Clothing disaster

The basic wardrobe of a nude model while shooting is rather self explanatory. While bits of clothing can absolutely transform a shoot, nothing is actually necessary. Perhaps some coconut lotion or oil of choice to add skin sheen and some makeup, but in theory a nude model does not need anything on their body. But the key phrase is, "in theory." I receive wardrobe requests often enough to encourage looking for, buying and packing exciting pieces of clothing to add to a shoot, should they be requested or decidedly useful.

The complicated part of clothing for me is the everyday part. In the summer, showing up free of clothing lines is easy, I throw on a summer dress and a cardigan if needed, and am set. For the fall I have my leather jacket that keeps me warm enough. But come winter, I find myself falling into a trend of frumpiness in attempt to avoid lines. The current style is tight fitting leggings which almost exclusively will leave lines, but are also the clothing item which is easy to pack, light weight and warm. Some models have chosen to risk a few lines on their skin in exchange for fashion on the street, but I am reluctant to show up apologetic about lines for twenty minutes.

Last year I spent a great deal of time in the cold weather and snowstorm zone of the US, and wore the same sweats and jacket on a daily basis. I was probably undressed so many hours that the repetition was only noted by myself, and my re-use of clothing not considered disgusting because I tend to be clothed the same amount of hours in three days' time as most people are in one.  I have always been a bit of a fashion disaster, which is another reason nude modeling comes so easily. As we grow up, some models relish the fact that they can dress in comfy, cozy outfits and still be successful; however, I am receive the opposite point. I would like to finally look more pulled together. For a short period of time I dressed in nice slacks and shirts, when I was living in Dallas and doing some teaching, but that look is no longer appropriate to my lifestyle and who I am. The way we look reflects in how people perceive us, and there are occasions when making good impressions clothed is wise. And not just any impression, but one that is appropriate to the image we are trying to identify with. For the most part, nude models are not judged based upon how they arrive and depart a shoot,  and quite possibly no one in this network cares how we dress, but some may. And most importantly, how we feel is integral to our well-being, and this feeling is often connected with our thoughts regarding outward appearance.

I am comfortable modeling in most clothing, as my job is to play a role, and become the person a photographer wants me to be, even if temporarily. Sometimes I may wear a dress I would ordinarily consider too flashy or "skanky" but for a photo, the supervamp version of me can dress how she would like. Or the 80's jacket or puffy prom dress may be silly for my everyday self, but for a photo they make a big splash of color. On occasion a I do fashion photos and am dressed in a hip and ideal outfit for some of the facets of the real me. One day I will learn to shop accordingly so the real me can look how she would like to, but I have this stumbling block in my way called "clothing lines" which is complicated with my "abhorrence of loud music in clothing stores."

Today was one of the days where I attempted to improve my personal and shoot wardrobe. I am not convinced this was accomplished, but I came away from the shops with the sun lower in the sky, a throbbing headache and some clothing items for during shoots. At least I have the right work clothes - my uncovered nude form.

I leave you with some photos of the unadorned natural world.

La Perouse

San Antonio

Outside of Sydney

San Antonio

Conversations on the train

“I am 38, and my oldest, she is 28.”

From the pages of my book, I had to look up. The math sounded wrong.  Possible, yes, but one does not simply begin their life story to a stranger on public transportation with this kind of fact. A woman with brown, manicured curls, and a large frame sat in front of me, conversing with a Hispanic man in his early 50s across the aisle; this conversation must have been a continuation of words exchanged before boarding the train.

“I already have 12 kids and I want 10 more. The oldest, she is 28; the youngest is 2. They are all close together: 13, 14, 15. One every year.”

I had already been grasping for focus with my book of one-sided love letters in an intimate affair of words of the soul between two strangers who would never touch, but now all chance of reading was lost. The woman’s dialogue had me captivated.  What happens to a young girl to transform her into a woman who desires perpetual pregnancy? How can someone provide sustenance, love and care to so many children, and why would a woman wish this upon herself? This reality is incompressible, yet was sitting directly in front of me, traveling concurrently in the same direction.

“I have been married five times. My husband, right now, he likes guys. My husband before wanted an open marriage. He was dating a married woman.”

“The guy I wanna marry has a girlfriend. I’m hoping when I get a divorce, we can marry.”

The man was listening, commenting occasionally about one past girlfriend and a wife he has been married to for years.

When we arrived at Hayward, the woman picked herself off her seat, and walked through the open doors. All I ever saw was her back, and a small, child’s backpack with a Spiderman design. 

Photographed by Edward Badham

“Delusional.” The one-word answer came from my brother matter-of-factly. This was all overheard in BART, and the Bay Area is home to an overwhelming number of homeless and psychologically unstable individuals. Her story flowed so easily, and with such simple structure that I was moved to trust in disbelief. These past years have served to add a protective shell to my naivety; my inclination to believe what is presented, and question the how and why when my understanding did not align with what I heard.  Would you be more saddened to hear this woman lived in such a warped reality that she invented and shared this story with complete conviction, or to know this story was true?

If you can't carry it, you can't bring it

As a child I had a bright purple duffle bag stuffed with too many pairs of pants, shirts, underwear and other not-so-essential necessities to sling over my shoulder on the infrequent trips I made with my family. My hair and biceps, have always been my only big physical features, with my other largenesses kept hidden inside of me. No matter the size of my bag, I was always tough enough to carry on.

Photographed by J. Gatta

I purchased my first suitcase from a Ross store near my college apartment, wheeling the promise of travel across the street on at the cross walk like any good Californian would have done. Spring break in NYC was likely my first time to break this suitcase in, and the suitcase came to get much more use once modeling became part of my life during grad school. I had my suitcase on my first trip to Alabama when I worked with a photographer to create some of my first strong portfolio images. Later, I brought this suitcase as I was enthusiastically flown to Ohio and returned full of tears.  Never quite the right size for carry-on but my perpetual travels were not foreseen when I had first made my purchase, all I had wanted was to upgrade to a bag with wheels, and this I had done.

Somehow a larger suitcase would accompany me on a trip to Israel, but there was no need for embarrassment or concern.  Many of the other kids in their early 20s had packed far too much, never having left the States for a 10 day trip before then, and all had overprotective Jewish parents encouraging them to prepare for every kind of situation and rationalized that we would have a bus and some help to schlep our things between cities.

I backpacked around South America with my trusty red backpacker’s pack, and yet returned to the states with gifts for friends and family which overflowed into a side bag I had purchased. A couple of holiday gifts and trips to second-hand clothing stores resulted in me needing another suitcase to consolidate my excessive things. And now, this suitcase stays with me, pushed to the limits of the sturdy walls. Like my pet turtles who continually grew when I would replace their aquarium with a larger one to fit their increased size, my belongings seem to grow to fill the space I have for them.

My new thrift store belongings will be fun to shoot in and come my down time, having my camera, musical instrument, music and receipts will be rather handy but my strength and already fragile back will be put to test as I transport myself between lodgings, public transportation and cities this next month.  “If you can’t carry it, you can’t bring it,” – I will uphold my philosophy but have to re-think how far I want to push myself.

Photographed by Grenville

Baby-Free

I moved from the couch, to the floor, to reduce the smell of baby vomit wafting into my nostrils. With the cushion under my bottom, and the back of the couch to lean on, I am sufficiently comfortable and likely cozier than when curled on a jagged rock, as I so often am.  I have reached the age in which an increasing number of my friends are married and have entered the stage of baby creation. I am able to cross into this world of babies, cooing softly and flapping my arms like a stupid human bird to encourage a smile from a young human (for us adults, watch this video instead chicken dance techno), and enjoy the simplicity of a child, and yet live in a world far removed. Could you imagine a traveling model with a baby to care for? A young creature in the main part of the studio while creating art on a pedestal, couch, or seamless backdrop, sleeping until the next burst of tears for attention.  And location shoots, with a baby to watch over – an impossibility. I have a difficult enough time keeping my backpack in sight while climbing rocks up a river, heading increasingly farther away from my starting point, that the idea of having a living, loving, beautiful being to worry about boggles my brain. 

Soon I will be back in California, visiting with family and overcoming jet lag from an arduously long string of flights back from Australia, and will be given another dose of baby time with my nephew and niece. I will likely stay the crazy auntie, as I am the one in my family who does not have the picture perfect existence but uniquely vagabonds with a purpose. There are aspects of the settled, successful lives of my siblings which I desire, but I can wait on the house, spouse and child under each arm.  Today I am in Australia, tomorrow I shall be as well, and after a double dose of Tuesday, I will be back in the United States.

My afternoon shoot had cancelled, and after a well paced day of climbing naked on one of the oldest functioning bridges in Australia (I believe the photographer had informed me the bridge was the second oldest functioning bridge in Australia, but I shall not claim this in the event I remembered incorrectly or the fact was mistaken), walking on a train track, sticking my bottom out of a tree in Dandedong National Park (although never quite as perfectly as we wanted for the photo), dressing in said tree before hikers came around, washing off and dirtying myself in the same waterfall and standing next to metal birds in a beautifully manicured park, I treated myself to lunch of dumplings and salty green Asian vegetables. I resisted the urge for that delicious pastry, more on basis of stomach space than willpower and later satisfied my sweet urges with a mango. A bit of laundry, a shower and a nap later, and the rested version of myself was ready to begin emails for a while, and entertain and be distracted by the small child of my photographer friends.

This rambling blog entry was inspired by baby vomit, small in quantity and relatively harmless, but something I do not need in my life. 

Both 100% baby-free

Katja Gee and Keira Grant

Photo by RJWG Photography

Edited by Keira Grant

Street Photography by Keira Grant

Hard Rubbish Day

Ormond, Melbourne, Australia

If hot, remove clothing, and keep the music going

Photographed by Adam Images

The Delaware Water Gap

If I were to play an air guitar while strutting in the woods, I would likely look like this.  I used to practice my musical instrument, a decidedly not rockin’ not-guitar, in the nude during my Texas summer in graduate school. I was so concerned about the AC bill that I sweltered in 80 degree temperature within my small apartment. I marvel at my excessive frugality and simple solutions; if hot, remove clothing, and keep the music going.

Where in the world is Keira Grant?

Where in the world is Keira Grant?

Today I sit at a photographer friend's home in Adelaide, Australia, sucking down some instant coffee, fried eggs with golden yokes and a side of sautéed mushrooms and unsuccessfully pulling my long nails away from the itchy-bumpy skin which is the remains of a two-week old poison ivy rash. In forty-five minutes a photographer will meet me at the door, and my long day of mentoring a model and modeling will commence. I have about 15 minutes of quiet until I must stare myself in the eye and apply makeup for the day.

Adelaide is known for being a tougher place for those more artistically minded, at least in terms of art models, but once I have begun an artistic relationship with a photographer, I feel the pull to return again and again. Shoots become better between photographer and model the more comfortable we are, and better reflects in the experience and the results of the time together. With a great model and photographer, a first shoot will produce great photos, but add a history of working together, and the possibility of success increases.

Yesterday I helped a new model with her second shoot and watched her images and confidence increase exponentially. I have no idea which model I will meet today, but look forward to playing mentor.

*beep* *beep* My blog timer has sounded and I must continue to prepare myself for work.
Have a jolly great day. Where in the world are you? And have you thought about bringing me out to you to begin our photography journey together?

Photographed by Keira Grant

Models Romi Muse and new model Dani

First shoot with Vivid Impressions - I hope to return to Florida someday to continue to see what we can create together. Getting me to an area the first time is the most difficult part - once I travel somewhere and meet good people and photographers, with enough work I am more easily swayed into making another trip.

My friend Kurt in Roanoke, VA lives a bit off the path from Raleigh to DC, but his photo explorations and good company tend to entice me the long route up the coast rather than through Richmond.