Hot Air Balloon

Ah, what peace ensues, after being honored as a real woman, penetrated only by sunlit eyes. Again, the world seems to scream out that it is alright, that everything is as it should be, and yet a glance into society reveals the bizarre shapes that we have morphed ourselves into out of that normality. I feel that I have gone back into a time when our ceramic skin charmed the darkened woods and we breathed a gentle smile to the spying, feathered owls. We danced as one; nymph and vine were inseparable. We were art. Nowadays we strive to make art, though it exists not just to be made but to be perceived. I felt like I was in a Botticelli painting today; in some dreamy, tepid grove where skin and hair dissolved into earth and air and all that was left was some radiant glow, that I could only call my soul. Stripped of shame, stripped of physical awareness, muscles numbed into a liberating stillness, I stood there smiling with my entire being, even if the corners of my mouth appeared just the slightest bit curled.

I had a vision: I was staring up at a hot-air-balloon, not sure if I was waving it away, beckoning it towards me, or simply marveling at its stature up there in the mellow, sun-kissed sky. I felt my energy levitate towards it, like I was being beamed up to some extraterrestrial dish. Then the vessel turned into the sun itself and I started reciting "the morning verse" in my mind, with a glorious, illuminated, static feeling inside my head. I almost teared up at the beauty of the whole trip and then—beep beep beep! 20 minutes had passed and I snapped out of this beautiful realm and onwards to the next.

* * *

Today I modeled for Atelier: Stockholm Academy of Realist Art, and the experience was so much nicer than at the other school. Everyone was so kind to me, offered me tea and coffee and actually talked to me and treated me like a person and not just like a robed object hanging out grimly in the corner. We met in the "kitchenette" at breaks and shared stories and where-we're-from's and everyone made me feel good and welcome. What a relief! Everything was orderly (at the other school I was on some sort of make-shift plateau, because the real one had gone missing...) and comfortable. The sun shone through the window, and music played in the background; some classical string and piano tunes and some calm guitar. Hello! That's what I'm talking about; getting paid to stand around naked, listen to beautiful music with the sun bathing the whole room in its morning glory and going on little day-dream-trips in hot air balloons. It was actually really fun, and I was sad when it was over. The minute the final timer chimed the whole class cried out their genuine thanks. They thank me, but I am the one who should be thanking them. I can't even describe how good this is for me. Talk about therapy! The owner of the school expressed his appreciation for my beautiful contribution, to paraphrase, and was so kind to me. I feel like I've found a new family of wonderful people and my role is just to let them find the art. (During some of the breaks I sneaked a few peeks at their works and damn! These are like, seriously talented artists! Come to Stockholm in the spring and I might be hanging in all sorts of exhibitions. Kind of a cozy thought.)

Afterwards I took a walk around Bergshamra, Solna (beautiful neighborhood) in the saintly sunshine and hopefully made a bit of vitamin D. (Winter's-a-comin', best be prepared...) Jesus, what a great job... I could do this full time.