmth and retreat. I have no work until Monday, so until then I am stocked up with food, wine, tea, candles, and firewood. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, those of us born under the astrological sign of Cancer are pros at this sort of thing – staying home and creating a comfortable, secure, cozy environment. So I say to storm Nemo, bring it baby! We’re ready for you in Queens, NY.

Be safe everyone. Have fun, throw another log on the fire, make hot chocolate, take photos of snowy landscapes, create art, read books, listen to Beethoven, play with the pets, curl up in a blankie, watch an old movie, snuggle with someone you love . . . . and dream about spring  I’ll see you all very soon.

Lady by the Fireplace by Gustav Klimt:

Becoming Found

Greetings friends. I hope this blog post finds you well, at peace, and still joyful from the holiday season. Monday night, I attended Christmas Eve services at St. Bartholomew’s Episcopal Church on Manhattan’s east side. Ten years ago my presence at that church, or any church, would have been highly improbable. On several occasions on this blog and in my other writings, I have alluded to, even discussed a bit, the “dark” stage of my life; my struggles with depression and anxiety, my exasperating inability to find peace and personal fulfillment, and my difficulty coping with losses and emotional pain.

As I walked toward St. Bart’s on that chilly, rainy night, my mind, my soul – my entire being – became swelled with thoughts; thoughts of how my life’s journey has unfolded over my 44 years, where I’ve been, where I am now, and where I might be going. I thought also of the grave plight of my fellow Christians in the Middle East and how the Western world is willfully turning a blind eye to their persecution. I thought of people everywhere; the ambitious, the destitute, the brave, and the misguided.  My heart began to ache, and part of me wanted to fall to my knees and kiss the pavement of Park Avenue.

Inside St. Bart’s, a magnificent structure of Byzantine architecture, the pews were filled to capacity with New Yorkers who came to worship. Our voices and the voices of choir members rang out like heavenly bells as we sang “O Come All Ye Faithful”, and the Rev. Buddy Stallings delivered a poignant sermon about hope and eternal light, about being lost and becoming found, and how even though we don’t always seek God, he always seeks us.

I never paid much mind to the notion of being “found” after having been lost, certainly not in the religious Christian sense. But it came to me, gradually, over the past several years. In fact, it snuck up on me and wove its way into my life in the most quiet, discreet way imaginable until I finally became aware of its presence and decided to pay attention. Consider it the slowest, steadiest blindside to ever take place.

Gouache sketch of me by Jonathan, created at Spring Studio:

For those who care to listen for a brief eleven minutes, here is Rev. Buddy Stallings’ Christmas Eve sermon, aptly titled “Forever Light”. And I invite all of you to share in the comments any creation – book excerpt, sermon, poem, article, work of art, piece of music – that holds for you the answers to your spiritual questions, gives you hope, or best reveals your understanding of life’s purpose. I’d be honored to read your contributions.

Abundant blessings to each and every one of you. Let’s meet here one more time before 2012 comes to an end. See you Monday, friends!

Halcyon

The noise, the noise. Must block out the noise. The voices. The incoherent words and tortured logic. Dipshit talking heads on television, opportunistic politicians, and an assortment of shrieking jackasses. Oh, you have all the answers? Forgive me, I must have forgotten that I’m supposed to capitulate to your unfailing wisdom. Because I love being lectured. LOVE IT!!!

As the human race continues its descent into soullessness and depravity, earth’s last uncorrupted souls remain in god’s other creatures – the animals. For a bit of sweet serenity during a tragic, painful time, this is Jessie and Calvin having a cat nap in my garden.

I’ll be back very soon, friends.

Thankfulness, Every Day

Apart from the historical implications, Thanksgiving, and its attendant spirit, has always been a warmly welcomed holiday in my heart. Why? Because gratitude comes easily to me. It’s one of my better qualities Certainly we should all be grateful every day of the year and count our blessings consistently, whether they be blessings of selflessness or self-worth, needs fulfilled in ourselves or needs we fulfill in others, opportunities to give, to provide, to inspire, to heal, or simply experience joy and discovery. And oftentimes even the smallest kind gestures can prompt a surge of gratitude that will change your outlook and reset your priorities, if they need resetting.

I am especially thankful this Thanksgiving and can sum it all up in one word: love. Love of my family, friends, and my rekindled old flame. Love of my modeling profession and my good fortune to actually make a living at it. The day before Thanksgiving I posed for the afternoon session at Spring Studio. Afterwards, a nice young man named Andy approached me and offered to give me the small portrait drawing he did of me on the final pose. How nice! I was thankful, but he too was thankful that I accepted. It pleased him so much to give me the drawing. Gratitude is everywhere.

Andy’s pen drawing of me, for Thanksgiving. Looks like a profile on a Roman coin. Love it.

Hope you all had a marvelous Thanksgiving, my friends. See you soon!

“If the only prayer you ever say in your entire life is thank you, it will be enough.”

– Meister Eckhart

First Snow and the Critters

At first it was an annoyance. An early November snowstorm in New York City that caused treacherous conditions and added insult to injury after the still-fresh destruction of hurricane Sandy. But when I woke up this morning I experienced a childlike enchantment when I looked out the window and saw the winter wonderland of white covered twigs and branches bent over from the weight of snow. Even an avowed summer person like myself thought it was pretty cool.

What made the morning even more enjoyable was the presence of  critters in the garden. I love the word “critters”. Birds swarmed the birdfeeder oblivious to the fact that it was half-covered in snow. I love how birds don’t give a shit. They flit around, they eat, they chirp, weather conditions be dammed. Then the cats emerged, hungry, mildly irritated that they had to navigate around hills of snow and puddles of slush to get to the food bowl. And then a manic squirrel scampered across my roof, and in doing so sent a bit of snow down to the ground which landed in my driveway. And I also spotted some critter tracks in the snow. Not cat paws, not bird feet, but likely those of a raccoon who must have braved the blizzard last night in search of food and mischief. A nocturnal critter who, like the others, doesn’t give a shit about weather.

The Snow Maiden, by Mikhail Vrubel, 1895. Check out the squirrel in the lower right

I am consumed in my personal life these days, friends. More so than my professional life. But it’s a good thing. It’s a very good thing in fact. Given how easy it is to succumb to stress and anxiety, and worry about the troubling developments taking place in our nation, our culture, and the world, I am positively grateful that I can immerse myself in some happiness and savor the affection being bestowed upon me. It warms my heart and soothes my soul. And I don’t take it for granted. We can turn to love, if we are lucky, or we can turn to music and art, or books, or friendships and family. And of course we can always turn to nature and the critters. CRITTERS!!

Deer in the Snow, Franz Marc, 1911:

Life is Beautiful

Every day . . . something to feel, something to experience, something to trouble or uplift, to sadden or gladden, to depress or inspire. I hope you’ve all been as fully, deeply engaged with life and all its fluctuating, erratic effects as I have been these last several days. In the middle of highs and lows one can find the counterbalances. For modeling, I exhaust my body to the point of physical pain, but my hard work is  acknowledged, appreciated, and begets the creation of art. I find, to my great horror, Prince the cat dead in the street after having been hit by a car. But I found him. Me. His adoptive mother. I removed him from the street and gave him an intimate, spiritual burial in my garden – the same garden in which he was born as a wild feral 3 1/2 years ago, under the hydrangea bushes. Prince is back home. My grief is swirled up with a sense of consolation that, purely by chance, I happened to be driving on that very street and was able to retrieve him before he got smashed by more cars. Or maybe it wasn’t “chance” at all. Family strife gets hot, then calms, then gets hot again. But we always manage to work it out. And an old flame who is back in my life, has shown me the joys of re-connecting. With wondrous delights, laughter, and thoughtful beautiful sharings, he and I are healing past pain and remembering the things that bonded us the first time around, and forging new bonds as well

It frustrates, it thrills, it worries, soothes, inflicts grief, elation, fear, and happiness, but through it all, perhaps in spite of it all, life is beautiful . . .

For my Momma’s birthday today, her favorite, Edgar Degas. At the Cafe des Ambassadeurs, pastel, 1885:

A Job You Love

We’re all familiar with the famous maxim by Confucius, “Choose a job you love, and you will never have to work a day in your life.”. I connect with that saying perhaps more than the average person. Regular readers of this blog have heard me affirm my love of art modeling and express an enduring sentiment of gratitude for this profession: how it changed my life for the better seven years ago and pulled me out of a bad place. Those feelings hold true even at the end of a day like today – after a six hour standing contrapposto pose, followed by another three hours of portrait sitting. Right now, at a little before midnight, home and exhausted, with a still-throbbing right hip, an achy heel and calf muscle, ratty hair from the abuse of a too-tight ponytail, and drained of energy, I am still a shining example of Confucius’ wise words. I have a job I love. As I left the Long Island Academy of Fine Art tonight, a student called to me just as I was going out the door, “Claudia, you’re an amazing model! Thanks for your hard work today.”. The class members felt they were lucky to have me. Little do they know how lucky I am to have them

Bouguereau’s Atelier at the Académie Julian, Paris, by Jefferson David Chalfant, 1891:

Seasonal Shift

Hello? Anybody? Yoo hoo! Who runs this blog? Is there a blogger in the house?!

Howdy gang. I’m back! Martha’s Vineyard was wonderful as I knew it would be. In fact, I probably should have stayed up there since I came home to a pipe flooding basement situation in my house. What a lovely welcome home. But it’s being taken care of as my life transitions from a week of beaches, jeeps, reading, and shell collecting to home repairs, dentist appointments and, of course, art modeling.

So the September groove begins. Whether or not I’m ready for it, it’s here. And my modeling calendar is written up with FIT, Spring Studio, the New York Academy of Art, private sessions, and many other bookings. Yes, it’s here. Later this month we will also see the commemoration of Museworthy’s fifth year. Last year’s fourth was a special one. My god, how the time flies!

I’ve uploaded my Martha’s Vineyard photos on Flickr. Here is one of those photos, a picture of the clay cliffs at Gay Head, located at the westernmost end of the island. They are a sight to behold.

Happy Labor Day everyone! I really missed you guys, and this blog, while I was away. I hope you all stick around for fresh new blogging, new art, thoughts, and ideas here on Museworthy. Oh, and nudity. Don’t forget the nudity

Escape from New York

Only eleven more days until Martha’s Vineyard!! Not that I’m counting or anything I’m sorry everyone. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but I’ve never felt such an intense desire for a vacation than I do this summer. This restlessness and need to get away is exacerbated, I think, by my lovesick longing for a certain man. A diversion is definitely in order, for my own sanity! Also, I am more than ready to get the hell out of this city. Did I, the born-and-bred native New Yorker just write that? Yes I did. I love New York with all of my heart, but I’m gonna tell the blunt truth here: this city is full of fucking sickos, jerks, and assorted jackasses. Some guy thought that it would be a fine idea to haul a three piece furniture set onto a crowded N train during the evening rush. Yeah that was smart. Sure, crush my foot and smash us all up against the doors why don’t you? We’ll all suffer because you’re too much of a cheapskate to rent a van. That people attempt this crap in an already dysfunctional city is beyond me. Oh and to the guy on Seventh Avenue who asked me to show him my boobs? Bite me. And to the two attitude-laden hipster coffee baristas who couldn’t be bothered and ignored me at Starbucks even though they saw me standing right there, you girls can bite me too

Here’s an art image that’s totally unrelated to anything I just wrote, although I did do something similar at work the other day on my modeling break. Someone left an art magazine lying around the studio so I perused it, in the nude, because I didn’t feel like putting my gown on, and because nobody in that class cares, and because I don’t even care, because I just want to go on VACATION dammit!!

Nude Reading by Alfred Henry Maurer, 1928:

Three Ukuleles

Okay. Yeah. I’m totally ready for the family vacation on Martha’s Vineyard. Enough is enough. This summer is starting to have a tiresome, lackluster, malaise-like feeling and I’m not digging it at all. Lots of art modeling work – for which I should be grateful given that it’s the summer – is becoming tedious. The money is great, but my back hurts, it’s too humid, and my brain feels like a purée. I’m at the point where I really, really just want to lay out on the beach in my bikini, listen to the swooshing surf of the Atlantic, stare at seagulls, bounce a volleyball around with my niece, scavenge for seashells, and take a bike ride into Edgartown.

But our trip isn’t for another three weeks! Dammit. I’m sure I’ll survive until then. So, how about three images of famous people playing ukuleles for Music Monday? Why, you ask? Well, why the hell not?

Here’s Great Garbo, looking NOT into it at all, as if she’s thinking “Vy do zey make me do zese silly tings?”

George Harrison, looking very much the cool, serious musician that he was:

And pinup queen Bettie Page, sexing up the ukulele with a corset and garter belt. Eh, what’s the big deal? I’ve done that  <—— not really.

Photos at 44

So it seems that I started a minor shitstorm with my last post. Oops. Well, whatever. I’m not going to think about it today. It’s my birthday. And what a gorgeous day it is! I plan not to breathe any indoor air until the sun goes down. I modeled yesterday, then afterwards my family took me out to dinner to my favorite vegan restaurant because they’re awesome like that.

When I came home from our lovely evening I found myself in a strange mood. Maybe it was the wine Anyway, people often tell me that I don’t post enough pictures of myself on this blog. So last night, in a somewhat bored, tired, and tipsy state, I took a few in front of my laptop. I’m so lazy I made no effort whatsoever to create a real photograph of artistic value, or even ensure that I was fully in frame! All I did was lay down and click the button. Then I messed around with the pictures in iPhoto to give them an abstract look – and by “abstract” I mean gauzy, blurry, and distorted enough to camouflage my disheveled, bedraggled self. All kidding aside, these pictures are a fairly accurate self-portrait, believe it or not, in terms of my current state of mind and self-perception. Take from that what you will.

A rosy/orange tint to conclude my birthday series.

I know there are many comments on the Disclosure post, and I will respond to every one of them I promise. A discussion has developed and, as the blogger, I must participate. Also, thanks to everyone who sent me an email. I will reply to those as well. But I’ll do it tonight, hopefully, if that’s alright with everyone. Right now I’m just going to enjoy the day. Hope you enjoy your Sunday too! Catch you all later.

Love, Claudia

Odyssey

My birthday is just nine days away. As I approach – officially – my mid-40s, I can’t help but contemplate how I got here. By “here” I mean a full time artist’s model who works steadily, has been the subject of countless drawings and paintings, is contacted for jobs by prestigious schools and accomplished artists and, of equal value to me, regular folk who manage to make art a part of their lives and desire to work from a model. When I take into consideration the collective blessings of both serendipity and my own life choices, I am humbled beyond words. I am amazed, baffled even, at where my complicated personal journey has brought me.

A couple of weeks ago I was having a conversation in my house with my friend Greg, an artist, sculptor, illustrator, and carpenter. He asked me how I came to be an artist’s model. After a somewhat verbose reply, I told him matter-0f-factly, “Art modeling saved my life”. I gasped internally when I uttered those words. Greg wouldn’t have noticed it. But I have rarely verbalized to another person the redemptive effect art modeling has had on my life.

It has occurred to me that after four years of blogging, I haven’t fully shared with my readers a detailed autobiographical account, replete with all the slings and arrows, fears and gambles, depression, leaps of faith, and perpetual seeking that has brought me to this place in life – the place where a divorced, 40 something New York City girl with a Master’s degree in U.S. History is posing in her nude self for artists throughout the tri-state area. Perhaps I need not tell the entire story. Does it really matter in the whole scheme of things? It would be – or could be – tedious. I guess my approaching birthday has caused me to reflect and ruminate, and has reinforced the profound gratitude I feel toward this life and its people – for  letting me in, allowing me to fuck up and reclaim myself, and reminding me that joys exist every day, all around us, in myriad forms. For me, this blog is one of them

The New York Academy of Art, Friday July 13th, 2:38 PM: