Ass as Canvas


My visit to Austin had an inauspicious beginning. Thwarted by a widespread lack of hotel availability – due to the annual South by Southwest Festival of independent film, music, and other media – and a constitutional aversion to pay big-bucks for multi-stellar lodgings, my booking for the night was at a hell-hole near the University of Texas, aptly named the Roadway Inn. I will not catalog the diverse and plentiful dysfunctions of the accommodations. I’ll mention only that my single-pane windows fronted onto Interstate 35.

But things would get better — and a lot more interesting!

I had just returned from a three hour trek through the seamier side of Austin, the cheerful anonymity of a downtown area flushed with the mirth of SXSW, and the solitude of a University of Texas campus becalmed by spring break. In my pack was an order of ribs from Sam’s BBQ and a side of potato salad. It was ten o’clock, and I was starving.

As I ascended the steps to my second-floor abode, I passed a small cadre of semi-giddy women who shared the misfortune of calling the Rodeway Inn “home”, however temporarily. We had seen each other in what passes for the hotel lobby when I checked-in in the late afternoon, so we greeted each other in the manner of foxhole buddies, if not actual acquaintances.

As I climbed the steps, one of the women called for my attention, “Hey, can I ask you a question?” They were, she advised, looking for a volunteer. The statement couldn’t fail to catch my attention since I am, by vocation-replacing avocation, a full-time volunteer and active proponent of volunteerism. Their assignment, however, was a significant departure from the humanitarian, development, and environmental projects I usually undertake.

These women were with a group of face and body painters who had converged on Austin to add color to the SXSW festivities. They were having a painting slam in the hotel conference room and were short of human canvases. I politely begged-off, wished them well, went to my grim little room, and tucked into my dinner.

I emerged from my room a while later to fetch a drink from the hotel vending machine, where I once again crossed-paths with one of the artists. She explained that the painting session was in full progress, but reiterated that some of the models they had expected failed to attend. She asked once again if I would consider participating. “What’s entailed?” I asked. She invited me into the conference room which was serving as their studio to see what was going on.

A dozen-or-more artists, most collaborating in teams of two-or-three, were fast at work covering naked people in paint – or, actually, water-based make-up, as it turns out. One pair of models were being transformed into Batman and Cat Woman, another pair were being prepared as an abstract composition, while still others were slowing morphing into witches, avenging angels, and other superheroic figures. The work was stunning.

The “models” were, in fact, exactly that: aspiring professional models, although this was an unpaid gig. These young men and women provided contours for the artwork in exchange for some rather spectacular photographs of the completed body paintings they could use in their portfolios. Most had worked with these artists on a number of occasions and were completely at their ease. Slightly more than a half of the female breasts in the room seemed real, assuming that those belonging to the artists are not figured into this calculation.

“I’d really like to be able to practice some things,” resumed the woman, “but I have no model. Are you sure you don’t want to do it? It will be fun.”

I’m still not certain exactly what possessed me to accede. Sometimes one just needs to give-in to the craziness of the situation; and that’s what I did.

The woman explained that, for this session, none of the models was naked, as is often the case for serious, high-end projects. This was more of a practice session. Indeed, a more careful look around the room disclosed that each was wearing a skimpy thong, most of which were already painted-over and all-but invisible within the developing artwork. Still, nakedness is a central aspect of this medium. Leaving aside the stunning images rendered by the painters, the most compelling tension in the work comes from the play between the obvious nakedness of the model and the utter concealment of that nakedness within the completed painting. In an ironic, if somewhat facile gesture, my artists were, in fact, planning to paint clothes. Denim jeans, to be precise.

I was issued a spandex thong – a first time for everything, I thought – and retreated to my room to change. This probably goes without saying, but it should be illegal (and may well be in many states) for any man approaching fifty to don underwear that is more notable for its absence than its presence. As with any catastrophe in plain view, however, it was impossible not-to-look; and the image that stared back at me in my bathroom mirror was particularly nauseating. True, I am used to seeing myself in underwear that makes me look substantially more Mormon than Chippendale; but this scene was all-the-more horrifying since there wasn’t anything remotely stud-muffinesque about my butt-crack-underweared self. Before my last vestige of pride could get the better of me, I threw on some pants and descended to the studio.

The women who painted me were not only talented, but quite professional and respectful in their approach.


From time-to-time, more experienced painters would come by to offer suggestion on technique to my painters. At the start of the process, someone offered a razor from their art-kit so I could be properly shaved before the application of color. I averred that shaving was not necessary. “Of course it is,” said the interloper. “Otherwise you don’t get the same, clean look.” I clarified my position: “These will be furry, winter jeans.”

In all, the process took several long hours; but the results were quite remarkable, as you see above. I am only sorry that I do not have photos of some of the other works, which were far more ambitious and imaginative than the modest learning exercise undertaken, quite skillfully, by my artists. To get a broader sense of the kind of magic taking place in that makeshift studio on Monday night, take a look at some of the cover photos from Illusion magazine.

Covers from Illusion Magazine

The experience was as fun as it was wacky. The artists were grateful to have had a canvas upon which to practice; and I managed to avoid a couple hours of highway noise, locked in my cell-like room. Eventually, though, the project was over, my photos had been snapped, and I took my leave.

Upstairs in my room, however, the curse of the Roadway Inn continued. My shower had only a slow drip of hot water, so it took nearly a half hour to rinse and scrub all the paint off.

19 Responses to “Ass as Canvas”

  1. 1 Another Artist 20 March 2009 at 8:11 am

    What a wonderful, uplifting blog! As evidenced by the photos, the artist(s)were quite lucky to have such a wonderful canvASS on which to practice. You seem to have enjoyed the experience.

    Looking forward to reading more of your blogs…I love the way you paint with words….A Lingual Artist for sure.

  2. 2 Jennifer 20 March 2009 at 11:24 am

    well this was quite unexpected, however I must say you make skinny jeans look pretty damn nice… way to put it all out there for the arts.

  3. 3 majsausalito 20 March 2009 at 1:03 pm

    I can’t believe what I think I just saw but lack the courage for a second visit to make sure my mind is not playing tricks on me before I pass out and erase the image while in a semi-comatose-but-peaceful state.

  4. 4 Lisa 21 March 2009 at 1:49 am

    Loved the pics! What fun to participate AND see the final result. Honestly, the jeans look real.

  5. 5 Deepti Lamba 22 March 2009 at 9:17 am

    Nice tush for someone pushing fifty;)

  6. 7 Trishna 24 March 2009 at 8:40 am

    MBJ, you crack me up! I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that you’d be up for participating as a body canvas, but I still was :) Hope you are well!

  7. 8 Ranjit 25 March 2009 at 11:11 am

    Ha. Just got back from SXSW myself (covering the music for NTB, a Norwegian wire service). Wish I knew you were there – would’ve been great to meet and catch up. Although if you were wearing those jeans, I’d pretend I didn’t know you.

  8. 9 millyonair 26 March 2009 at 9:37 am


    Kudos for embracing a wild situation!

    But you didn’t email me that you were going to be in Austin??? Jim and I would loved to have buy you a beer or something, man!

  9. 10 Judy Schvimmer 26 March 2009 at 11:50 am

    I’m going to need an autographed print of that image, please.

  10. 11 Terry 26 May 2009 at 2:52 pm

    I LOVE IT. I’d like a personalized print. You are always such a sport. Loved seeing you last month – wish you’d had on THOSE jeans.

  11. 12 Exishitte 3 June 2009 at 7:46 pm

    Sweet blog. I never know what I am going to come across next. I think you should do more posting as you have some pretty intelligent stuff to say.

    I’ll be watching you :)

  12. 13 miamirn221 27 June 2009 at 5:59 pm

    You sure look good in them jeans.

  13. 14 Anita 6 September 2009 at 11:33 pm

    Ha ha ha. Mark this one cracked me up. I am visiting your blog after months and this was a really nice read. Hope you are doing well Markie. Loads of hugs for being as adventurous.

  14. 15 mbjesq 8 September 2009 at 6:40 pm

    I think Anita means “ass adventurous”, not “as adventurous”.

    So rude, Spikey!


  15. 16 mbjesq 8 January 2010 at 2:56 pm

    Here’s another example of ass-as-canvas. And a much finer piece of canvas than that presented in my post.

  16. 17 mbjesq 9 July 2012 at 12:31 am

    Check-out this kick-ass (or paint-ass, I guess) body art…

  17. 18 mbjesq 27 March 2013 at 10:43 am

    There seems to be a split of opinion about the clothesiness of body paint. Check it out.

  18. 19 michele m hedges 11 April 2013 at 6:49 pm

    I absolutely laughed out loud when I saw these pictures. I can’t fathom how it is you found yourself in the oddest of circumstances in a foreign city while merely partaking of a take out dinner of ribs and potato salad. Merely hours later you are a 1/2 naked action hero with painted on clothes!! You ARE one of a kind MBJ!!

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