My hair was teased and cut and my make-up was done and I was sitting on a pillow on the floor as I watched the room fill up with people. I was part of the art piece they had come to see. It was too cool.
The theme was bohemian camping. The artist was a hair stylist who was showcasing her work for a project she had to do. I was told to stay seated and just relax, maybe chat with the other 6 girls who were teased and primped. I tried to act natural and not stare back at the other people looking at us.
It's funny because usually I am the one looking at the art, not the other way around. I wasn't performing in this piece, either. I was on display. My hair was the reason these people had filed in.
I watched as their eyes darted up and down, the appraising glances at my fluffed up hair. Even if I'm not going to get up and perform an improv scene, or act in a play, I love the attention. I don't know how the synapses in my brain are wired to give me pleasure when I get that kind of attention, but however they are: it works.
I won't say no to being an art piece: Mona Lisa's got it real good, figured that out really quickly today.
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