Sunday, April 12, 2009

Remembering How I Came To Be, Part One

Sprawled across a chaise longue in my mother's house, I reached for the 'phone and dialed the model agency in Sydney.
“How're you going with those last two kilos?” the woman who ran the agency asked me. She didn't even bother with 'hello'.
“I’m not coming,” I said. There was silence. Then, before she could complain about all the time and money the agency had invested in me, I told her, “I’m going to be an artist.”
“That’s not a living,” she said.
“That's not the point,” I replied. I apologised for wasting her time.
I called my boyfriend who was waiting for me in Sydney and told him almost exactly the same thing.
“But your first show hasn't even opened yet,” he said.
“I know. I’m sorry,” I told him. “I wish I’d figured it out sooner.”

2 comments:

sue beyer said...

I wish I had figured it out sooner. It took me 10 years of working and being really unhappy, to finally work out that I needed to be an artist.

mia oatley said...

When I was 18 I sat calmly as the man from Chadwick's model agency agency studied my face. Interesting, you could possibly have a career as a model. However, his eyes scrutinising my chin, you really must be more professional and get rid of those pimples!!
As far I was concerned pimples like the teenage hormones that produced them had a life of their own, so the idea of modelling and working with such ridiculous adults was dropped immediatley. A life in the arts has taught me that the same ridulous individuals are sometimes encoutered but the pleasure of the brush out weighs all.