The Art (and Virtue) of Modeling (No, really.)

Image from Mater Gratiae, by Mark Langdale Hough

Somewhere along the twisty-and-turny, u-turn-laden, multi-forked path of life, I became a model.

Had you asked me 15 years ago, a teenager full of bright dreams of the future, whether modeling made it onto my list of aspirations, I would have laughed in your face and told you it ranked somewhere in between “trash collector” and “professional shopper.” (Yeah, I know it works for some of you, but shopping has always been my personal purgatory.) I was a smart girl. Smart girls, in my book, became do-ers: writers and artists and linguists and falcon-rescuers. They did not model.

Then I married this really artistic guy who wanted to paint religious works. He’s an artist. Artists need models. Professional models cost money, but artists, traditionally speaking, need to be very frugal with money lest they become canvas- and manuscript-burning monsters a la La Boheme. So naturally when Mark asked if I would model for a painting, I said, “Of course, darling, I’d be happy to!” (Because I like having enough money to buy food.)

I proceeded to whine, internally or out loud, for the entire time he needed me to stand there in one (blasted) position.

It was not my finest moment.

Study of the Angel Gabriel, by Mark Langdale Hough
(My awesome nephew shared this modeling with me so Gabriel could look less feminine.
Also, he whined less.)

As it turns out, modeling for a painter is grueling work. Holding still is difficult. Add any elegant posture--a raised arm, an arched back--to the equation, and you’ve doubled the chances of actual pain.

For me, though, the hardest part was to stand back and not DO anything for 45 minutes to an hour. I am addicted to productivity. I don’t even like to watch a movie without knitting something at the same time. So besides the physical challenge of remaining still and holding a single position, I was faced with the spiritual challenge of letting someone else be the artist.

Which is exactly why modeling turned out to be very, very good for me.

In life, God is the artist. We can work along with him, but for our lives to be all that He wants them to be, there will be periods when all He asks is that we sit back and be still. We need to be prepared to look at a day and think, “But I didn’t do anything.” And when we see the harvest that somehow is produced in these times, we need to be willing to give God all the credit.

Sometimes we have artistic control over our lives. Sometimes we’re just the medium used.

Then, of course, there’s the double meaning of the word “model.” I tell my children all the time that they need to step back and let me help them; but how often do I actually model that behavior? Do I let others help me? Do I let God be the artist of my life?

When I’m curled up with a cold, or on bedrest for pregnancy, or when some pain or another keeps me from holding knitting needles or balancing a laptop... it’s time for me to give up being an artist and be a model instead. To be still, and to acknowledge that there is beauty in the stillness, beauty that has nothing to do with my efforts.

So I’m sorry for judging you, models out there. You’re probably much closer to sainthood than I am.