Curves. Curves. Curves. I have recently accepted those I have, or don’t, depends on who you ask I guess. I would not consider myself curvaceous in the way Marilyn Monroe was. However, I am cavernous, which in a more flattering term could be curvaceous. I am skinny through my ribs, and through my waste. Standing I seem well – normal, but when I lay down the pit between my ribs and hips is like a valley in the Grand Canyon. I can count most of my ribs and grossly elevate my stomach muscles as a result of the hernia. But there is a geographic beauty in this, a mountainous scene of peaks, and valleys that align to form a more perfect scene.

To be honest, there is a grotesqueness to it, to the bones and to the spaces that concave between them. Yet, it is perhaps one of my favorite parts of myself. I love the distortion, the eerie feel and look that the prominence of the mountain range highly arched and reaching for more, filing only with oxygen to a capacity that levels the valley to a plateau.

The curves that a women has between her hips and her chest, especially when she lays on her side, are perhaps the most sensual, the most beautiful, the most linear, and uninterrupted.

Increasingly I am photographing myself. This in an effort to learn my camera, play with composition and also to see myself, to constantly look at what I am. To develop a sense of what I see in behind the lens, on the computer screen and in the post following. The more I look at each area of myself the more comfortable I become with my imperfections, and I begin to see those in a quite lovely way.

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