A trip to Crouch End for some more mask-making with Jude. This time the base I'm using is a plaster cast of my own face. Which was in the damp boot of my car for a while last year - just long enough for it to attractively develop some mould pox. Art imitating life. (Q: What is a 'skin care routine', please?)
Being literally faced with myself gives the process a fascinating weirdness. A completely new experience. All I've seen before is a photo, or a mirror image or film. But this is 3D. My nose and chin and cheek bones as they look in reality, and from angles familiar to others but not to me. Recognisable, but also strange and new.
Now I have this plaster effigy, it's with me for life. I can't ever throw it away - it would seem wrong. Like self-harm voodoo. So unless it falls to bits, it'll be in a box, somewhere in my attic, growing more mould. While I remain downstairs, Dorian Gray-style. All fresh and non-mouldy. (A: This. This is a 'skin-care routine'.)
It must be very odd to be the subject of a Madame Tussauds wax work. Doesn't matter how many times you've been photographed or filmed, getting a 3D sense of yourself is something else. Particularly with that level of detail - clothes, hair, eyes - the lot.
And then, of course, when you're no longer of public interest, you are melted down like an old stub, without ceremony. From candle you came; to candle you return.
I suppose at least there's not the responsibility of a mouldy cast in your attic...
And then, of course, when you're no longer of public interest, you are melted down like an old stub, without ceremony. From candle you came; to candle you return. 
No comments:
Post a Comment