Tag Archives: MakeUp To Model CitiZen

SATURDAY NIGHT’S HOT TICKET #SyrFWSpring2015

Syracuse Fashion Week 2015 is in high gear.

Join me along with other illustrious guests for a fun, glam evening at the Landmark Gala, April 11th, 2015.

BOOK SIGNING BY JACQUELINE CIOFFA AUTHOR OF THE VAST LANDSCAPE

I know where I’ll be kicking up my heels this Saturday, how ’bout you?

Portion of the proceeds to benefit The Food Bank of CNY, come out and support your local Community.

“The Vast Landscape” Model Fiction

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Portion of the Proceeds To Benefit THE FOOD BANK of CNY

http://syracusefashionweek.net

http://www.foodbankcny.org

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CLICK the Link for SYRACUSE FASHION WEEK Spring 2015 Events Calendar

http://syracusefashionweek.net/events-schedule/syracuse-style/

http://www.syracuse.com/entertainment/index.ssf/2015/01/model_turns_international_experiences_into_fiction_central_new_york_books_and_au.html

Jackie Cioffa's Article
-excerpt THE VAST LANDSCAPE SyrFWSpring2015 LookBook

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Every Little Thing Matters

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For those of you that don’t know me and most don’t, I led a privileged life for many, many years. Traveled to exotic locales on somebody else’s dime lived in Paris, Milan, London, Barcelona, Madrid, Cape Town, Miami, Hollywood, NYC… I was a fashion model who earned a living with her looks.

The bizarre, crazy existence was the difficult lifestyle to explain. It was a job with bonanza benefits. I never took myself too seriously.

When my fashion career was over I had to reinvent myself. Makeup artist, why not? Started at ten bucks an hour and worked my way up counting Mariah Carey, Anne Hathaway, Sandra Bernhard, Connie Britton as clients. I had connections, and lots of help. Again, I didn’t take myself seriously. I knew how to coddle the celebs, after all I’d been on the their side for years.

My spirit was unsatisfied, intuition nagged this wasn’t it. This wasn’t what your supposed to be doing.

I can’t say the precise second, the exact hour my mind blew. It was a rapid, out of nowhere burn.

When something serious happens to your health something so surreal and uncertain you dig, claw, and dig deeper. You fight. There’s a cosmic shift. Something changes in your core on a molecular level.

Nothing is ever trivial again, coasting is not allowed and everything about you feels strange. You’re different.

I found my way back, returned to my old life. It was fine for a time. Mediocre, but fine. The next break would not let me be the drifter, laid back traveler, not this time. Nope, I had to work hard. This time, I was the paradigm shell.

I had to shed the old, and let her go.

Brutal leaving your identity, friends, city, what you know, the familiar, your favorite pizza joint behind. It can be brutal or it can be something different.

It didn’t matter, I learned. I understood other stuff mattered more; family, well-being, sanity, gardening, solitude, writing, walking the dog. Basics became survival tools.

The voices nagged. You better get your shit together. Don’t fuck up. You’ve got one chance to do something good, something beautiful, something true, something with purpose.

I have always been a writer. It’s my DNA, in my marrow, my blood, my heart and my brain.

The words have always been there.

I wasn’t listening. I just wasn’t listening to them.

A book signing at the Landmark Gala during Syracuse Fashion Week is my life come demi-circle.

The irony is not lost on me.

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The Vast Landscape follows the “brash, vulnerable, raw Harrison in pursuit of ‘movie star’ dreams navigating her way through the painful and the beautiful. It is more than just an incredible love-story.”

Most days life kicks you in the ass and you do your best to manage.

Sometimes, indigo sky sunshine and karma throws flecks of silver star-dust your way.

When you lead from the heart, those are the best days.

Every little thing matters.

You can’t know when the stardust might shine.

I’m prettier today, inside out.

Jackie Cioffa's Article

“When writing the story of your life, don’t let anyone else hold the pen.” Harley Davidson

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Welcome to my Writer’s page. Author sounds a bit pretentious. Many of you have supported, commented and visited my beauty blog over the years, Makeup To Model CitiZen. Beauty is fun and frivolous, I could never completely give it up. The world of Beauty and Fashion gave me wings. To travel the globe, be the observer, the chameleon and most importantly, to grow. Growth means moving through the fear onto the next Chapter. Time to get serious, take myself and the words seriously. Actually, it’s a return to the purest, most natural place I know. An endearing, bittersweet weIcome home. I have completed my first novel, THE VAST LANDSCAPE. OK, in rough edits, even so. After a decade of shape shifting the words, the story has come full circle. THE VAST LANDSCAPE exists and I’m proud. I can’t wait to share Harrison. There are many to thank, I was not alone on this journey. From the bottom of my heart, I hope you enjoy the trip.

An excerpt to wet the palette before the main course.

THE VAST LANDSCAPE

Let There Be

Colored, shiny, New Orleans beads sway in the trees. Mason jars, filled with tea candles flicker, making magic, plastic stars illuminate the night. Solar powered dragonfly and butterfly globes change color at random, scattered about the yard. Round, color bulbs decorate the screen porch. Wetsuits hang on hooks. Orange and yellow boards stand at attention, propped against the house, in formation with a baby blue, wave decaled, pint size version. The beautiful chaos makes Harrison chuckle. Chimes dance on the wind, in perfect pitch. Harrison sits at the picnic table drinking a Shandy, stupid grin permanently plastered on her face. The grill fired up, table set, mismatched dollar store plates, tacky sunflower paper cups dress the table. She can barely see Zack, knows he’s in the kitchen. Prepping BBQ chicken, steaming corn, and tossing a salad. Harry doesn’t cook. Dr. Pretty tells her it’s for the best, having tasted her God-awful attempts. This meal, her baby’s favorite. It’s a special night, first day before pre-school. Harrison cries, desperate to stop the clock. She begged to keep her home, Zack insists. Music plays from the kitchen. There’s almost always music playing at the beach house. Harry can’t quite make out the song, some familiar, catchy pop tune, her daughter loves. Plays over and over, loud. The girl is bossy, fearless, like her mother and sticky sweet, Southern mannered, like Daddy. Let there be. Life by the beach lived at sunrise, sunset in Technicolor. Harry watches Pretty, dancing, laughing and bending down. She can’t see her golden ringlet, hell on wheels angel from the window. She knows she’s there, the reason behind her father’s good mood. Addie does that, her zest for life contagious. She’s an easy kid, chill for the most part. Braver than her mama, she swims, surfs, twirls and skips in her ocean. Harrison doesn’t regret walking away, fame, ugliness, the soul snatchers. Not for a second. She has more money than any human being should. Zack’s happy she’s at home. He’s Head of the ER, big shot Doc., means more responsibility and more hours, away. Harry teases him, no cracked out celebrity patients. Secretly, she’s grateful for that night. He saved her. Stitched her feet, it was so much more. Lord knows he’s a patient man, did her best to push him away. Wasn’t budging. He saved her more times than she can count, and their baby. She shudders to think they almost didn’t make it. If Zack hadn’t reacted, Harry wouldn’t have a life. With the caring, smart, sexy partner she adores, and her spitfire, intuitive daughter. Who jumps into strangers’ laps? Harrison scolds her, shaking her head. “Adelaide, why did you do that?” With big, beautiful, curious hazel-eyes, all serious, she replies, “He was sad, mama. Like you get sometimes, I wanted to cheer him up.” Off she goes, not before planting a fat, wet kiss on her mother’s cheek. Harrison heads into the kitchen, “Do you guys need help?” Zack grabs her, before she can react. “We do. We need. You. Dancing, Queen.” Laughing, he turns up the volume, pulling Harrison close, scruff skimming her face. Goosebumps. Addie tugs at Harry’s dress. Strong, supple Zack scoops her up in one arm, swinging her around. She squeals with glee, “Daddy.” Harrison looks at her loves, and knows, instinctively. This, this is it. She’d searched the vast landscape, without a map, the rough, scary terrain swallowing her whole. Harrison’s dusty, torn backpack pushed aside, on a shelf in the attic. Twenty years, ache and itch all gone. No running. Destination arrived. Despite the pit stops, fires, sinkholes, pimps, mistakes, lone railways and scars. It was worth it. The backyard lit up like a redneck Christmas, Harry didn’t mind. “I’m hungry, let’s get this show on the road. Addie, bring the radio. “You can play your song, baby. As loud as you like.” Let There Be. Light. Let There Be. Family. Let There Be. Love.