As worn out as I am from Hard Island, Zrce, and Novalja in general, I find it hard to leave. It's two in the afternoon on the day of my departure and I still haven't purchased a bus ticket or confirmed a hostel for tonight. I lie on the beach, sweating in my clothes, and continue toying with the idea of hitchhiking to Zadar today. But the afternoon is getting on, and with my ferry departing the next day, and missing it simply not an option, I decide against it, hike my pack onto my shoulders and march on to the bus station.
I guess, after 8 solid days, it's time to leave this place.
My reluctance surprises me, since I'm not keen to continue partying, and that's all Novalja is, but there is something lethargic in my bones, and my feet drag on my way out of town.
I arrive in Zadar at nearly 6pm, cross my fingers I haven't screwed myself out of a decent hostel by arriving so late (in the middle of high season with no reservation), and head to the Drunken Monkey, a hostel I've patroned before.
I punch in the door code, remembered from last time, and let myself in. The receptionist and volunteers look up from the stairs where they lounge, smoking cigarettes, and they all smile.
"Hey!" The receptionist exclaims, "You're back!"
"Well, if you have a bed I am."
"It's your lucky day! I have only one left!"
Within minutes I'm checked in, gifted delicious watermelon from another guest, and chatting with the volunteers. I feel the reluctance lift. I guess it was time to move on. I'm obviously in the right place for me.
After an amazing five weeks in Croatia, it's finally time for me to go. It's kind of hard to believe. I feel I could happily spend another month here, likely more, but the time has come. C'est la vie. Lucky for me, the things I'm heading toward are just as exciting as the things I'm leaving behind, though vastly different.
I'm nervous.
Absurdly so.
After months of separating myself from the performer I was, the thought of getting on a stage in front of my biggest crowd yet is nerve wracking. Thousands of people attend the World Bodypaint Festival in Austria, and I'm to perform for them.
Deep breaths.
I've got this.
Having agreed to join the team for this competition months before even leaving the states, it feels like it's been far in the future forever. Months away. Not something I need to think about yet.
Now I'll be on a stage in two days.
Holy crap.
I think I had a mini heart attack writing that.
Two days.
But the nerves are mixed with excitement. And I'm glad I will be amongst friends from home for a few days. It will be so lovely to see familiar faces.
For now, a nine hour ferry ride from Zadar to Ancona. Followed by multiple trains to Verona.
I am pretty tired by the time we arrive, but being with Italians, back to visit their hometown, I am shown only the best of the best, and am able to enjoy my one afternoon in Verona, despite my zombie-like state.
Festival day one. We're in the grounds for 14 hours.
Six hours of intense, concentrated painting on the part of Anna, with no scheduled breaks. Six hours of being a statue for my part. Seven girls pass out before midday at this stage. It's not easy being perfectly still and standing for so long. Every time Fabio, Anna's husband, comes by the tent, I ask him to pass me some kind of snack, which I eat slowly and carefully, sure to not move whichever part Anna is currently working on. I am determined not to let my blood sugar drop far enough that I will be the 8th girl gone.
Then we go to the judges. Then the photo shoot area. I have never had so many cameras on me at once. Then backstage, to prepare for our performances.
Anna is artist number 2, and I'm grateful, as the waiting makes my nerves jump higher and higher.
The show doesn't count toward the score in our category, but we wait it out anyway, eager for the results.
They begin to list the 30 participants who will advance to the finals (and their countries), from last to first.
The list goes on and on and every time they say Italy, but not Anna's name, I get a little more nervous. There is no way she put so much work into the pieces for both days and came all the way from Texas to Austria, to not place in the top 30...
I feel my body clenching as the list gets shorter.
I realize I've had the assumption for months that we would compete both days.
Of course we will.
"From Italy..."
Come on.
"Anna Chapovalov!"
Yes, finally!
Fabio and I turn to each other, excited faces lit up. "Yeah!!" We whoop and high five and run off to search for Anna in the crowd.
5th place.
Let's get our asses to the finals.
Day two. We don't need to compete. It's the second qualifying round before the finals, and we're already in, so I get to go be a spectator, and laugh to myself as people I had entire conversations with the day before look straight at me with no recognition. I can't blame them. I know I look like a different person without the pound of paint.
I start talking to some women at the bar and they are really friendly and excited about the competition. Also probably a few drinks in.
"I just don't get how anyone could do it. I mean, how do they stand there naked and let people look at them?"
I laugh and my hand goes instinctually to my model pass hooked through my belt loop. Her eyes slide down with the motion.
"Oh, I mean...it's really cool. I just don't get it."
I'm not offended. It's not for everyone. But I'm able to do it because I don't feel like a naked body...I feel like a blank canvas. The vessel for an artistic vision. I trust my artist and the team she's assembled, and that's all that matters to me.
Of course there are bound to be one or two people who suck, but mostly, as the spectators come by the tent, I don't feel uncomfortable under their gazes at all. I watch them look at me, heads tilted, as one looks at an art piece in a gallery. Contemplating, observing, critiquing, questioning, but not sexualizing. Just appreciating the art.
I start to feel nauseous and find a corner to hide in, laying myself on a bench in the shade. As I clench my stomach and pray nothing comes spewing out of my mouth, I am very grateful to be in muggle clothes and unrecognizable. Just another festival goer. With all the girls passing out on day one, the last thing I want is someone to recognize me.
Nothing to see here.
But after an hour of this feeling, I can't just lay here anymore. I go to find Anna and Fabio and they insist I go home.
I'm filled with frustration at my own body and I can't stop the tears from silently rolling. Born of a combination of nausea and anger at myself. I'm a Texan, dammit. We don't get sick! And especially not when it matters most!
I soak in the tub for at least an hour, the stubborn colors of day one still staining my skin, and pass out early.
In the morning Anna knocks on my door and, with baited breath, asks how I'm feeling.
"I'm good!" I attempt enthusiasm, wiping the sleep from my eyes. I know if I'm not convincing she will say we shouldn't compete today, and there is no way in hell that's happening.
"I promise," I try again, "I feel a lot better. Let's do this!"
She watches me for a moment, contemplating, and finally smiles, "Okay, let's do it!"
Finals.
You can feel the electricity in the air. The tangible excitement. The hoping. The wonder at the intense transformation the canvases undergo.
I look at the other women in the tent with us. Just regular people in the morning. By the afternoon, a masterpiece. All that work for two minutes in front of the judges. Two minutes on stage. A few hours of interacting with people, taking pictures with the crowd.
Then you wash it all away.
You dissolve the masterpiece.
Wash it down the drain.
I think there is something poetic in this.
Creating something that will exist for such a short time. Not bothering to try to hold on to this art.
Sure, we take pictures, but it's not the same.
You can Google a picture of Van Gogh's Starry Night. But still, 26 years ago, it was bought for $82 million.
But we have no original. We destroy it. And we're happy for this.
Never to be touched or recreated.
I find this beautiful.
Pure.
Creating to create.
I'm honored to be a part of this.
I step out of the bathroom, distracted by my mental preparation for the stage show starting soon.
"Maia! You're on stage right now!"
My head snaps up, and Fabio is looking at me, wide eyed and panicked.
No way....I think, and I take off as fast as my legs will carry me, a streak of color, toward the back stage. I blow past security, grab my hoop, rip the cap off the fuel, and start squirting it onto the wicks. No time to find a dipping cup or do things properly. I expect someone on the stage crew to tell me I can't fuel there, but no one says anything. Maybe the panic in my posture keeps them at bay. Or maybe you just don't argue with naked painted women. (haha)
I kick my tennis shoes off and abandon them, skidding up to Anna and Asia (her daughter) at the bottom of the stage steps.
"Am I on? I thought I had time still."
"Is that fueled?" The stage director asks me, indicating my hoop.
"Yeah, I'm ready."
"Great, you can go next then."
Can? I think to myself, I thought I Was already. But I don't say anything. A single burst of nervous, disbelieving laughter comes out of me, and I thank the director.
I take the whole mix up as a small blessing. With no time to prepare, there is no time to stand around being nervous.
Annnnddd...I'm on.
We place fourth. In the world. Three points away from third place.
I'm excited, and satisfied. I'm frustrated. I'm both.
We all look at each other. Artist, assistance, photographer, model... "Next year," we say. "We'll get it next year."
They tell me not to buy a ticket home until after then, and we laugh, and I know no one would fault me for leaving, but in the moment I nod and agree we'll get it next year. And somewhere in the back of my mind, it's brewing...did I just agree to stay abroad an entire year from now?
In the car ride home, the excitement is finally wearing off and the exhaustion from the last three days is kicking in.
"Maia, can I give Asia a bath first so she can go to bed?" Anna asks me from the front.
"Yeah, of course! I am gonna try to do video call with my mom anyway. She is visiting my grandparents and it should be around dinner time for them."
"So you will be naked in front of your family?" Fabio asks, sounding surprised. "That's pretty cool."
"Well, yeah...of course." I hadn't really thought about the appropriateness of a call, to be honest. I don't feel naked with all the paint and makeup, and the truth is, this is what I'm doing. If I can get painted in front of hundreds of strangers, why shouldn't I call my family?
It hadn't really occurred to me whether or not my grandparents would approve, but they will see the pictures eventually anyway, so why hide or pretend this isn't what I'm doing? I think we should be able to share our art or achievements with those close to us.
It's done. It's actually done. It's hard to believe that everything that has happened took place in only three days. The excitement, effort, creativity, team work, laughter, tears, and focus...all in three days. But as any artist or performer knows, the work you put in before everything comes together into the final product...the mental energy...the dreaming...the stressing...the obsessing...this part lasts months.
And it has.
I've been preparing for this since before I left the States, and I know Anna has been thinking about it 100 times more than I have.
And now it's done.
And there is a collective sigh.
The next afternoon I gather my things out of the car and hug all the family. They drive off, back to Verona, and I sit down in a park with all my belongings. The glamour is over. Back to being a dirty vagabond.
The rain rolls in and traps me under the awning of some building with my pack to really drive this point home, and I'm laughing at the quick turns life takes.
It's a bit hard to believe it's over. While I am thrilled with our achievements, and glad I get to rest again, a strange feeling begins to creep into my subconscious...slowly working it's way to the front of my mind. A straight forward feeling...characterized by two words...
"What now?"
For the past four months I've had one thought guiding my decisions on where to go and when. I was sill traveling freely and as I wished, but always I was sure to remember... "I have to be in Verona on July 10th. I have to stay fit and healthy for the competition."
Now there is nothing. No guiding factor to look toward. Now I have to truly look within myself and ask...What am I doing? What are my goals? What do I want out of this?
It's a bit scary, even this far in, and too much for my exhausted brain to figure out in this moment. So I'll make my way to Lindua for my friend's wedding Saturday, and I'll give myself a few more days to put off making a choice.
But only a few.
Because I certainly can't stop now.
I guess, after 8 solid days, it's time to leave this place.
My reluctance surprises me, since I'm not keen to continue partying, and that's all Novalja is, but there is something lethargic in my bones, and my feet drag on my way out of town.
I arrive in Zadar at nearly 6pm, cross my fingers I haven't screwed myself out of a decent hostel by arriving so late (in the middle of high season with no reservation), and head to the Drunken Monkey, a hostel I've patroned before.
I punch in the door code, remembered from last time, and let myself in. The receptionist and volunteers look up from the stairs where they lounge, smoking cigarettes, and they all smile.
"Hey!" The receptionist exclaims, "You're back!"
"Well, if you have a bed I am."
"It's your lucky day! I have only one left!"
Within minutes I'm checked in, gifted delicious watermelon from another guest, and chatting with the volunteers. I feel the reluctance lift. I guess it was time to move on. I'm obviously in the right place for me.
 |
| When your dorm mate is extremely rude and calls you and the other people in the room "privileged f*cks" and tells you to shut up because "this isn't a f*cking sorority house" even though you're having a perfectly reasonable and quiet conversation, but she realizes the error of her ways and brings you chocolate in the morning (hahaha) Hooray for sharing rooms with strangers and having new experiences. |
After an amazing five weeks in Croatia, it's finally time for me to go. It's kind of hard to believe. I feel I could happily spend another month here, likely more, but the time has come. C'est la vie. Lucky for me, the things I'm heading toward are just as exciting as the things I'm leaving behind, though vastly different.
I'm nervous.
Absurdly so.
After months of separating myself from the performer I was, the thought of getting on a stage in front of my biggest crowd yet is nerve wracking. Thousands of people attend the World Bodypaint Festival in Austria, and I'm to perform for them.
Deep breaths.
I've got this.
Having agreed to join the team for this competition months before even leaving the states, it feels like it's been far in the future forever. Months away. Not something I need to think about yet.
Now I'll be on a stage in two days.
Holy crap.
I think I had a mini heart attack writing that.
Two days.
But the nerves are mixed with excitement. And I'm glad I will be amongst friends from home for a few days. It will be so lovely to see familiar faces.
For now, a nine hour ferry ride from Zadar to Ancona. Followed by multiple trains to Verona.
I am pretty tired by the time we arrive, but being with Italians, back to visit their hometown, I am shown only the best of the best, and am able to enjoy my one afternoon in Verona, despite my zombie-like state.
 |
| Verona, Italy. |
 |
| Lunch break on our road trip from Verona to Klagenfurt, Austria |
 |
| We made it! All registered, badged, and official! |
Festival day one. We're in the grounds for 14 hours.
Six hours of intense, concentrated painting on the part of Anna, with no scheduled breaks. Six hours of being a statue for my part. Seven girls pass out before midday at this stage. It's not easy being perfectly still and standing for so long. Every time Fabio, Anna's husband, comes by the tent, I ask him to pass me some kind of snack, which I eat slowly and carefully, sure to not move whichever part Anna is currently working on. I am determined not to let my blood sugar drop far enough that I will be the 8th girl gone.
Then we go to the judges. Then the photo shoot area. I have never had so many cameras on me at once. Then backstage, to prepare for our performances.
Anna is artist number 2, and I'm grateful, as the waiting makes my nerves jump higher and higher.
The show doesn't count toward the score in our category, but we wait it out anyway, eager for the results.
They begin to list the 30 participants who will advance to the finals (and their countries), from last to first.
The list goes on and on and every time they say Italy, but not Anna's name, I get a little more nervous. There is no way she put so much work into the pieces for both days and came all the way from Texas to Austria, to not place in the top 30...
I feel my body clenching as the list gets shorter.
I realize I've had the assumption for months that we would compete both days.
Of course we will.
"From Italy..."
Come on.
"Anna Chapovalov!"
Yes, finally!
Fabio and I turn to each other, excited faces lit up. "Yeah!!" We whoop and high five and run off to search for Anna in the crowd.
5th place.
Let's get our asses to the finals.
 |
| The truth behind those pretty pictures. (Haha!) |
 |
| Happy faces (except Asia) after learning the results of the first day. Hooray! |
Day two. We don't need to compete. It's the second qualifying round before the finals, and we're already in, so I get to go be a spectator, and laugh to myself as people I had entire conversations with the day before look straight at me with no recognition. I can't blame them. I know I look like a different person without the pound of paint.
I start talking to some women at the bar and they are really friendly and excited about the competition. Also probably a few drinks in.
"I just don't get how anyone could do it. I mean, how do they stand there naked and let people look at them?"
I laugh and my hand goes instinctually to my model pass hooked through my belt loop. Her eyes slide down with the motion.
"Oh, I mean...it's really cool. I just don't get it."
I'm not offended. It's not for everyone. But I'm able to do it because I don't feel like a naked body...I feel like a blank canvas. The vessel for an artistic vision. I trust my artist and the team she's assembled, and that's all that matters to me.
Of course there are bound to be one or two people who suck, but mostly, as the spectators come by the tent, I don't feel uncomfortable under their gazes at all. I watch them look at me, heads tilted, as one looks at an art piece in a gallery. Contemplating, observing, critiquing, questioning, but not sexualizing. Just appreciating the art.
 |
| Something funny about seeing these painted creatures on their phones. I'm glad I don't have service. |
 |
| Working hard! |
 |
| My favorite piece <3 They won their category, of course. |
I start to feel nauseous and find a corner to hide in, laying myself on a bench in the shade. As I clench my stomach and pray nothing comes spewing out of my mouth, I am very grateful to be in muggle clothes and unrecognizable. Just another festival goer. With all the girls passing out on day one, the last thing I want is someone to recognize me.
Nothing to see here.
But after an hour of this feeling, I can't just lay here anymore. I go to find Anna and Fabio and they insist I go home.
I'm filled with frustration at my own body and I can't stop the tears from silently rolling. Born of a combination of nausea and anger at myself. I'm a Texan, dammit. We don't get sick! And especially not when it matters most!
I soak in the tub for at least an hour, the stubborn colors of day one still staining my skin, and pass out early.
In the morning Anna knocks on my door and, with baited breath, asks how I'm feeling.
"I'm good!" I attempt enthusiasm, wiping the sleep from my eyes. I know if I'm not convincing she will say we shouldn't compete today, and there is no way in hell that's happening.
"I promise," I try again, "I feel a lot better. Let's do this!"
She watches me for a moment, contemplating, and finally smiles, "Okay, let's do it!"
Finals.
You can feel the electricity in the air. The tangible excitement. The hoping. The wonder at the intense transformation the canvases undergo.
I look at the other women in the tent with us. Just regular people in the morning. By the afternoon, a masterpiece. All that work for two minutes in front of the judges. Two minutes on stage. A few hours of interacting with people, taking pictures with the crowd.
Then you wash it all away.
You dissolve the masterpiece.
Wash it down the drain.
I think there is something poetic in this.
Creating something that will exist for such a short time. Not bothering to try to hold on to this art.
Sure, we take pictures, but it's not the same.
You can Google a picture of Van Gogh's Starry Night. But still, 26 years ago, it was bought for $82 million.
But we have no original. We destroy it. And we're happy for this.
Never to be touched or recreated.
I find this beautiful.
Pure.
Creating to create.
I'm honored to be a part of this.
 |
| Finishing touches before heading to the judges |
 |
 |
| Photographers waiting for their perfect shot. |
 |
| I guess it's kind of like riding a bike, after all...weird being back in front of cameras. |
I step out of the bathroom, distracted by my mental preparation for the stage show starting soon.
"Maia! You're on stage right now!"
My head snaps up, and Fabio is looking at me, wide eyed and panicked.
No way....I think, and I take off as fast as my legs will carry me, a streak of color, toward the back stage. I blow past security, grab my hoop, rip the cap off the fuel, and start squirting it onto the wicks. No time to find a dipping cup or do things properly. I expect someone on the stage crew to tell me I can't fuel there, but no one says anything. Maybe the panic in my posture keeps them at bay. Or maybe you just don't argue with naked painted women. (haha)
I kick my tennis shoes off and abandon them, skidding up to Anna and Asia (her daughter) at the bottom of the stage steps.
"Am I on? I thought I had time still."
"Is that fueled?" The stage director asks me, indicating my hoop.
"Yeah, I'm ready."
"Great, you can go next then."
Can? I think to myself, I thought I Was already. But I don't say anything. A single burst of nervous, disbelieving laughter comes out of me, and I thank the director.
I take the whole mix up as a small blessing. With no time to prepare, there is no time to stand around being nervous.
Annnnddd...I'm on.
We place fourth. In the world. Three points away from third place.
I'm excited, and satisfied. I'm frustrated. I'm both.
We all look at each other. Artist, assistance, photographer, model... "Next year," we say. "We'll get it next year."
They tell me not to buy a ticket home until after then, and we laugh, and I know no one would fault me for leaving, but in the moment I nod and agree we'll get it next year. And somewhere in the back of my mind, it's brewing...did I just agree to stay abroad an entire year from now?
In the car ride home, the excitement is finally wearing off and the exhaustion from the last three days is kicking in.
"Maia, can I give Asia a bath first so she can go to bed?" Anna asks me from the front.
"Yeah, of course! I am gonna try to do video call with my mom anyway. She is visiting my grandparents and it should be around dinner time for them."
"So you will be naked in front of your family?" Fabio asks, sounding surprised. "That's pretty cool."
"Well, yeah...of course." I hadn't really thought about the appropriateness of a call, to be honest. I don't feel naked with all the paint and makeup, and the truth is, this is what I'm doing. If I can get painted in front of hundreds of strangers, why shouldn't I call my family?
It hadn't really occurred to me whether or not my grandparents would approve, but they will see the pictures eventually anyway, so why hide or pretend this isn't what I'm doing? I think we should be able to share our art or achievements with those close to us.
It's done. It's actually done. It's hard to believe that everything that has happened took place in only three days. The excitement, effort, creativity, team work, laughter, tears, and focus...all in three days. But as any artist or performer knows, the work you put in before everything comes together into the final product...the mental energy...the dreaming...the stressing...the obsessing...this part lasts months.
And it has.
I've been preparing for this since before I left the States, and I know Anna has been thinking about it 100 times more than I have.
And now it's done.
And there is a collective sigh.
The next afternoon I gather my things out of the car and hug all the family. They drive off, back to Verona, and I sit down in a park with all my belongings. The glamour is over. Back to being a dirty vagabond.
The rain rolls in and traps me under the awning of some building with my pack to really drive this point home, and I'm laughing at the quick turns life takes.
It's a bit hard to believe it's over. While I am thrilled with our achievements, and glad I get to rest again, a strange feeling begins to creep into my subconscious...slowly working it's way to the front of my mind. A straight forward feeling...characterized by two words...
"What now?"
For the past four months I've had one thought guiding my decisions on where to go and when. I was sill traveling freely and as I wished, but always I was sure to remember... "I have to be in Verona on July 10th. I have to stay fit and healthy for the competition."
Now there is nothing. No guiding factor to look toward. Now I have to truly look within myself and ask...What am I doing? What are my goals? What do I want out of this?
It's a bit scary, even this far in, and too much for my exhausted brain to figure out in this moment. So I'll make my way to Lindua for my friend's wedding Saturday, and I'll give myself a few more days to put off making a choice.
But only a few.
Because I certainly can't stop now.
You're awesome
ReplyDelete:D Thanks, dad! :3
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