The Truth Behind War Paint..

Links in this post contain images which may be considered to be of an adult nature

As women, we strive for perfection. Rather, we strive to meet an ideal, to conform to what we believe constitutes attractiveness.

We’re overweight, we’re underweight.. We have wrinkles, we have stretch marks, scars and cellulite.
We paint our faces, colour our hair, slather body creams and lotions on our skin.
We shave, we pluck, we wax.
Our legs are too long, too short, too flabby.
Our hands are too large, too small, too rough.

We fight our imperfections daily – whether for others or for ourselves.
When we did we stop appreciating that our imperfections are what make us real women?

The Century Project, by Frank Cordelle, is a chronological series of nude photographic portraits of women from birth to nearly 100 years old. Many of the photographs are presented with statements, stories and poetry written by the women themselves.

Reading ‘Bodies and Souls: The Century Project’, – Cordelle’s book – brought me to tears. It reminded me that our bodies are a map of our lives, and every scar, every mark – tells a story.

Cordelle breaks down the preconceptions around images of naked women.
This is not pornography.
This is not about degradation, violence or sex.
This is about truth, about presenting women in their naked form – as honest representations, rather than as objects desire.

Our bodies will change over time. And instead of fighting change, surely we should be embracing it. Taking strength from our flaws and appreciating that our weathered skin represents our life.

I have three scars on my left leg. And they have been subjected to every scar-minimising lotion you could think of..
Now, I understand the importance of them. They are no longer ugly in my eyes.

Each one tells a story, reminding me of something I do not want to forget.

One: Desperation.
Two: Weakness.
Three: Strength.

They mean nothing to anyone else.. But to me, they tell a story of survival.
They inspire me to be strong, and remind me of what I have overcome.

For years, I was unable to stand naked and vulnerable, before the other-half. Timid and tormented by unwanted memories, I shied away from intimacy and used sex as a barrier for emotion. Every now and again, I catch myself doing the same thing, and have to remind myself that this is the man I love. The man that taught me that nudity was not bound to be sexual.

I have no feeling in the slithers of scar-tissue on my left leg.
But I feel something deeper when he runs his fingers across the silvery skin.
Pride, acceptance, love..

There is at least one person who loves us for who we truly are.
Who knows us inside-out and not only accepts our flaws – but loves them.
The first person should always be ourselves..