Until The Fat Lady Sings

It’s currently 12:46am on Wednesday, 25 February.

Last Tuesday, the 17th, I attended orientation at the art school for the Bachelor of Fine Arts. I felt a little nervous going along. I was 100% certain I would be the oldest student — which I was — but I wasn’t really prepared for how judged I felt.

There were around sixteen students in total, and I think that was indicative of how many students are actually doing the course. Not many. In my mind, I had pictured fifty art students, all revved up and ready to rock the world with creativity and ideas. But there were only sixteen. And they were young.

I didn’t really get much of a chance to talk to any of them, but not only did they seem young in years, they seemed young in general. They were mostly young women — I think I only saw one man. And the women judged me. They judged me because I’m fat and because I have unconventional looks.

When I was at the Adelaide Central School of Art, there was a range of different people there — different ages, genders, physical appearances. Even though I wasn’t fat then, I still felt like someone who looks different. I fit in.

I did not get that feeling at the art school at Adelaide University.

Below, you can see the sign in the lift that directed us to the orientation.

After about an hour-long talk by the lecturers and staff, we were given a guided tour of the facilities by two students who had recently graduated. One of the graduates was this very cool chick who showed us some of her artwork. She had gone into public toilets and taken photographs of the graffiti on the walls.

I absolutely loved this. I thought it was unique and had that conceptual edge I really admire in artworks. She even went as far as to say that some of the graffiti referenced women who had been raped in those toilets, and things suddenly took a very serious turn.

But even something like that is important to document, because it invites the viewer to see the world differently. It forces you to confront what you might otherwise overlook.

The two students then walked us around the art school. It spans four floors, and we used lifts to access the different levels. Below, you can see a photo I took in the jewellery studio.

On one of the floors, they had a library with a whole stack of art books. I liked the ethos of their borrowing system — it was purely based on honour, with no cards or formal processes involved. If you wanted to read something, you simply took it and made sure to bring it back.

While we were wandering around the corridors of the Adelaide University Art School, I took note of the architecture. It felt bare — almost barren — and yet it was the simplicity of the structure that allowed the work within it to truly hold its own.

Below, you can see a photo of one of the more bland-looking corridors, and underneath it, a cool ceramic piece I found tucked away behind some furniture.

Something I have loved along my own artistic journey is life drawing. I love sitting down in front of a live model and trying to draw them. All the models I’ve drawn have been naked — men and women — different ages and sizes, and every one of them has been incredibly beautiful.

I have always felt lucky to be in a space where a model has made the decision to share themselves with us as students, allowing us to practice and attempt to perfect the art of drawing the human form. But for me, it’s never been just about anatomy. I used to try to tell a story with my drawings.

In saying all of that, I’m not good at drawing. I just love it. I love the challenge of trying to interpret what I’m seeing onto a blank piece of paper.

So I found the room at the art school where I’m sure life drawing takes place. There were mirrors everywhere, and I took a photo of two skeletons that I imagine help students with accuracy of form.

We spent around an hour walking through the facilities, and there was an abundance of resources available to students. There was a ceramics studio, a glass hotshop, jewellery, photography, woodwork, sculpture — even 3D printing and a whole range of fabrication machines.

This place was everything I had ever dreamed of. It has everything I need to create what I want and express myself — and the lecturers to teach me how to do it.

Every time we entered a new space, I felt a surge of happiness knowing it was all available. But overriding that joy was a feeling deep in the core of my being. A voice saying: I don’t want to be here surrounded by 17-year-olds — people almost 30 years younger than me. I don’t want to be here while I’m fat and feeling judged.

I know, rationally, that people don’t spend much time judging others. Most of the time they are worried about themselves. But a 17-year-old might have certain expectations of what the life of a 44-year-old woman should be like — and I do not meet those expectations.

I felt wrong. I felt like I did not belong.

I also know that thinking this way is self-indulgent. The reality is simple: if you want to be a glassblower, take advantage of the opportunity that is literally right in front of you and do it. But it is not that simple for me.

I felt fat. Really fat. So fat that I wouldn’t feel free to use the equipment. That I wouldn’t feel comfortable blowing glass.

As I left the art school last Tuesday, I knew right then and there that I would not be utilising the studio facilities this year. I am still going to complete the degree. I’m enrolled, and I will finish it if it kills me. But this year I am going to focus on the two theory-based subjects, which are held on other campuses. I am going to lose the weight and then dive into the studio subjects next year.

If you have read this blog for a while, you’ll know that last year I took the year off to write a book — and I didn’t. I tend to get caught up in volunteer roles and personal projects, and before I know it, another year has passed. But this new plan of mine is different, and I’ll tell you why.

I have one subject this semester on a Friday. I am going to spend the rest of my time doing short TAFE courses to build a hospitality skill set, which may lead to a job later in the year. I plan to travel to the Canberra Glassworks for weekend glassblowing lessons. I have applied for a job at the State Election and, most importantly, I am going to apply for a role with the Census.

I would really love a job with the Census. There are a number of different roles, but the one I have my heart set on is Community Field Officer. As the website says, “Community Field Officers engage with their local community to maximise participation in the Census. They support people who may face barriers to completing the Census form.”

In Semester Two, I have another subject for the Bachelor of Fine Arts, but I have also found a course that, the moment I discovered it, I knew I had to enrol in as soon as physically possible: a Certificate IV in Arts and Cultural Administration. It aligns perfectly with my interest in roles like the one at the centre that I missed out on earlier this year.

The Cert IV is only offered in one place in the whole of Australia — TAFE NSW. Luckily, it’s delivered via a virtual classroom, running on Mondays and Tuesdays each week for six months.

So I have a full schedule lined up. But most importantly, I will be able to spend time with Mum — and, to be honest, that’s what matters most to me right now.

In saying that, I also know I need to develop a skill set that has the potential to generate an income — and I need to do that sooner rather than later. For me, it has to be glassblowing.

I love glass. I love its nature — so fragile, yet so beautiful. I want to make objects out of glass, burn stuff into glass, and exhibit glass for the rest of my life.

I will still create the occasional conceptual political piece, but for now, I am going to gently dedicate myself to perfecting the art of glassblowing.

For the entirety of this blog, I have danced around the fact that I am fat.

It’s a big world, and there are a lot of fat people living in it. Fat people study, they have jobs, they fall in love, and many of them lead very normal lives. There are real health risks associated with being overweight, and there are practical realities too — a chair might not feel sturdy, a seatbelt extender might be required on a plane, someone might encroach on another person’s space at a concert or sporting match.

But for me, the hardest part of being fat is the way I look.

I am not one of those soft-faced, glowing fat women who seem to carry it well. I have a harsh, unconventional look, and to put it simply, I look shocking. The worst part is that I know it. I have insight. I see myself clearly — sometimes too clearly.

Before I gained weight, I was never thin. I often weighed around 70 kilograms. You can’t take away unconventional features, but other than that I looked like a fairly ordinary person. Then, in 2013, I developed health issues that required certain medications, and I gained around 40 kilograms.

Because I am so aware of how I look, I retreated. I was caring for my father, but socially I withdrew. I rarely went out. I lost friends. I missed opportunities. To be frank, I let years slip by.

I tried to lose the weight, but the health issues I was dealing with made it incredibly difficult. When I did go somewhere, I dreaded running into someone from school or an old friend. I imagined the look on their face — What happened to you?

I felt diminished. As though life was happening, just not to me. Years passed. I grew older. I missed out on things I once imagined for myself — a husband, children. It isn’t anyone’s fault, but shame has a way of shrinking a life.

I have been — and still am — a shell of a woman: present, but not fully participating.

It was always my secret hope to meet someone while I was fat — to be loved exactly as I was, without qualification. But I never truly allowed that possibility. When I did meet men, I doubted their intentions. I wondered if they were drawn to me because they had a fetish for fat women. If I had met someone who loved me in this body, I think I would have stayed with them forever.

But life is not over. It is not over until the fat lady sings.

And I am not done yet.

I am going to lose the weight.

My wake-up call came last Tuesday at university, standing in contrast to the slim 17-year-old art students. I do not want to live like this anymore. I do not want to feel sidelined. I do not want to keep postponing my own life.

I’ve stocked up on Lite n’ Easy frozen meals — 450 calories each. I’ll keep them coming and have one every morning, drinking only water for the rest of the day. I plan to start next week, after I donate blood — I’ll have a proper meal beforehand for that. When I decide to do something, I have an iron will. This is what I am choosing to do.

I will follow this regime until the weight is gone.

I am not going to engage in social activities beyond those I am already committed to. I am going to focus, work, and wait until I feel I can walk through the world with a sense of pride and integrity.

To mark this occasion, I have decided to show you photos of myself as I am now.

Below you can see two photos of me dressed in 80s gear for a party at the Museum. The second photo has terrible lighting, but I like it — it feels very 80s in its own way.

I had the photo you see below on my phone. I think someone else took it, and I was trying to hide my face.

That has been the story of my life.

In many ways, it’s hard to believe I posted those photos. Even though this is an anonymous blog, I still like to think that someone, somewhere has read a few of my posts.

If you’re reading this one, you will now see that I really am a very overweight member of the community. And perhaps, after seeing these images, you’ll better understand why this has felt like such a real social barrier for me.

I am posting them because I have had enough. I don’t want to live like this anymore. I don’t want to feel uncomfortable in my own skin. And I am determined that this will be the last time I look at a photo of myself and feel this way.

Ideally, I would look like this:

I know I can’t look that young again, and I will always have my unconventional features. But apart from that, I just looked normal. Healthy, even.

The photos I shared tonight don’t fully capture the reality of my larger body. But they are all I’m prepared to give.

I am going to document this journey on the blog, and hopefully by Christmas I’ll be singing a very different tune.