My Ever-Changing Canvas

One night I was backstage at a local burlesque show. It was a pretty typical backstage environment. Colorful suitcases and colorful humans jammed into a room meant for about a third of the population that currently occupied it, lighting that would make a sales clerk from MAC Cosmetics weep and the slightly sour smell of last nights spilt cocktails mixed with body odor and highly perfumed glitter lotions. (Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain, dear audience members! She may destroy the illusion of glamour.) The lineup for this particular show was a mixture of friends, people I knew only from our shared time backstage, a few people I had met once or twice and one out of town performer I had never met.

That evening backstage went in its typical fashion. Lineups were taped to the walls. Lips were lined in the terrible lighting. Someone borrowed eyelash glue from someone else. Conversations ebbed and flowed sometimes cut short as someone went on stage only to return five minutes later wearing substantially less clothing than they went on with. Stage techs arrived with armloads of shed costuming. Wigs were tossed onto heavily makeuped heads.

Throughout the night we laughed, chatted and made general fools of ourselves in our crammed room. Some say the real show is backstage. Some nights I think that might be true. That night it was probably true.

Then the show was over. The audience shuffled out and we packed our bags to go home. Making rounds we said our goodbyes to each other; to old friends, to new ones, to congratulate each other on a successful show.

That’s when an irksome comment came to me from a performer I didn’t know well, but whom I had shared many a backstage with and had attended a few social gatherings with. With genuine appreciation and without a hint of sarcasm or malice she said to me, “Tonight was so great. It was really good to see the real you for the first time.”

Ugh…

I don’t think I need to point out that the emphasis was on the word “real”. It was as if she had spoken the word with an italic and an underline at the same time.

Flustered from the misplaced good intentions of this performer, I politely stumbled over something about it being lovely to get to spend time with her and hefted my costumes out the door.

You may be asking yourself right now why I was so flustered. Wasn’t her comment a compliment? An acceptance of who I truly am? Yes, her well intentioned comment was meant to validate me and my “realness”. Yes, it was meant to thank me for “letting down my guard” for her. For this reason, I am polite. Intentions matter.
That being said, what is implied by this comment is also frustrating. First, it implies that the other times we interacted she thought I was at best guarded and at worst the opposite of real, fake. She had just told me that in all of our previous interactions she felt I wasn’t being myself around her or anyone else.

Second, that the “me” I showed her that evening was the one that her feel most at ease. She was more comfortable with the Nina she interacted with that night and she was rewarding me in the hopes I would continue the behavior. It didn’t cross her mind that maybe the “me” I was showing that night was the act. (It wasn’t in this case, but that’s not always true when I’m given this “compliment”.)
Third, and most frustrating, it assumes I have only one real me.
Sure, I spend a lot of my time going through this world guarded. I am careful of what I say. I am careful of what I wear. I am careful of how I’m seen. I will hang back in the shallows and wait to gather information about a new situation or group of people before I jump into the deep end of the pool. This is something most of us do. It is a survival skill we all learn at a young age. But guarded doesn’t mean false. Guarded means keeping the delicate parts protected until you know you are in a safe space. It means not giving all of you at once, but it doesn’t mean the parts of you that show aren’t also real.

Some say the real you is the person you are when you strip back everything, when you peel away all the layers. The real you is lying underneath all that window dressing and outside influence.

I’ve spent time thinking about the real me. Which version of me I feel is the one I truly am. The answer is all of them.

When I strip everything back, I am left with a blank canvas.

The beauty of who we are is in those layers. Every experience, every emotion, every personality quirk is a layer of paint added to our canvas. Some of those layers are painful and dark shadows. Some of those layers are joyful and bright highlights. Some of those layers are broad and far reaching. Some of those layers are focused and detailed. Some areas have been painted over with new experiences or opinions.

Some people have smaller canvases with simpler layers. Canvases that can be seen as a whole when we step back. Even these small canvases, though, usually hide special details and hidden messages for those allowed close enough. Some people like these smaller, simpler canvases. It is who they are and what they want to be.

Some of us have canvases that stretch so large it is almost impossible to see the whole picture at once. I find anyone who self-identifies as an Artist has a canvas that stretches beyond what anyone can capture with one image. We show our canvas in sections. We may shine a light on our areas which are bright and painted in broad swirls in one situation, but turn focus to the more linear, structured shapes in other situations.

My painting is complex, multi-layered and, I will admit, not to everyone’s liking. Some days the real me is dark and moody. Some days the real me is silly and ridiculous. Some days the real me is sophisticated and sleek. These are all layers on my canvas. The real me is all these layers. It is disheartening when people try to place just one label on me as the real version of me.

But, then…

When someone says to me “It’s so good to see the real you,” what they are actually saying to me is, “It’s so good to see a side of you that I can connect with.” Perhaps instead of me seeing this comment as a frustrating disconnect in understanding who I am fully I can see it as an opportunity to better understand the person who made the comment. This is the me that is real to them because this is the person they want to connect with. Perhaps with time they will recognize another version of me as real as well.

I am more than a blank canvas. I am layers of light and dark. I am messy and meticulous. Those I hold close will be those who connect with more than one real me. No one is going to like every part of my painting, but those who love me will embrace it as a whole. And I, for my part, will do the same for them.

I am an ever-changing canvas. The me today will be a little bit different from the me tomorrow, but I promise you they will both be real.