A snap of portraits of myself in Jean Jacques Andrés' studio.No one more than he has showed as much respect and adoration of the female form in its highest sense. He is by large responsible for providing the safe space I needed to grow, heal, and be witnessed.

I thought I could be a strong image for women: to show strength even under the barrage of men's ideas about women; to prove that we overcome our bounds instead of being limited by them. But over time the monotony of the majority of "art" about (how men see) women has been disappointing, and tiresome. (Photo by Matt Schroeter)

The best photographers I worked with noticeably appreciated unique things about their models, and this showed in their art: lovingly capturing aspects of your personality, body, or mood that others overlooked or misconstrued, or used for their own ends. These artists wanted your beauty to be seen as it is, and they made me feel like a whole person to be loved, not an object to be exploited. (Photo by Derek of Focal Point Blank Photography)

Nude modeling was one of the most healing epochs of my adult life. It allowed me to connect to my sexuality, my sensuousness, my physical body, and allow me to push the boundaries I had developed in the arenas from trauma, neglect, and harm. Now, after five years, having developed myself as far as modeling could allow (without seeking fame or fortune), I've decided to stop modeling completely. I could say that I've absorbed all I was seeking from art modeling, and that I can let go of it with a peaceful heart, but I leave it not without some heartbreak for the state of industries that thrive off the exploitation of women.While it's true that I don't "need" it anymore, that I've done all the healing it can give me, in truth I'm bored of late by the predictable desires of male photographers, and frankly I'm increasingly disappointed with how many people (men) sexualize my art form, and since I could never fully escape that sexualization, however much I fought against it, I've agreed to removed myself, perhaps in the hopes of making an impact for women in another arena.This decision fuels complicated emotions in me as a feminist. Why should I let people's conflicting and belittling views keep me from what I once enjoyed? In a world inundated with pornographic material, am I not giving up my voice shouting that which I so desperately wanted to prove, that, that, and that? Am I letting misogynists and pornographers win by giving up? Have I been acting from the continuum of sex work all this time while experiencing ambivalent emotions around that, most often denial?After experiencing part of the vast industry of modeling (and the lack of modeling for art's sake) I know that the sexualization of women is not only rampant, but it's tedious (to put it nicely). Photographers and viewers alike want the same, boring old "sexy" thing: a perfectly neat chest, the S-curve (where you bend your legs a little and stick out your chest and buttocks simultaneously), and the cliché, ultra-passive pouting face with mouth slightly parted, eyes cast downward in obedience.Even worse that experiencing these norms (and much, much worse) from photographers, I repeatedly faced awkward, sexual responses from my male friends--from awkward silences, to commenting sexually on artistic representations of my nude body (which were in no way pornographic or even sexually suggestive). I talked about it with one male friend, and he said that after the barrage of pornographic material, it was his conditioned response to feel sexually stimulated when confronting nudity, even if that was not my intention.I got this reaction from a female friend. Typically, women to whom I showed my art applauded me for my beauty, bravery--and yes, my sexual appeal, but it was done in away; they were not automatically turned-on.More accurately,Pornography thrives from the same Victorian prudishness that infused the aura of taboo around my art--the same that outcries breastfeeding in public, and which rears its neatly capped head every time you leave your house without a wire cage around your breasts.The art I wanted to generate was very different. I wanted to show other women that it was possible to be strong, assertive, sexually dynamic--a complete person--despite the inundation of messages and images to the contrary. If photographers wanted a woman clad in chains, I wanted to show that I endured despite my constraints; if they wanted passivity and smallness, I'd exude a rebellious power in spite of it; and if they wanted something vulgar or degrading, I'd plainly refuse. Some photographers were able to capture beautiful parts of myself I'd kept hidden from the world, things I was proud of, and made plain to me where my boundaries of comfort were. I wanted other women to know that in a respectful, professional, and loving environment, even in modeling there could be healing and growth--but the truth is, these moments were rare gems in a muddy industry.Eventually I've grown tired of the predatory nature of some photographers. Some were unprofessional, some found pleasure in degrading women or wanted pornographic material. There's also an issue of sexual exploitation, that being nude for money made was more repulsive than simply being nude (this is part of the internalized morality that sex work is undignified work, in turn part of the predator's downward view of its prey). Four years ago I was sexually assaulted by a photographer, and the betrayal of trust, both professional and physical, devastated me until I managed to emerge out of the shadows to which he tried to banish my story as a survivor both stronger and more determined in her cause, my very survival a "fuck you" to his.Perhaps I'm not the right woman to advocate for inclusive, female-positive art, since I fit the typical standard of beauty: I'm white (of Northern and Southern European heritage), I'm slender, and my requisite parts are considered generally attractive (although I'm too short for a runway career). My art could be branded as (and once was accused of) an exclusive type of feminism, one that doesn't reach to women of color and various body shapes and sizes. Maybe my art, and those I work with, are(see Roxane Gay at TED: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Fxt_MZKMdes )--although I've staunchly argued that I am not, and that the few artists who show respect and adoration of the female form are in factThe state of media about women has worn me thin--a process I anticipated well before I first decided to start modeling. I tried to fight the media messages from the inside, as it were, and the norms were wearisome and disappointing at best, but also pathetic, degrading, and harmful at times. Yet I am inexplicably blessed to have had the guidance and quite plainly the love of artists like Jean Jacques André to heal me, let me grow, and shore me up in the face of adversity past, present, and future.In light of these experiences and reflections, my participation in nude art has drawn to a close--at least for now. I finally understand how some sex workers feel empowered from their work, from taking charge of their sexuality: indeed I felt more empowered in my body than I ever felt as an adult woman through the healing nude modeling brought me. I will never stop fighting for the equality, respect, and freedoms of women, although for now it will have to be in another arena.