clarissa elizabeth

3:19pm: Had My Baby!
Our daughter was born on April 17th. Labor was short and uneventful - unlike my very complicated and difficult pregnancy! She is healthy and beautiful and alert and I am completely in love with her.

Since coming home from the hospital, I have been adjusting to my new role of mother and trying to get as much rest as possible. I am completely healed from the labor and birth and feel great.

I wonder if I will be as interested in modeling now that I have a child. It will definitely be less of a priority but I think some art nude shoots with the baby could be really great...

4:55pm: Been a LONG time.....
I've been so busy being pregnant that I haven't updated in a very long while! My priorities have shifted a bit as the pregnancy progresses and modeling has moved to the proverbial "back-burner." However, as my pregnancy becomes evermore apparent, I have been scheduling some shoots.

I am now almost 27 weeks pregnant with a baby girl, and doing well. The first few months of pregnancy were spent in and out of the hospital and being cared for by home nurses, as I suffered from hyperemesis (www.hyperemesis.org).

Thanks to all those who have contacted me with wishes for a healthy pregnancy!

11:16am: a sad day
i am not yet able to fully face the outcome of this election.

women, sisters, mothers - prepare to lose the right to choose what happens to your body. planet - prepare for further destruction. children - you will be left behind. seniors - you may as well quit all your medicines now. people of color - expect to be ignored. not rich? then you don't matter. gay? hell in a handbasket. not christian? guess you won't be joining the president on his trip up to heaven once he finishes destroying the world.

i'm angry. i'm sad. i don't want to believe that our fellow human-beings chose this. i am scared.

whatever you feel - please do not grow apathetic. our hope has been trampled but we must rise. we must be the change that we want to see in this world (M. Ghandi)

a sad day indeed. but not one without possibility for change. yes, change is becoming increasingly difficult as civil liberties are eliminated and the takeover continues...but it is not impossible. if we give up now, we become the problem.

please be kind to yourselves and to our fellow human-beings. it's too easy to be mad and mean and full of hatred toward those who chose this. we, as a nation, as individuals and has a planet will not heal with hatred but with understanding, compassion and patience.

love,
clarissa





from a friend of mine....

All this will pass. "A day will come when all this will pass away...all this will pass and a new, a noble existence will begin. "I am not here for ever", he tells himself again and again, "soon I shall be there - there where there is liberty, all that I dream of, all that the suffering soul desires. Here is a heavy sleep, a nightmare. There it will be waking, beautiful and happy. Open the doors of the prison, send away the warders, strike off the chains, it will be enough. I shall find the rest for myself, in this free and beautiful universe which I did not know how to appreciate before, although I saw it." A commentary on Dostoevsky's House of the Dead , a fictionalised account of his four year's of hard labour.

While you were re-electing a president:
Senator-elect Jim DeMint : Thinks that unwed pregnant women and gays are unfit to be schoolteachers.
Senator-elect Tom Coburn : Wants the death penalty for abortion doctors.
Senator-elect John Thune : Mr. School Prayer Amendment.
Voters in 11 states voted to ban same-sex marriage . The /lowest/ margin was 57%-43%. The highest (Mississippi) was 86%-14%. Kentucky's also bans civil unions. That one was 75%-25%.
The Senate will likely be split 55-45 in favor of Republicans, creeping closer to a filibuster-proof supermajority. Meanwhile, 89% of these guys are older than 65.

Enjoy your tax cut, America. You're going to need it.

11:48am: NYC
I will be traveling to New York in early August and am booking paid shoots. Please contact me if you have a project you'd like to discuss and are in the city.

9:51pm: Been a long time....
...since I've written here. Life keeps me busy: school, modeling, an internship, and time spent cultivating my relationships with myself, my love and my friends and family. San Francisco is a wonderful place to call home and although there are things I miss about Detroit (friends, music and the familiarity), I am nonetheless glad that I moved out west.

School has provoked entirely new lines of thought and one such theme is the concept of hurting oneself and others. Without delving too deeply into it (such a huge concept!), I've been sitting with the notion that only those who are in pain and hurting themselves are able to hurt others. Viewing the world in this light helps me approach activism from a place of compassion rather than one of anger and impatience.
This applies to all levels of inter-relating. On a macro level, say, between nations, there is war and destruction that touches hundreds of thousands of human-beings. On a micro-level, between 2 people for instance, there are hurtful words or accusations and behaviors. If, inside of your soul, you are hurting from past wounds, these traumas cause you to behave in ways that will hurt other people as well as yourself. When we heal our inner-beings and nurture our spirit, we no longer act out of defense, anger or competition. These are my thoughts. In what ways has old hurt caused you to behave in ways that hurt others?

2:41pm: After Winter must come Spring....

Spring will be here soon!!!

7:02pm: on the subject of hair...
I learn so much about people from their reactions to my hairstyle and am learning a lot lately from people concerned about the fact that I am growing my hair out a bit. Such strong emotions emerge from people! It's certainly reasonable that people have reactions - I mean, we all have our opinions on the appearances of others whether it be hair, dress, hygiene, make-up. I don't intend to minimize the rights of people to have, and to share, their opinions. To me, though, hair is just hair. It can be none or lots, any color of the rainbow and any style or lack thereof that people choose.


For the last few years, for many reasons, I have felt the need to physically seperate myself from the norm, to announce that I am not like all the "others." Externally, of course, this announcement was communicated through my lack of hair. For so many in this culture, hair is a symbol of femininity and beauty and I wanted to offer another view. People responded, some with praise and some with malice. I think I needed this response and it provided validation that I was, indeed, "special."


At this point in my life, or so I am thinking lately, I don't require that same validation. I don't feel the pressure to distinguish myself as different, at least not externally. I AM different (though, really, we are all different aren't we?) but that can be learned by having conversations with me, reading my writings, knowing what I believe in and where my passions exist. I think I was, these past couple years, shouting my existence. I don't think I need to shout anymore. I don't need to prove so much to myself and to the culture. I am me and, for now anyway, that me has more hair.

4:06pm: Humans have been celebrating the New Year since the Babylonian days when people returned borrowed goods (so if you have borrowed something, now would be a great time to return it to its rightful owner:)
My hope on this Eve of two-thousand, four is for humans to return to Nature, in many senses.

Return to the natural form, strive to love how you look nude. A friend of mine told me of this exercise: for 40 days with no exceptions, say aloud "Thank You" to each of your body parts and say why you are thankful to have each part. If you miss one day you must start over at zero days and begin all 40 over again. This may be difficult because we are so used to criticizing our parts rather than appreciating them for all they do.

Return to Nature by allowing loved ones to be themselves...let people be as they are. As Ghandi wisely bestowed "We must be the change we want to see in the world."

Return to Nature by getting outdoors in whatever capacity is possible. If you can't be outdoors, change your screensaver to a nature scene. Research shows that even simply viewing pictures of natural settings can lower our heart-rate and reduce stress!

I mention these ideas no flippantly for I too will practice my return to Nature.

May this new year bring healing and love to all of Humanity.

10:45am: response to a recent inquiry:
I get many strange looks, comments and questions regarding my shaved head...some are negative, many positive and some just bewlidered. This is for those who wonder.....

I spent my teenage years being very culturally influenced and acting the part of what our society says is beautiful: I was anorexic for 9 years and had long blonde hair and wore the "right" clothes and make-up, etc. As I matured and slowly recovered from my eating disorder I grew dismayed with the oft unhealthy and unrealistic standards of beauty to which girls and women (and, to some extent, men) are held. Shaving my head, in this context, is one way I stand against those unrealistic ideals. Shooting nudes allows me to depict (to some degree) beauty of another kind. So many people connect beauty of women with long hair and I want to present an alternate view. I find beauty in so much beyond the standard ideals we are presented with in western culture. Beauty, in my eyes, has no connection to hair, weight, age. Western cultures, America in particular, have allowed the beauty industry to introduce aging as a disease, cosmetic surgery as a tool to "better" oneself; dieting as a measure of willpower and has led so many to equate weight with worth.
I used to hide behind my hair and part of recovering from anorexia and my continous journey of self-discovery involves learning to face fears and live, rather than exist in, my life. Shaving my head is an external manifestation of this.
I get all sorts of interesting reactions and responses to the way I look and it's been a sociological study of sorts to observe these reactions. Some assume I am a skinhead, some think I must be a lesbian, some think I have cancer; many women tell me that they wish they had the confidence to shave their head and many people ask to touch my head to see what it feels like. Young girls generally can't fathom why someone would do such a thing as they have been conditioned that "boys like long hair." Some male friends wish I would grow my hair out and several really like it shaved. Regardless of the reaction, I learn so much about the people who have intense reactions to my hair (or lack of it).

9:51pm: I don't particularly like the band "Train" but they have nice lyrics in "Calling All Angels"
There's something comforting about that song. Reading lyrics is not comparable to hearing a song but....

I need a sign to let me know you're here
All of these lines are being crossed over the atmosphere
I need to know that things are gonna look up
'Cause I feel us drowning in a sea spilled from a cup

When there is no place safe and no safe place to put my head
When you feel the world shake from the words that are said

I need a sign to let me know you're here
'Cause my TV set just keeps it all from being clear
I want a reason for the way things have to be
I need a hand to help build up some kind of hope inside of me

And I'm calling all angels
I'm calling all you angels

When children have to play inside so they don't disappear
And private eyes solve marriage lies cause we don't talk for years
And futbol teams are kissing Queens
and losing sight of having dreams
In a world that what we want is only what we want until it's ours

I'm calling all angels
I'm calling all you angels

3:23pm: the waiting room...part one
The old man sat atop mismatched vinyl chairs stacked 3 high and didn’t look up when I entered. His feet barely scraped the floor though he looked to be quite tall; his dog lay bored beside his feet which wore sandals that had seen better times. They didn’t fit his feet.
Drab was this dog – does that seem cruel? But he was just that – shades of gray and greasy; some sort of Schnauzer I think. It has this aged look and when I looked at the face sitting on those chairs, I understood. Things had not come easily to this pair. They looked comfortable with each other and for that I felt glad.
Black, a dark stain of skin he had and what little hair remained was gray. Stupidly, I entertained the thought that a toupee could be made from that dog’s hair and fixed to the man’s head. Man hung his head with the weight of life forcing him to age downward and his weathered skin gathered in places like skin puddles under each eye. Jaundice had found home in his eyes and he studied the palms of those beautiful hands. What was he searching for?
Behind the busted up particle board door a dog was barking and old gray snapped to attention. The speed of his reaction felt unwelcome in this room where life didn’t so much thrive as it did remain. The alert ears and stance of the dog spoke of lifetimes ago when he and man had still thought of the future. The man still stared at his palms.
The barking ceased and dog resigned himself to life near those sandals on this that floor of dirt and cracked tile.
I sat across that box of a room and didn’t read the pamphlet in my hands – “what to do when you love your pet but not their odor” – who writes this shit? Who reads this shit? I wonder if anyone else wonders about stuff like this and wish I didn’t.
Just as the scruffy pair across the box this second couple sat in silence. Only this dog was a young pup, a timid-seeming pit-bull. It was male and I silently questioned what life would present him, knowing that in Detroit, dogs of his kind are often used to serve and protect such valuable commodities as cocaine, heroin and their pharmaceutical cousins.

11:57pm: ...pain is so easily integrated into humanity, into individuality. what is your pain? what are the circumstances of your pain and what is keeping it from healing? I'm so tired but can't sleep. Felt like a good time to journal but maybe not....maybe my thoughts are plentiful but my energy scarce....feeling depleted. and calm.

9:18pm: something resembling a personal statement...
Stop. Red light. We pulled alongside a rusty box on wheels. From the back seat of my daddy’s Ford, I peered at the driver of the old car. From my seven-year old perspective, he looked about my daddy’s age of forty-one; but he didn’t look at all like my daddy. The man in the car next to us looked sad, and I sneaked a look up-front at my dad and he looked happy. This other driver looked lonely and my dad had a wife, a good job, and three healthy daughters. I wondered if that man felt sad that his car was old and rusty and if he had a family who loved him. I wondered where he was going and why he looked so sad. At seven, I had yet to acquire the meanings of underprivileged, poor and low socio-economic status; but, on some fundamentally human level, I understood.
What followed was a fairly uneventful childhood: private schools run by hippies, family vacations all around the country and, eventually, high school. Sex, drugs and Rock and Roll – except in my high school it was Rape, Rock and Roll and the drug was alcohol.
Following the rape, anorexia and bulimia took over my mind and body, waging a nine-year Battle Against Clarissa. While in treatment, I got my first taste of feminism and the war against females in the media – the objectification, dehumanization and sexualizing of young girls. The harmful effects of media on our collective subconscious remain very personal and important to me. During many hospital stays and while in therapy, I attended a local community college, became a Big Sister through Big Brothers, Big Sisters of America, made countless mistakes inevitably leading to setbacks in my recovery, and found my way to Wayne State University in Detroit.
Living in Cass Corridor, widely known as the most dangerous part of Detroit, I found myself among students and artists and activists as well as those without homes, who slept in the alleys and collected bottles and cans. I felt that hurt again; the same hurt I got from seeing that driver who looked so beaten down by the world, so without hope.
I began spending time with the people whose homes are the street and I talked with them. Mostly I listened – to their stories, their struggles, their survival. Anger flared up when I saw how these people were treated by the general population, people who drove into the city for work or school and then drove away from it each night.
From my anger grew a fierce determination. Early in my ventures I was overwhelmed by the amount of pain that exists in this world, and I felt despair at my inability to make things better for everyone, everywhere. Through maturation, education and my time as a Big Sister, I moved through that despair to arrive at my current state of thought, summarized eloquently by Margaret Mead...
Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world. Indeed, it's the only thing that ever has.
Philosophically, I believe in living as the ultimate teacher and experience as the ideal lesson. In each person I meet, each challenge I face and every day I live there is something to learn and something to teach.

9:15pm: Reveal Me
You say
I must reveal
So I unravel
Childhood
I unfold past
Wanting to hide
Under image
but
You say
No Need
So I uncover
More pain
And the disease
Of a blackened soul

You say
I am safe here
So I expose
Myself
And learn
That my soul
Is black
No longer

9:12pm: Try to escape
it runs faster
Try to hide
It will find you

Sit still
Find Freedom

9:09pm: I have yet to figure out this website and am rather annoyed. Sometimes I long for the simplicity of paper and ink and return to the art of writing. Tapping keys extracts emotion and makes mechanical the joy of birthing words. I don't know why I am typing! Physically it is impossible, I think, to pour ones heart into a computer. Where is the passion, the romance, in staring at a screen and punching out the words that our fingers long to deilver?

8:58pm: so anyway, this Ashish guy and I talked at length about his native India and my passion for activism and social justice. He liked my new Pumas and asked if I got them here in America. Turns out he lived in Switzerland and France and just moved here from Hell A. So I told him how there is an entire establishment dedicated to Puma down on Market St. I don't think he cared.
I now know that darker-skinned Indian people are from the bottom parts of the land and that they speak a different script or dialect. I questioned my transit companion about religion in his country and he had this to say - "there is not as much racial tension as there is here in America....the Indian Muslims forget that we are all the same people. We were all forced to practice the same religion - this was before the 1st World War - and now these Muslims in India look at the Muslims across the way in Pakistan and think 'they are crazy over there' and that they are lucky to be in India. But we are all the same people.
As I write this I hear the voice of Ashish in my mind and I write with his accent and wish I could convey that to this machine.
He liked my ideas, he said, and wondered if I was a public speaker and if I have thought about writing children's books about my ideas. I have not.

4:02pm: musings........
met a cool guy on the train today. his name was ashish and is prounounced like hashish without the 'h' sound.