American Baggage

I’m going to write about food and the effect it had on my body on a recent trip back to the United States for a little over a month after living in France.

What I want to say first and very clearly is that we need to stop associating being thin with being beautiful. What I have to say about weight gain or loss is not tied to one way being more visually appealing than another. I find women, including myself, beautiful at all different sizes. What I want is to have a real discussion about our bodies and the impact our environment, culture, and food have on it after I experienced a noticeable transformation in a relativity short amount of time with my own.

Any time your body goes through a transformation you have to ask yourself, “what caused this?” My health is something I must pay attention to because of my genetics. My grandfather died at 63 from a heart attack, my father had bypass surgery in his mid 40’s and my mother has had stints. It’s not for vanity but for a deep desire to live a long healthy life.

In France, I have been eating seasonally, for the most part locally sourced, non-packaged foods, rarely anything fried (because I make almost all my meals I hate cleaning up frying oil), and I drink the local wines. The cheese I buy is mostly unpasteurized, I have a fresh baked baguette almost every day and most of the food related stores in town are more representative of farm stands than supermarkets.

There is a strong connection in France between the seasons and what we eat. At my little grocer I arrived one day and noticed my favorite goat cheese was gone. I asked monsieur about it and he told me there would be no more cheese production from their specific producer until spring as they respect the annual cycle of the goats. I have learned the frustrations and joys of eating seasonally. What I wouldn’t give right now to bite into a juicy peach or make pesto sauce but by living without is not only is it better for our environment because things are not being shipped halfway around the world, but I have found it’s also better on my mental health.

The joy of the arrival of apricots to the market, picking warm cherries off the tree in the summer sun, the beautiful pumpkins in the autumn and the comfort of duck confit and potatoes in the winter ooooooo or onion soup. There is always something to look forward to, something to miss, and a respect for nature.

When I recently walked into a Whole Foods in the United States and I almost had a panic attack. There were just so many options, so much of everything. The huge piles of food, it was overwhelming, paralyzing and ultimately sad because I know much of it will be wasted. I stood and stared at a shelf of chapsticks as big as I was unable to choose because there were just simply too many choices. Not only choices but sizes and how much bigger the things were. The food, the fruits and vegetables were all just… bigger. It’s no wonder when you think about it that simply that I too would become bigger during my time there. We are a product of what we eat after all.

So my first question is this, why are the basic ingredients in America bigger? Are we manipulating our food? Our animals? Does America only buy bigger? Bigger cars, bigger houses, bigger burgers? And what is really the gain there? Is “supersized” really a plus?

The limitations I have in France actually make my life easier. It is supposed to be the opposite, having everything possible is supposed to make like better but it doesn’t for me. It’s just … too much. The paradox of choice. Too much noise in my head. Too much packaging screaming at me for attention.

Here is an example of how I make dinner in France: I walk to one of my grocers, look and see what vegetable looks the most amazing and I plan a meal around that. Tonight, I am roasting carrots because not only did the bushy, earthy bunches of carrots look amazing but they also had a rare purple carrot that just tickled me with excitement. My brain can wrap its head around that. My mental health is calm and satisfied.

I bring up mental health because it is so tied to physical health. When I am feeling anxious, I eat more comfort food, drink more alcohol. Being away from my work in France, which is my greatest passion, made me anxious. Being in the urban energy of L.A. and all the designer gloss and focus on money and looks made me anxious. Combine that with easy access 24 hours a day to fried food, savory tacos, chips, and cocktails and yeah… no wonder I gained some weight.

At one point in my journey across the US visiting Monument Valley, Antelope Canyon and Horseshoe Bend there were zero healthy food options, only processed fast food chains. I’m not saying I don’t enjoy fast food from time to time but when it’s the only option and I’ve had it three meals in a row I snap. I actually snapped at a guy and I know it had to do with my irritation with the food inside me making me feel sick. The last meal in that area I just gave up and had a margarita for dinner because I couldn’t eat anymore processed brown food. I was defeated and I felt heart broken as I looked around at the diners in the restaurant who also looked miserable and unhealthy and I just wished they had more options than food wrapped in a brightly colored logo.

I feel like the fast food chains are an amazing testament to human survival. We can produce so much food so our species will never starve while the hidden cost is stripping complete communities and income groups of important culture. My grandmother, who only went out to eat once a week, would make my favorite soup from her childhood, potato soup and cornbread, which came from the depression era when there wasn’t a lot of options on the farm she grew up on. It’s basically boiled potatoes with some milk and I loved it. But would she have cooked as much if it were cheaper and easier to eat off the 99¢ menu when she herself was a child? And if fast food were the norm for areas of poverty in 1930’s America, would my grandmother, who never had weight issues, have had health issues related to weight? Would my priceless memories of time together in her garden and her kitchen be erased into a soulless bottom dollar of some CEO’s pocketbook?

People always talk about coming to Europe and eating all the bread, cheese and pasta and not gaining weight, or in some cases even losing weight. I eat all those things here in France every single week. Is the key to health as simple as real ingredients? There must also be a difference in the way food is produced or raised between the two counties. Why are those things associated with being “fat” in America but not in Europe? In Europe there is no association with indulgence and these dishes.

So my body had a transformation. I wanted to talk about this because I didn’t like the way I felt. I felt sick. I felt clogged mentally and physically. My skin was a disaster! Broken out and irritated. Again, please separate the notion of beauty from health. I am not saying I look better or worse, I am merely talking about how I felt. And it’s not that I wasn’t working out. I was actually working out harder in the states than in France because I had access to Barre classes and Core Power Yoga, etc.

However, I don’t have a car in France so I walk a lot more in addition to running most days a week. I love walking places, it opens up time for discovery, connects you to the day and to feel the seasons. How the smells in the air change, the way the light moves, the rolling waves of nature. I know being in a car or using Uber played a role with my experience in the States. I just started feeling like a rat in a cage on a wheel. You want to have a good time, eat and drink all this fun food, ok but now you had too many chips? Buy this workout class to feel better. Ok, so you worked out now treat yourself! ARRGGG!!!

So maybe the solution is in shopping at the farmer’s market as much as possible in the U.S. but have you noticed how much more expensive food at the farmer’s market is? In France, food doesn’t feel as commercialized or commoditized and it certainly isn’t expensive. On my very first trip to the big Saturday market I was used to American prices and I kept trying to pay for things with 20’s until I realized how inexpensive everything was. I don’t think you should have to be wealthy to be able to eat well. We should all have access to organic food and humanely raised animal products as some sort of basic standard. I don’t think that should only be available to the elite and it is feeling more and more that way. I think it would be a mental struggle of control I personally would lose. Telling myself to not eat everything on my plate, to not have cocktails, to go to the movies and not buy snacks. Ugh, I would hate that! That’s not freedom to me.

I don’t want this whole thing to come off as France is so much better than the US. Look, America is an experiment in the greatest achievements possible for man and governance. I think it’s incredible that you can pretty much get anything you want, anytime you want in the United States. Look at how far humanity has come! And when I lived in New York City, I didn’t know any other way. Cars on demand, 24-hour organic grocery store at the end of my block, Seamless delivery, the best restaurants in the world, more of anything you could ever dream of. But I wasn’t happy. I had to work so hard to make so much money to buy what I thought I needed until I learned a new way. A way that is just simpler. A way that I don’t have to try to control my food choices or intake because my body is yoyo-ing. I can just live here and I feel good mentally and physically.

I’ve been back in France for a week now. When I first looked at myself in the mirror I was shocked at how visibly different I appeared in the same space. I love my curves and softness and I love food, but this didn’t feel good. I didn’t feel like me and the visage looking back at me I didn’t recognize.

Photographing myself in the self portrait above was a way to try to understand it, for me to process out visually what I was feeling internally. I hope we can have an open dialog about food, cultures, and what makes us feel the healthiest. For me, buying inexpensive ingredients daily from small businesses or from farmers, cooking at home (even foods Americans consider “indulgent”) I feel better mentally and physically.

This is by no means an article on how to lose weight the French way. The French don’t “diet”. They don’t have to, why? What is the difference in our foods? There are a lot of reasons why I moved to France but it wasn’t until now that I realized food was also a part of it…. America was making me sick.

I invite you to share your thoughts or experiences on my Instagram here.

My Year in Provence

This is a hard post to write. I have such a flood of emotions looking back, reflecting on what I have learned, how I have grown, and what I have loved. You can not recap a year’s experience without ending it with what is next? To be honest, I don’t know. Sure, I thought I would come to spend a year in Provence and answer all the questions for myself about my life, about who I am and what I want. I can certainly answer now some of these things but other aspects have grown even more confusing. I loved things I never thought I could love like living in the country. I learned things about myself I never knew. For example, I am an introvert which finally explains why I hate talking on the phone, why people who are upset or angry give me anxiety attacks, why I feel so exhausted after social events, and most importantly, why I work so much better alone. So where does that take me next when I come back to the United States? 

It was shocking when I first arrived. Nothing seemed to be possible, from getting boxes delivered to buying food on a Sunday… or any time after 7pm. I missed all the things about New York I took for granted. 24/7 Uber service for instance. There is ONE Uber guy and he lives and hour from my little town. I am ecstatic when my train pulls into Avignon and he’s on the clock. I missed laundry service. The last time I took a linen shirt to be pressed they estimated a turn around time of two weeks… lol. So I got used to wrinkles. I missed Seamless, something which I never even think about now. The pleasure I derive in cooking is to the point of therapy. The access to organic, AFFORDABLE, locally farmed ingredients here puts the US to a great shame. I will never forget my first trip to the farmer’s market. Alone with only a handful of French words, I was terrified. I paid for everything with 20’s because I didn’t understand the amounts, and I was used to New York City farmer’s market prices, until I discovered how incredibly inexpensive everything was. Then I walked into the wine shop and my jaw really hit the ground. When it is not market day in my town or one of the surround villages, I have four bio (organic) grocers I can walk to. I know their names, what is happening in their life, who is having a baby and who is in the hospital. I am, for once, part of a community and I feel physically part of the earth here. 

I learned to live a life with less noise. My days in Provence are filled mostly with cooking, cleaning, and making photographs and those are the days when I am most happy. I found freedom. Above everything I learned, I discovered true freedom. Freedom exists beyond the ability to choose where you live or what you believe. I found freedom in my art and expression. I found freedom from money. Of course, we all need money to survive but they don’t worship it here in France and it’s amazing how much your stress levels dissolve when that’s not the goal to life. I’m really into being free from plastics and logos and that has brought down the noise in my life in the best way. I loved the freedom from a culture that tells woman how we are supposed to look. I loved being free from what society tells me I should be doing like having children and a corporate job so I have health insurance. I loved the freedom from ‘stuff’. I never had to walk outside my door and be reminded of all the ‘stuff’ I don’t have that I supposedly need to in order to be valuable. The value comes from within – in my mind, in my soul and if I can create something of meaning. I wish I had more time to work on these ideas. Time, I have come to find out, is the most valuable thing we have. 

To quote the French philosopher Albert Camus who lived in Lourmarin not far from me, “The only way to deal with an unfree world is to become so absolutely free that your very existence is an act of rebellion.” 

Of course, these are just some of the many thoughts and experiences I have garnered in my year here. I slowed down on sharing (blogging) to take the time to be present and experience. I imagine when I return to the US I will begin editing and posting so many of the stories I have filled up 5 hard drives with. There is so much to sift through and my heart has been on a roller coaster. This week has been especially though as I try to figure out where I belong in the world and what value I have for an American culture. 

I created a self portrait to mark the year anniversary as part of my #ProvenceSelfPortraitSeries inspired by Jan van Eyck’s “The Arnolfini Portrait“. This is a great short video on the piece from one of my favorite YouTube art channels. I loved that this was a “painting of everyday life” as much of my personal work here in Provence has been a celebration of the day to day things. What is in bloom, what is in season, what bug crawls into the window, how the light is today.

Beyond that, I wanted to explain some of the personal symbolism I added into this photographic rendition that pertains to my own experience at this year mark. First, there is meaning in the absences. The absence of furniture is symbolic of feeling unsettled, homeless. I brought in chairs, tables, daybeds and pushed them back out. I feel at home in Provence in my soul, yet I do not have a home. I left the shadow of the table with a bowl of pears cast along the left edge to show there is life that happens in this space. I planned to bring in a newly born kitten from town as I love all the cats that roam my village and have earned their trust but then I felt the absence of the pet represented my life more. As many of you know who follow me on Instagram stories, I DREAM of having pets. Both women wear green gowns by Loup Charmant (left & right) in green, green being a symbol of hope. My hope that this path I am on will lead me to where I belong. The hope that I can do something with this work I have created in Provence. The woman on the right holds her gown close to her chest, representing holding everything dear to me I have learned in Provence. The only real valuable thing I can take with me when I go. Her slippers are on because it is time for her to leave. She looks back, sorrowfully to the woman on the left, sometimes I feel my heart being ripped out when I think about having to leave this place. Originally, I had taken a photographic plate with tear stained cheeks but felt the expression was enough on its own. The woman on the left is turned to be ‘looking back’, reflecting on her time in Provence. Her slippers are off and she is barefoot to represent feeling at home here. She gestures with her hand in the way of a ‘blessing’, feelings blessed from this time in France. Though they are married together, in the sense as one, their hands rest together open, vulnerable of being torn apart. The inscription on the wall is my signature and dated for my one year. Hanging above them in an antique mirror which I borrowed from a shop in town, hides a third self portrait. The real me, the photographer. I stand in my men’s linen suit with my camera on the tripod. You can see a discarded green dress on the table, my phone in the bottom left which I use to create these self portraits as a remote control to my camera. I am standing in the kitchen which is pretty much where I always am while at home either working or cooking. You can see the large French doors that over look my garden and her ripened fig tree. 

I will be here a bit longer. I have some more personal work I need to do before I go and a few professional jobs on the table. So there is some time to ponder what happens next…

The Last Supper

Recently I went through a personal Renaissance. I left my life in New York. I moved – at the time alone – to Provence, in a country whose language I did not speak, to a town I had never been to, into an apartment I hadn’t seen. I had never lived alone. A lot has changed since that September day. In the silence of the French countryside I met myself. I met all of my selves. I learned that I can take out the trash, pay the bills, survive through scary noises in the night, take myself to dinner and the movies and do all the things I have always had a man around to do for me. In a sense, I discovered my own masculine side. I became empowered for the first time as a woman.

As a photographer, personal experience is realized through what one creates. Having this time alone to explore myself led me to create my Last Supper, which touches on the facets of myself: my feminism, my masculinity, the past, present, and future. Considering I am not a religious person, when I look at Leonardo da Vinci’s The Last Supper, which portrays the moment where Jesus announces to his 12 disciples that one of them will betray him, I find the study of each of the characters a fascinating glimpse into the flaws of man. I took this concept and put biographies of myself into the painting. My interpretation both defines the complexities of a single human experience and explores the struggle of feeling betrayed by your own mind. The part of me that drinks too much, works too much, wants more money, wants perfection, wants to be desired. I do worry that one version of me could destroy another, a true betrayal of self. It is also a counter argument that we as women are defined by one thing: being a woman. I might be a woman but I also have a masculine side (the woman depicted on the far left) that is independent and smart and completely covered from my curves. On the other end of the spectrum (the woman on the far right) is the exact opposite. The most feminine, most natural version of myself. This is why she is portrayed nude, soft, and leaning on the undressed naked wood of the table top. I can be both; just as a man can be both strong and incredibly sensitive. 

Now of course, I am a woman in a man’s painting of men. To be honest, sometimes I wish I were born a man. There are days when I just want to wear my comfortable men’s linen suit I bought on a recent trip to Aix em Provence with no makeup and just do my job. The importance of Leonardo da Vinci’s work to me is this: he painted women as masculine and it is that characteristic of his muses that is what makes them attractive. Most importantly, he gave them thoughtful eyes which to this day we still ponder. Of his few remaining female portraits, we can see a man who viewed women as intellectual equals, not merely beautiful objects. That is why in the centre all-knowing version of myself I am actually thinking – not about the photograph I am taking, but about what I know about who I am. I wanted her to show the same piercing clarity Jesus was portrayed to have had, to speak directly to the viewer about all of these women surrounding her, to be the grounding pure core of myself amongst the chaos. I wear red because it is the heart of the photograph and is the heart of who I am. It is also Dior, because I am in France after all. 

Click image above to see in high resolution. 

If you’d like to leave a comment please join the conversation on this Instagram! I’d love to hear your thoughts!  

My Last Supper photograph and essay “WOMAN” was first published in Men in this Town

Thank you guys for believing in my work and sharing it around the world in print!