Day Two : The Silence
My first silence of the week was tricky as I was travelling back to university. I woke up next to my boyfriend and was unable to say good morning. Hand gestures worked well in securing a cup of tea but I really wanted to chat to him. As he dropped me at the station I saw a bus which advertised the fact that it stopped at a place/station called "Wheat Pieces". I flapped around trying to point out what was amusing me and eventually he got it but it was so strange not just blurting out my observations (maybe it's good for me)
The train journey was OK but I had to write a note to the woman selling drinks in order to quench my thirst. Thankfully nobody else really spoke to me.
Once in London the pace picked up a bit. A man at one of the tube stations caught me off guard and asked me if I was standing in a queue. As I opened my mouth to answer I remembered the silence and changed the noise coming out of my mouth to "Noaaagghhhhh", which startled said man. I then ran away.
I returned home safely but then as my housemates all arrived back I had to point at my mouth to remind them why I wasn't talking. Waiting hours to ask my friends all about their holidays was tough but that's the name of the game really. The woman whose testimony I posted a link to (in the previous post) didn't get to speak to her own daughter for years.
When I finished the silence I was eager to talk to everyone and anyone who would listen!
First day - no mess ups :-)
Emzikles xxx
Sunday, 25 April 2010
Wednesday, 21 April 2010
Charity Fundraising Week
Day One: The Fast
Yesterday was the first day of my fundraising week. It was the first of four twelve hour daytime fasts that I have to complete this week and it was terribly frustrating. I woke up at 6.20am to prepare my pre-fast meal: two boiled eggs and a slice of wholegrain toast with butter, washed down with a glass of orange juice and a multivitamin tablet. At that time in the morning my appetite was painfully absent but I kept in mind the advice I had been given about eating protein and fats before the fast began. It made sense. Then, at 7am, the fast began. For the first three hours I didn’t feel very hungry but on the approach to lunchtime my brain began making suggestions about what to have for lunch! Every half hour it sparked up with another food that it fancied and, in normal circumstances, this would have resulted in the absent minded consumption of said food but under the constraints of the fast I felt only a pang of disappointment. The freedom to choose what I wanted to do (snack in front of the television) and when (during Jeremy Kyle) was restricted and it made me feel frustrated. There is no tangible comparison with the experiences of those asylum seekers detained in centres around the UK but perhaps the feeling of frustration and the inability to answer to the needs of one’s body are things that detainees in places like Yarlswood will feel at some point during their “stay”. From two o’clock until five o’clock my stomach growled at me and then nausea set in. At about six o’clock I could no longer feel the hunger but when it came to half past I was in the kitchen cooking up a feast. I broke the fast with a bowl of mozzarella and tomato topped gnocchi, some popcorn and some much craved chocolate. After my initial elation I began to feel a bit deflated. At the end of the day I had very easily rustled up a meal and indulged in some treats but I really appreciated the fact that so many people couldn’t have done that.
I have attached the link to a testimony from an asylum seeker whose experiences here in the UK are eye-opening and disturbing. Please read her words:
http://www.testimonyproject.org/node/170
Cynical England has to stop dismissing the pleas of asylum seekers by claiming that they are somehow not credible.
Emma.
Yesterday was the first day of my fundraising week. It was the first of four twelve hour daytime fasts that I have to complete this week and it was terribly frustrating. I woke up at 6.20am to prepare my pre-fast meal: two boiled eggs and a slice of wholegrain toast with butter, washed down with a glass of orange juice and a multivitamin tablet. At that time in the morning my appetite was painfully absent but I kept in mind the advice I had been given about eating protein and fats before the fast began. It made sense. Then, at 7am, the fast began. For the first three hours I didn’t feel very hungry but on the approach to lunchtime my brain began making suggestions about what to have for lunch! Every half hour it sparked up with another food that it fancied and, in normal circumstances, this would have resulted in the absent minded consumption of said food but under the constraints of the fast I felt only a pang of disappointment. The freedom to choose what I wanted to do (snack in front of the television) and when (during Jeremy Kyle) was restricted and it made me feel frustrated. There is no tangible comparison with the experiences of those asylum seekers detained in centres around the UK but perhaps the feeling of frustration and the inability to answer to the needs of one’s body are things that detainees in places like Yarlswood will feel at some point during their “stay”. From two o’clock until five o’clock my stomach growled at me and then nausea set in. At about six o’clock I could no longer feel the hunger but when it came to half past I was in the kitchen cooking up a feast. I broke the fast with a bowl of mozzarella and tomato topped gnocchi, some popcorn and some much craved chocolate. After my initial elation I began to feel a bit deflated. At the end of the day I had very easily rustled up a meal and indulged in some treats but I really appreciated the fact that so many people couldn’t have done that.
I have attached the link to a testimony from an asylum seeker whose experiences here in the UK are eye-opening and disturbing. Please read her words:
http://www.testimonyproject.org/node/170
Cynical England has to stop dismissing the pleas of asylum seekers by claiming that they are somehow not credible.
Emma.
Wednesday, 7 April 2010
Modelling Agency Test Shoot
Hey guys,
I just realised that I had promised an update about my encounter with one of London's fashion agencies (albiet not a very high profile one) so here it is. Sorry it's a little late.
About a month ago I saw an advert on Gumtree for new faces at a London based modelling agency (that I probaby shouldn't name). The advert said that height wasn't an issue and so I thought I had nothing to lose by giving it a shot. I sent through a couple of my previous photos, which I'm quite proud of (an example is the photograph at the top of my blog) and they offered me an interview. I told a friend about it and she decided to do the same thing so we agreed to go along at the same time for moral support.
I knew that I'd have to do a test shoot (apparently to see how well or not I worked in front of the camera) because I've changed my hair colour since my last photographs were taken. I chose an outfit the day before the interview and flicked through some magazines to get some posing inspiration.
When the day arrived I was pretty nervous. We arrived at the agency building and wandered into the waiting room. The man who would be interviewing us walked in and handed my friend a clipboard with a list of questions to answer (height, hair colour, weight, dress size, type of modelling work sought etc) and then walked out again. I looked across at her, confused. When he walked in again I asked him for my question sheet. He raised an eyebrow.
"Oh, you're doing it too?"
I smiled, wincing through the verbal blow and answered happily that I was.
He got me a clipboard and I joked with my friend as I answered the questions, keeping a smile on my face to keep the burning feeling of humiliation at bay. The agency had claimed that it wasn't just looking for the thin tall type who usually model but their reaction when they actually saw a different kind of woman proved otherwise. I looked across at my thin, blonde-haired, amply-breasted companion and realised that they had seen me as the dowdy friend who comes along to provide moral support. As I answered the questions I felt irritated. Blue/green eyes, brunette, perfect ten. I am not ashamed of the way I look nor should I be made to feel that way.
When we were interviewed the clipboard man, who was no Brad Pitt himself, openly flirted with my friend. She gave him her photos and he asked her to select two that the agency could hold on to. She told him, with no flirtatious intent whatsoever, that he could keep all of them if he wanted and he grinned and told her obsequiously that he would love to have them all. Holding in the vomit, I passed over my photographs and relaxed into my chair, mirroring the nonchalence he displayed towards me.
He told us that we would get a few minutes each to pose for some shots and then we would pick five of the best ones to send further up the agency for consideration.
The shoot was a whirlwind and felt very rushed but I tried to keep my experience at hand by constantly saying snippets of advice in my head: "Always look just to the left, right or above the camera", "Never do something that looks unnatural", "Bend anything on your body that will bend - angles are in!"
About three minutes later it was all over and although there were some awful shots (partly the photographer's fault and partly mine) I chose five that I felt at least 60% happy with (in some of the photos I haven't quite found the light - a fair criticism). I still haven't received my favourite shot from that day (my friend loaded them onto her memory stick and has only sent three out of the five to me so far) but I will share one of the full length shots with you.
I know I'm not the tallest or thinnest woman around but does that mean that every type of modelling is off limits for me? It's a question that I would actually love to hear an honest answer to. There's nothing worse than claiming to have a certain ethos but not acting in a way that demonstrates it.
Stay confident,
Emzikles xxx
I just realised that I had promised an update about my encounter with one of London's fashion agencies (albiet not a very high profile one) so here it is. Sorry it's a little late.
About a month ago I saw an advert on Gumtree for new faces at a London based modelling agency (that I probaby shouldn't name). The advert said that height wasn't an issue and so I thought I had nothing to lose by giving it a shot. I sent through a couple of my previous photos, which I'm quite proud of (an example is the photograph at the top of my blog) and they offered me an interview. I told a friend about it and she decided to do the same thing so we agreed to go along at the same time for moral support.
I knew that I'd have to do a test shoot (apparently to see how well or not I worked in front of the camera) because I've changed my hair colour since my last photographs were taken. I chose an outfit the day before the interview and flicked through some magazines to get some posing inspiration.
When the day arrived I was pretty nervous. We arrived at the agency building and wandered into the waiting room. The man who would be interviewing us walked in and handed my friend a clipboard with a list of questions to answer (height, hair colour, weight, dress size, type of modelling work sought etc) and then walked out again. I looked across at her, confused. When he walked in again I asked him for my question sheet. He raised an eyebrow.
"Oh, you're doing it too?"
I smiled, wincing through the verbal blow and answered happily that I was.
He got me a clipboard and I joked with my friend as I answered the questions, keeping a smile on my face to keep the burning feeling of humiliation at bay. The agency had claimed that it wasn't just looking for the thin tall type who usually model but their reaction when they actually saw a different kind of woman proved otherwise. I looked across at my thin, blonde-haired, amply-breasted companion and realised that they had seen me as the dowdy friend who comes along to provide moral support. As I answered the questions I felt irritated. Blue/green eyes, brunette, perfect ten. I am not ashamed of the way I look nor should I be made to feel that way.
When we were interviewed the clipboard man, who was no Brad Pitt himself, openly flirted with my friend. She gave him her photos and he asked her to select two that the agency could hold on to. She told him, with no flirtatious intent whatsoever, that he could keep all of them if he wanted and he grinned and told her obsequiously that he would love to have them all. Holding in the vomit, I passed over my photographs and relaxed into my chair, mirroring the nonchalence he displayed towards me.
He told us that we would get a few minutes each to pose for some shots and then we would pick five of the best ones to send further up the agency for consideration.
The shoot was a whirlwind and felt very rushed but I tried to keep my experience at hand by constantly saying snippets of advice in my head: "Always look just to the left, right or above the camera", "Never do something that looks unnatural", "Bend anything on your body that will bend - angles are in!"
About three minutes later it was all over and although there were some awful shots (partly the photographer's fault and partly mine) I chose five that I felt at least 60% happy with (in some of the photos I haven't quite found the light - a fair criticism). I still haven't received my favourite shot from that day (my friend loaded them onto her memory stick and has only sent three out of the five to me so far) but I will share one of the full length shots with you.
Stay confident,
Emzikles xxx
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
