I must, I must, I must increase…uh, I mean, I must blog, apparently. The obsession continues. What is this now? The fifth day in a row I’ve posted? Something like that anyway.
(The photo is superfluous; nothing to do with this post whatsoever…I just did this picture to post on my Facebook page. I like it, so you get it for free.)
Boobs, you say. Well, you might not say. I said. No, I wrote. Boobs. What about ’em? My husband, a photographer, is versatile in his art. Landscapes. Urban candid. Portraiture. Artistic nude. And, in my time, I’ve posed. It’s NOT one of the things I’m ashamed of.
Jamie sells his work on the website Redbubble. Occasionally a print or t-shirt (he’s designed a few) will sell. Sometimes it’s a card or, indeed, a postcard. Moneywise it’s nothing to write home about. We’re talking pocket change (unless someone buys a large print or, even better, framed print…hint, hint…you know you want one); it’s just nice to have the art seen and appreciated…acknowledged…occasionally liked enough that someone must own a little something of it.
Today, he sold a postcard of his piece entitled Surrendered #1. It happens to be one of those artistic nudes I posed for. It features my…chest features.
I wonder, who bought the postcard? Who will receive it? What message will it carry? How far will my boobs travel? They, most likely, will end up somewhere I have never been.
My visage…my naked form… on a postcard. Royal mail, special delivery. Bonkers!
Warning! Abrupt change in subject (keep up). I feel a shift. Like a bit of darkness lifting. I’ve had more energy today than I have in months (one of the results being that photo (not the booby one; the one on this post…so, ok, it does have something to do with this post after all); if I didn’t feel better I couldn’t have gotten in that position . Maybe, I don’t know…could I be getting a bit of a remission, a reprieve, here? Please. Oh, I would be grateful. Not holding my breath – just like when I feel wretched, it is what it is. It’s a mistake to spend precious energy in thinking too much about it…even to hope. It. Is. What. It. Is.
Hmm…bad pun warning… Wouldn’t you say this post is rather…titillating? And, with that pun intended, I’ll leave you to contemplate “answers on a postcard”.