Don’t actually “Meet the Artist,” she’s a sweaty, awkward loudmouth who will probably go in for a hug when you try to shake hands and think about it for four days straight.
Not Shown: tissue packs, nail clippers, bobby and safety pins, wound gel (listen, I come prepared), prob a bag of chips or some snacks, a fuckton of receipts and trash (that I hoard for absolutely no reason), pens and mechanical pencils, a mini sketchbook, a Galaxy Tab and Wacom stylus, and a switchblade (for good luck).
Artist Not Shown To Scale. Artist May Look Larger in Mirror. Use Hazard Lights When Approaching. Do Not Wash With Bleach.
“Libra is an Air sign and represented by the symbol of the Balancing Scales.
They are often surrounded by art, music and beautiful places.
Libra-born prefer justice and equality, and they cannot tolerate injustice.
People born under this sign are considered to be attractive and fashion-conscious.”
Libra is the balanced, fair and lover of harmony and peace so I used neutral colors. The headdress contains Libra’s lucky stones/birthstones such as Moonstone, Smokey Quartz and Opal.
I’ve known my sister, Hannah, her entire life. I met her the
day she was born. I was there when everyone first saw the purple and blue veins
on her left cheek. But, I don’t remember seeing them for the first time. I don’t
remember giving them much thought. For the past fifteen years, I can recall a
handful of days I or anyone in my family have spared a thought to those veins
on her cheek. I have spent much more time being jealous of her natural beauty.
But, today is one of those other days, one of that small
handful. Today my sister shares a story and it’s not the first of its kind. She
sits on the kitchen counter, eats an apple and says that it was photo
day for her soccer team. She describes posing for a profile shot with her left
cheek facing the camera.
“Don’t you want to face the other way?” The camerawoman asks as politely as possible.
“No, I’m fine.” She says and holds her ground.
“Are you sure?”
“No, I’m good.”
And then, having given up her crusade, “That’s some bruise! Did you get that in a soccer
“No,” and I know she must have shared an awkward smile and
laugh, “It’s a birthmark.”
And I’m sure the woman was not expecting that and I am in no
way attempting to ridicule her for her words. What I am trying to do, is revel
in the bravery and self-confidence of my fifteen-year-old sister. My sister,
who has stood in front of countless people, both children and adults, and dared
to be proud of her appearance.
“Is that a tattoo?” “No, it’s just a birthmark.”
“What happened to your face?” “It’s a birthmark.”
“Did someone hit you?” “No.”
“You know, when you get older, you could get plastic surgery. It would be like it was never there.”
I have only spared a handful of days like this, contemplating
my sister’s appearance and strength of character. I do not take notice of the purple and blue on her face. But, I know she thinks about it every
day. I know she sees it. I hope she continues to embrace it.