When someone asks me, "Who is that?" the normal answer is "no one." I mean, really look at the picture above. It's not realism. I don't need a model for this; I don't want a model for this. Certainly a model would not be able to pose like that, and the pose was the only clear part of the piece I had envisioned at the start. Just look at her waistline - no woman could possibly model for this.
Putting all discussions of feminism and representing women aside for another day, this particular piece is a perfect example of how I plan out my work: I don't, There have only been maybe three pieces in my life that I've really planned out and brainstormed before starting on it, and those pieces were for contests (cash prizes = planning, I guess). To be honest, planning intimidates me a little, because it makes my art too representative. Most of the time, I just want to make something that looks cool.
On some rare occasions, I have actually picked a person to draw, either as a gift for that person, or because I just liked the way that person was shaped. However, I've never been particularly proud of any of those pieces. After a very short time, I feel that the piece is no longer representative of that person, or that I could do a better job if I just tried again. I often feel this way about pieces after a time; most, if not all, artists hate their old work. It's like an embarrassing reminder of how terrible they once were. This particular problem is likely due to the ever-changing nature of humanity, but the reason I never draw real people anymore is because of how quickly the hatred of the piece follows.
I've been told by a rather flowery instructor of mine that when people draw, they tend to make their figures look more like themselves. As much as I dislike agreeing with that particular professor, I think she has something there. Maybe, in some stupid, obscure way, the answer to "Who is that?" is "me." Certainly art is "a window to the soul" or something fluffy like that. My observers can come to that fluffy conclusion on their own, though. The only answer they're going to get from me is, "I don't know; some chick?"