You Just Never Know

Where Life is Gonna Take You

Wednesday night crept in the same way dawn does after an all nighter, slithering in between the door and floorboards– all inevitable and grim. I suppose I should feel grateful and blessed for the work I have lined up for the evening. Unfortunately, my schedule tastes like swill; a noteworthy symptom of the fear and uncertainty that currently has my future in a vice grip.

A couple of weeks ago I was terminated from my full-time position as a commercial painter. I didn’t have the job for long, but I thought I would, and I was thrilled for it.

Deeply.

I love working with my hands and body. hard labor does this whirly mind much good. I also thrive off of routine, early mornings, clear instructions, and anything that has me outside all day. It was a perfect combo, or so I thought. Unfortunately the company’s internal dilemma of sexism, classism, and racism put my goals at too many odds with their goals for me. The push to get me off the field and into the sales department to use me in a way I did not sign up for ended with us parting ways.

Alas… I persist.

Bills are bills and they must needs be paid.

A few weeks ago I ran into Shadia at a table read. Shadia is a fantastic life drawing model here in LA. I met Shadia online years ago. I reached out to her on instagram after being shown her page by an old improv teammate who met her on a Tinder date. They weren’t gonna work out, he said, but apparently she was my kinda gal pal. He told me this over a quiet, two person Thanksgiving dinner for us lonely, first-year-in-LA artists without friends or family in the area. He had gone on two recent Tinder dates (yes, Tinder, it was indeed the 2000-teens) and was not going to pursue either. The other was too young, but sounded absolutely his type. Shadia less so. He said I’d really dig her vibe, though. Us naked artist types reek that je ne sais pas, I suppose. He had no knowledge of my background in modeling, drawing, or nakedness. Just… picked up on that crazy artist vibe I guess. He was not wrong. We clicked, for sure. I reached out, Shadia and I grabbed a drink, I and a friendly support system among two ethnically ambiguous female artists adrift in LA was born! I urged him to see things through with the gothy red head 10+ years his junior. He ended up marrying her.

You just never know where life is gonna take you.

Cut to– 5 years later I walk into a small, black-box theater. January 2022. I was supposed to do a solo show in this very space in the coming weeks, but the owners have stopped allowing anyone not vaccinated into their space in the public eye. Even if they are the ones putting on the show, renting the space, asking for all performers and attendees to provide a negative PCR test…

Signal virtue-ing is a disease that has ostracized all non-mainstream believing and behaving artists in this vast and decrepit city of angels. This place for storytellers has become a place for simplistic escapism in the worst way. Anything interesting let alone helpful to this world is suffocated by the need to please and achieve.

Flowers only grow here when they are the ones planted and plotted. No seeds brought by the wind are allowed to take root let alone flourish. Their story would only complicate this garden of fake freedom.

So, I am allowed into this indie theater space to work behind the scenes and under the table. But gods be damned if they’ll let me put on my own show. As the other actors make their way in and find a seat and a snack, I hover at a distance. And then, our dearest Shadia walks in! Surfing on waves of pleasantries. A towering beauty of sparkling, dark eyes and flushed plump lips. Her shoulder length brown locks frame her oval face, which is obscured only slightly by a clear plastic shield she is wearing in lieu of a mask. As she introduces herself she asks the mask-less gal she is speaking to if it’s okay with her that she take it off, for she herself is not vaccinated. Awkward stutters fall forth from the young British woman… that it is Shadia’s choice, she supposes, cause Shadia is the one at risk? The non-question question floats away like a bemused fart. As Shadia removes the face barricade I step in with glee, reaching out a fist to *bump it* in solidarity. I am in awe of her forwardness.

“Me too, dude. *bump bump* No worries, I wast just tested.”

“Yeah,”

In unison: “I test, like, weekly” / “I am testing constantly.”

We sigh in relief.

This shit is rare. Meeting kindred kind in the wild.

The table read went well, really well. I even wrote a poem about it. Before sneaking off I told Shadia I am looking for work of any kind and to please let me know if any life-drawing things she could recommend crop up.

And, low and behold… they did.

You just never know where life is gonna take you.

I didn’t think I would be doing this sort of work ever again. The last time I modeled live nude was in 2012 for a comic book artist in Utah. It’s hard work, lemme tell yah. Holding even what looks to be like a relaxing pose for long durations of time is the furthest thing from relaxing. Not a toe should shift a millimeter. Ideally.

I am extremely competitive.

So, there I was last Wednesday evening preparing for my gig. As I hopped off of the phone with my psychiatrist I dabbed dry any lingering tears and adjusted my false eyelashes. I don’t usually wear make-up, but it wakes me up and felt apropos. The only contact I’ve had with this gig has been an elderly fellow who reached out through my website’s contact page. The studio would be in a white artsy shed at the end of a long driveway, behind the main building. These clues lead me to believe this would be a privately hosted class of mostly older gentlemen. Older gentlemen appreciate things like false eyelashes. Older gentlemen appreciate success at performing the feminine. I felt like being appreciated at first introduction. I’d prove myself in due time.

I felt grim that evening, albeit grateful. I thank goddess for work and radically accept the truth of these times. These folks weren’t requiring paperwork, and that is my main need out of an employer right now.

As I arrived, recollections of my first ever live modeling gig swam before my eyes. Sneaking into focus like fish in an aquarium, they were colorful and elusive. Immediate and untouchable. It was winter. I was 18 and living in Provo, Utah. The prudest of prude places. I was in need of extra cash to pay off the state for jailing me over trying to buy a bottle of $7 Moscato. I found the job on craigslist. It was at night in a small, white, artsy building. I’ll never forget the feeling of so much cold space surrounding me as I sat naked on that podium, smelling my own pussy, surrounded by men furiously concentrated on drawing me.

Bizarre.

These experiences of then and now, when held together in tandem, is what was making me feel so unsettled.

It’s unnerving, when two mundane yet seemingly huge representative moments of ones life brush against one another like this… When they are labeled so similarly, and yet taste so differently… or do they?

Everything has changed. Absolutely everything. And yet…

As I neared my final destination these ponderings kept gliding around me, swirling dark and close like eels. Both threatening and comforting all at once. I soaked in the last moments of this evening’s guaranteed warmth by holding in my black fur coat close to me. I found grounding in the sound of my black riding boots clicking up the long driveway. The white building loomed before me and I took a deep breath as my evening’s final mask wrapped itself fully around my being.

The room was quiet and crowded and filled with focused young people, drawing.

Hamilton was playing. That bodes very well.

The session started late and was incredibly casual. In a fun way, not an eyebrow-raising one! Turns out we were on a *insert reputable tech school* property and these science majors were here getting their night-time art-class on. It was warm in environment and atmosphere, there was tea, I was treated well, the drawings were great. We wrapped early and I was payed for the whole thing right away. The instructor, Jim, was incredibly kind, mellow, and artistic. He was excited about my skills and participation and insisted on booking me again right then and there. Jim remembered a book he meant to show me during one of my breaks earlier. I watched the small, grey haired fellow weave in and out and around desks and students across this squished attic of a shed as an art studio while he made his way to the back of the room to retrieve it. He came back with glee in his eyes, and said he had to take off his mask so he could smile at me. I’m so glad he did! He had a mustache and I never would have known. Jim then proceeded to hand me a Star Wars Episode 1-3 costume tome to delve into while he pulled up his calendar to get me on the books.

Why? I will never know.

You just never know where life is gonna take you.

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