Two years ago–not long before I met Steve, in fact–I spent my Valentine’s Day as the lone naked woman silent in a roomful of strangers. The day before, my on-again/off-again fellow and I had gone off again, this time for good. Instead of sitting at home moping, I sat for a local painters’ workshop as a figure model.
If you can’t make love, make art.
Ah, Valentine’s Day. The anxiety that accompanies its approach rises right alongside the price of a dozen roses. Those without sweethearts are often left feeling lonely, wishing they had a special someone, wondering if they should confess their crushes. Those with sweethearts (especially new ones) worry how to declare their affection: Is a card okay? Are red roses classic or boring? Is it too soon to say “love”? Why must every piece of jewelry be shaped like a heart?
And when did this supposed celebration of affection become such a pressure cooker of commitment-angst and commercialism?
Opting out and posing nude might well be easier. Continue reading