AltOhio: What is your oldest make-up memory and when did you decide you wanted to be a make-up artist?

Nicole Futrall: Oh, Jesus! My little brother is a victim to my wanting to do make-up and (cousin and model) Faith is also a victim. I always told her beauty is pain! If she wanted to be beautiful (I told her) that pulling on her hair and yanking out her eyebrows would make her beautiful (laughing). I was probably eight or nine.

A.O.: What inspires you?

N.F.: Nature, the snow, or I’ll see a tree or a rainbow or a flower, everything around. Seeing other people (on the street) in New York or Chicago, or the watching the show America’s Next Top Model. Music can inspire me too, Lady GaGa inspires me, I think she’s awesome.

A.O.: What would be your dream event and who would be your dream model or celebrity to work with?

N.F.: Working during fashion week, doing runway stuff, working for Louis Vuitton, working with Tyra Banks in L.A. or New York, preferably New York. Not really working with celebrities, but top models on runway shows.

A.O.: So working on a large scale with a lot of models?

N.F.: Yeah, all the top models, the Victoria Secret Fashion show would be great to work on.

A.O.: What’s the coolest everyday life make-up you’ve ever seen?

N.F.: In Northeastern Ohio? Most are the people working in make-up stores, they normally have good eye make-up, but nothing very high fashion. No one’s going to walk around outside with, like, a strip of black across her face, (laughing) unless you’re Lady GaGa.

A.O.: What’s the worst make-up you’ve ever seen and what’s your make-up pet peeve?

N.F.: The worst make-up. . . Old ladies who wear the reddest lipstick feathered down to their chins or seriously, like, the bluest eye shadow, or when they try to do cat’s eyes but it’s just a pencil drawn straight, there’s no point, it just sort of ends. And little kids, when they try to rebel.

My worst pet peeve is when I’m doing my own make-up and my cat’s eyes end up uneven, that, and when my bags show, don’t like when my bags show. On other people it’s when they do way too bright of eye shadow, that, or if they’re just not being who they really are.

It’s 11:45 in the morning on a Saturday and I’m heading out to my car, bare-faced with a backpack full of wardrobe options over my shoulder. I look out for neighbors, I don’t wear a lot of make-up, but I never leave the house with at least some blush and a bit of lipgloss, and under eye concealer, so meeting up with anyone I know would be pretty embarrassing. I could sleep for 10 hours and still have dark circles, I’ve had them since I was eight, so the lack of concealer is especially worrisome. Not that I’m ridiculous about looks, I’m vain in a reasonable way, I want to look naturally pretty even though I’m sort of not.

I never thought of myself as model material, I left that to my cousins, the American guy, a beefy Irish Ralph Lauren type, and the Australian girl, a fair lithe Amazon. I’m neither, and while I thank God I didn’t inherit any beefiness, I could stand to have a bit more Amazonian height. I’m an average girl, a behind the scenes girl, a Tina Fey without a show, I’m ok with that. Still, when asked by make-up artist, Nicole Futrall to be a last minute model for her portfolio shoot, I said yes. I was excited by the idea of a bunch of artists conspiring to create something valuable, despite my lack of experience. Usually when the camera comes out for snapshots it’s time for me to ham it up and goof off, I never take photos seriously, I expect the worst and hope for the best.

When I arrive at Nicole’s house in Lakewood I’m greeted by a tiny wispy-furred snarling dog named Sephora (yes, as in the make-up store) and her cigarette smoking boyfriend, Dan. (She’s doing his make-up too, and I’m looking forward to seeing some good guyliner. Not a full-on Brett Michaels lipgloss and foundation hot mess, but a bit of after-show smudginess.) Nicole is barefoot in leggings and a long off the shoulder tee, her platinum and black fringed hair, is for the first time I’ve seen it, down to her shoulders and out of a messy bun. She tells me I can put my stuff in a room filled with clothes and guitar amps, that’s where we’ll be changing, and pulls up a baby blue cushion for me to sit on. She’s already started on the first model, Peryan, and the table of make-up is full of color pallets. She offers me a homemade pink heart-shaped cupcake while I wait, and I take one, I shouldn’t, but I do, I can’t pass up homemade sugary goodness.

As I chat with her cousin and model, Faith, and as Sephora runs under our feet and yips, as Dan goes out for food, and as the photographer Brandon S. Harrop, arrives and sets up his black backdrop and umbrella lights, the places takes on an atmosphere that is half artist’s studio and half lazy Saturday hang out. I watch as Nicole shadows Peryan’s eyes with a green, yellow, back to green gradient, that I could only hope to achieve after months of practice. Everyone gets a character to play, at least that’s how I see it, being a writer, and Perian is our Mother Nature, a slight cat’s eye eyeliner is applied, some natural looking false eyelashes, and rosy red lipstick, completed with red and black roses pinned in her hair. As she goes off into the room with the amps to change into a bra, long open black wrap, and floral Twiggy tights, it’s my turn for the make-up chair.

“For you I’m doing a rocker girl look,” says Nicole, as she opens foundation bottles. I’m excited, the long black skull top, black leggings, rosary necklaces and spike-y stiletto gladiator heels I’ve brought will work for this, I’ve always wanted to front a band, never mind my inability to carry any sort of tune. “It’s going to be a purple and black smoky eye.” When I ask her why I can never get the pigments to come out as deeply as she can, she tells me I have to use a primer to get that effect, otherwise eye shadow goes light and see-though. After she applies an overall primer on my face, to even out pores, she dabs a bit of foundation with a sponge, then contours my face with highlighting blush and low lighting bronzer. I know she’s seeing more then I do when I put my make-up on, I usually go for the apples of my cheeks, but she swipes way up toward my eyes and hairline. The goal is to bring out the angles of my cheekbones. The result is a natural and surprisingly un-rocker-y glow-y skin tone, no Nike swooshes, which is what I would end up with if I tried to get this look. But the natural skin was needed, I soon find out, to balance the dark ink-y black eyes. I close my eyes, I open my eyes, my eyes are fanned to dry eyeliner and pulled a bit to avoid creases. False eyelashes with black feathers on the ends are glued on. The end result is a deep purple-y peacock eye that makes my brown irises look almost orange. I love it, especially since I have never been thrilled with my brown eyes, but something that she has done has made them look hot enough to rival Jonathan Rhys Meyers’s baby blues.

As I pull on my outfit I’m reminded of my t.v. extra days, only this time I instead of hobbling around in the background, or hoping to get an arm in the shot, I’m going to be the full center of attention. My excitement turns to nervousness. What if I fall on my ass, I can hardly walk in these Betty Page bondage-like things! Why did I bring so much jewelry, how can I keep it all straight?! At least I brought black clothes, black is slimming, right? Get it together, Damn-it! Don’t think about anything, just do it!

I walk out onto the backdrop and stand in front of the photographer. Test shots are taken and adjustments are made and I force myself to loosen up and literally shake myself out of it, I wiggle my arms and upper body, I try to shake my spine, I work out all the stiffness. I then focus on my character, part Karen O., part Cleopatra (any character I ended up with would have some element of Cleopatra, after all, my haircut pretty much resembles a B.C. wig) and I try to remember some level of 80’s blasphemy, I’m wearing black liquid liner and a cross around my neck, for God’s sake. Somehow it seems to work, and I find that I love the camera, I don’t shy from it, and I goof off in a quiet way, like I’m on a stage, making everyone believe I’m this thing that I’m really not. It’s fun.

There was something that Nicole said that stuck in my mind when I first arrived. Between shadow applications, she said, “I never know what I’m going to do until I start doing it,” which is exactly the way I write poetry, which makes me realize, there’s a whole universe of charters in all those pots of pigment. Sometimes make-up has nothing to do with the outside, but almost everything to do with the inside.