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We Chose What We Look Like—Transition Sector pg30
a colorful companion to my memoir The Incompetent Psychic
I would be nice enough looking, but not a beauty. I wanted my mother’s curly auburn hair, but settled for nothing brown. I had loaded more heavily from the Buchanan side of the DNA bank to get a great skeleton, a decent brain and a bullet-proof liver just in case. I ended up with a too-big nose, English teeth and brown eyes instead of the hoped for green. My shape was more androgynous than most females choose, but that was okay. I hit PRINT and looked in the mirror at the body I would grow into. — from Chapter 1
I taught an intermediate painting class to students who, after becoming confident with landscapes and dogs, wanted to try people. Because I was teaching in a Michaels Store, there wasn’t the option for a live model (draped or otherwise).
I printed photos of a marble angel I had seen in a museum in Philadelphia for reference, and did some practice versions before taking my students step-by-step through the basics of rendering the human form. I painted an angel wearing a pussy hat when that was a thing. This angel ended up as a fantasy self portrait (by imagining I was prettier, cooler and more spiritually advanced).
Mirrors are boring. Self delusion is more satisfying.
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