lines find alcoves

“ ‘Alcoves’: ‘To give a group a chance to be together, as a group, a room must also give them the chance to be alone, in one’s and two’s in the same space.’ […] The pattern of an alcove off a communal space (which also shows up in libraries, restaurants, and public squares) is as natural and right and self-sustaining as the patter of ripples in a patchwork of windblown sand.”


Pollan goes a little whimsical with the ‘windblown sand’ reference in A Place of My Own, but the alcoveness stuck in my head as I sit here waiting. I’m in a large convention-center-like space waiting to audition for yet another fashion show. The room is a big open space when you walk in, and there is a check-in desk to your right. After you check in though, the place is free-reign to settle wherever you’d like until you’re up to walk for the 20 glorious seconds of acceptance or rejection. This is my third day coming, I haven’t been cast (yet). Model settling patterns have been different each time. Things keep being added to the room each time too.

Day 1:

Rows of chairs were lined up ready for a runway down the middle (but empty at this point) and by the time I got here, models were in the chairs. The space where we auditioned though was parallel to this, behind one of the rows of chairs. I’ll post my sketch.

Day 2:

Way more people. It was guys too. This time, it was just a clusterfuck of everyone right at the end of the ‘runway’ space to the right of the door when you come in. (I’ll post my sketch). The chairs were randomly clustered and people stood, sat in them, and sat on the floor. A couple people chose a spot on the wall, but most stayed close to the group. Where we sat yesterday, a runway was being built. Chairs were still lined up, but no one occupied them.

Day 3:

Most girls took a seat on the floor along the wall where the door was and along the sides of the column. If there was no wall spot, they sat on the floor nearby. One small group sat by a column further off. It’s red-carpet style roped off. (Runway almost done, just the background missing.)

…………………………………………

I feel like more of an observer than participator. Modeling is all about being looked at, and I’m a looker right now. Girls meander in, sign in, and find a familiar face. There are elitist groups, the girls that act almost as if this process is a waste of their time because they know that they are going to be cast. They laugh and joke, it’s something light. There are the nervous groups. The girls that are intimidated and encourage each other, practicing off on the side, excited to have the opportunity to audition, but not truly anticipating being cast.

I’m in between, a loner. I feel like I should be here and should be cast, but fuck up at the last minute for one reason or another. I blame my lack of experience and cited that I need to just get used to the walk and what a good walk feels like. Carlitos, my roommate, nodded his head side to side with this. “No no Sabrina, (still shaking) no one ever gets used to it.” Shaking his finger. I receded said I need to get over personal excuses.

Women are lines in Flatland. The upper class women can curve their line smoothly. In my head, I picture a swimming sperm tail, or an eel or snake. There is fluidity to their movements. The lower cast women aren’t smooth, they jerk back and forth. They create corners and angles, not curves and slopes.

We are all lines here. The longer, more curvable line, the more desirable. I’m obviously missing something, I just don’t quite know what it is. So much consistent, blatant rejection is exhausting. It makes you over analyze, draw parallels, align, connect dots.