I'm working on my final MFA project this summer, and of course I'm exploring the desire of others/ourselves to be something other than we are. So I'll probably post about it here to get your thoughts and feedback.
I'm intrigued by the fact that if we take a close look at something, we tend to think it more beautiful if it's altered. I see this in the art world a lot. The blurred abstract is more beautiful than the realistic close up. There is even an appreciation of presenting something horrific in a beautiful way. It's as if society needs it "prettied up" so they don't really have to consider it. This seems to be a more prevalent response in America than elsewhere, in my experience.
Even made up to the beauty industry's standards, a close look reveals the texture of skin, something the make up fails to cover. But then again, who cares as long as it works from a distance, right?
Those of you who know me, or who have followed this blog for some time, are aware that I admit to contradictions in thinking. I feel this is more honest than pretending to adhere to ideals that often get a bit tweaked when we're faced with reality. That's not to say that I dismiss those ideals, but I'm realistic enough to acknowledge the fact that a part of me wants to be accepted, even if that means that acceptance is based on societal ideals. I'll probably get some flack for that, but I don't care. Nobody is a robot.
This past week, I've been consumed with the renewal of my passport, in the hopes that miraculously I will find the money to go to France this summer. We all gotta dream, right?
What disturbs me is the fact that I'm trying to find a way to keep the old passport simply because of a stupid picture... a picture that was taken 15 years ago. Is this a pathetic way for me to document that at one time I fulfilled the description of beauty?
So I have my passport photo taken, and that pushes me over the edge. Of course I compare the two and vow a life of starvation for the next few months. I know that this is just a glitch, and that I will come to my senses in a few days, but for now I'm painfully reminded of the unattainable ideals that warp our minds.
I'm experimenting a bit with alternate ways of presenting my work/ideas that are not so literal and direct. Although I do believe that one of my strong points is putting it all out there in the hopes that it makes you uncomfortable enough to consider something, I also recognize when I become too direct. I end up trying to say everything at once, and often that's no fun for the viewer.
So this is the beginning of a new series (on the side, if you will). We'll see where it goes.
Please turn up your volume. The sound on this piece is very important. The video starts out black for a few seconds. Just keep watching... and listening.
Press the play button (arrow) on the lower left of the video screen.
As promised, here is the video. This, of course, is a very low resolution version. This is only half of the work shown at the Contemporary. The second video is Labeled.
Reality Bytes finally opens this weekend. Preparing for this exhibition has consumed most of my time over the past couple of months. I don't think my camera has left its bag since Christmas as editing has taken over. But I'm not complaining. It's been a lot of fun and a huge learning experience. One word of advice -- don't try to learn new software at the same time you're learning a new medium. ;-)
If you're in Dallas, try to come to the show. Nine artists from Germany, New York, California, and Texas make up a collection of digital narrative. I've seen some of the other pieces, and it's going to be a great show!
I'll add the video here after the opening. We also will have a companion exhibition in Second Life at the Metaverse Gallery & Performance Space, curated by yours truly. Here is the slurl. http://slurl.com/secondlife/UTD%20ArtTech%20Island/137/54/36/
I read this article about Shazia Mirza's take on the topic of female body hair. Just so happens that she has an event coming up. I wish I could attend. Shazia is a stand up comedian, so it sounds like it will be a great time.
HAVE YOU NOTICED THAT THE WORLD IS GETTING LESS AND LESS HAIRY? IN FACT A TINY BIT OF BODY HAIR IS ALMOST A SIN!
The BBC is making a programme as part of the Body Image season about women's body hair. As a Nation we are getting more and more extreme about removing our body hair. Is this a feminist battle that has been well and truly lost? The programme is presented by a comedian Shazia Mirza, who has made a new year's resolution to let her body hair grow out-and the programme is documenting her experiences. We are looking for women with across the UK of all ages to join the cause and to let their hair grow for an event which will be held at the famous Café De Paris in Piccadilly Circus. The highlight of the show will be a catwalk with ladies wearing hairy lingerie that are motivated to create a new trend. If you are interested in joining in or just want some more information please contact Katharina Urban on 02087525591 or email to hairy@bbc.co.uk
These are glimpses of my thought process. I can feel this going somewhere. I just haven't quite figured it out yet. I used to be jealous of students who came up with ideas and just went out and did them. It took me forever to finally formulate an idea and execute it. Now I've learned to just do whatever it is I'm compelled to do because somewhere down the line it all comes together. And it's great to be able to look back at the progression. I suppose it's my form of journaling.
It's that wonderful time of year that bombards us with solutions for our never ending faults. Of course, most of these offers refer to our unacceptable bodies. We are to believe that we are only useful beings to the human race if we run to the nearest gym and sign up for whatever torture they are selling in an attempt to make the view for everyone else a perfect one.
I, for one, cannot wait to sign up for a new gym membership. But I wish they would hurry up and let us know what we're supposed to look like this year. How can I possibly choose a membership plan that includes a personal trainer unless I'm able to tell that personal trainer what I want to look like? Are we still suppose to have junk in the trunk this year, or have we gone back to the flat butt look? Am I suppose to have muscles that tell you I can kick some ass, or are we going for the soft, feminine look? Personally, I'm voting for the kick ass look.
Well, until I hear what I'm supposed to do to my body this year, I suppose I will fill the time practicing the latest makeup application tips. Somehow these diagrams are quite reminiscent of the paint by numbers projects I did as a child. Surprise, surprise... those often frustrated me as I don't like to stay inside the lines.
I created this image for the Body Peace Project. Liz and Ole have created an online space for the artistic expression of non-violence. Their description is much better than mine, so go check it out.
This is an example of what Pony was talking about. The internet allows us to bypass international boundaries.
Why do some men think that nothing will happen to a woman if they are accompanied by a male knight in shining armour? "I won't let anything happen to you." "Let me walk you to your car." "I'll protect you." I've never been able to figure this out.
I don't mean to dismiss any dear friend or relative who is concerned for my safety. I actually really appreciate that.
But when you verbalize the idea of looking out for someone's well-being, I believe the words you're looking for are, "There is safety in numbers." I'm not safe with you because you're male. After all, you're not bullet proof for god's sake.
If I feel the need to use the buddy system, I'll feel safer because I'm with another person, not because I'm with another gender.
This is a new favorite of mine. I love her strength and her independence. Maybe I'm the only one who sees it. Sometimes it's surprising to meet myself in an image...
Most of you have no doubt noticed a shift in focus on this blog. It's been quite the growing experience. When I first began, I was unhappy with my weight, but at the same time, I knew that buying into the societal ideals of perfection was not part of my mindset. Yes, I wanted to lose this excess weight, but more than anything I wanted to portray the psychological effects of living in a society that constantly waves its ever changing definitions of perfection in your face.
Over time, the weight ceased to be such an issue as I discovered that my real concern wasn't so internal, but rather this ridiculous ideal that most of us at one time or another buy into.
Of as late, my focus has broadened into other women's issues, especially as I learn more about feminist theory. I was always taught that feminists were man-hating bitches who were only concerned with not being pretty. However, in the past year or two, I've learned that what I've always thought and haven't been able to verbalize has a name. It's called feminism.
These shifts are quite normal for me as an artist. I tend to explore something that bothers me until I work it out. Someone once asked me why my images are so harsh. I think it's because I wasn't allowed to voice any opposing opinion as a child. We didn't dare disagree without punishment. Finally I have found my voice, and I'm screaming, "Listen to me!!!"--even though it's from a photograph.
This post doesn't really have a point related to any topic on the blog. I just feel torn. I find myself not posting because an image doesn't relate to the blog. At times I think it's served its purpose and I should start a new one instead of trying to broaden the subject matter on this one. Who knows? It may not even matter! What do you guys think?
Some of you have seen this message before, but I believe it's good for it to resurface.
Thanks Dr. Diana and Holly, two of many fellow bloggers who get the word out.
Only Rapists Can Prevent Rape
A lot has been said about how to prevent rape. Women should learn self-defense. Women should lock themselves in their houses after dark. Women shouldn't have long hair and women shouldn't wear short skirts. Women shouldn't leave drinks unattended. Hell, they shouldn't dare to get drunk at all. Instead of that bullshit, how about:
If a woman is drunk, don't rape her. If a woman is walking alone at night, don't rape her. If a woman is drugged and unconscious, don't rape her. If a woman is wearing a short skirt, don't rape her. If a woman is jogging in a park at 5 am, don't rape her. If a woman looks like your ex-girlfriend you're still hung up on, don't rape her. If a woman is asleep in her bed, don't rape her. If a woman is asleep in your bed, don't rape her. If a woman is doing her laundry, don't rape her. If a woman is in a coma, don't rape her. If a woman changes her mind in the middle of or about a particular activity, don't rape her. If a woman has repeatedly refused a certain activity, don't rape her. If a woman is not yet a woman, but a child, don't rape her. If your girlfriend or wife is not in the mood, don't rape her. If your step-daughter is watching TV, don't rape her. If you break into a house and find a woman there, don't rape her. If your friend thinks it's okay to rape someone, tell him it's not, and that he's not your friend. If your "friend" tells you he raped someone, report him to the police. If your frat-brother or another guy at the party tells you there's an unconscious woman upstairs and it's your turn, don't rape her, call the police and tell the guy he's a rapist. Tell your sons, god-sons, nephews, grandsons, sons of friends it's not okay to rape someone. Don't tell your women friends how to be safe and avoid rape. Don't imply that she could have avoided it if she'd only done/not done x. Don't imply that it's in any way her fault. Don't let silence imply agreement when someone tells you he "got some" with the drunk girl. Don't perpetuate a culture that tells you that you have no control over or responsibility for your actions. You can, too, help yourself.
If you agree, re-post it. It's that important.
Note: This goes for any gendered rape, male on female or female on male or female on female or FTM on MTF or non gendered to dual gendered and so on and so forth....
Something is haunting me, and I can't quite put my finger on it. It steals my focus during the day and paralyzes me at night. I can't help but wonder if it's a shadow of myself.
I don't often wear makeup anymore. It's not because I'm making some statement against it or anything. Basically, I'm exhausted all the time, and I just barely get myself out of bed in time to make it to work with wet hair and major baggage under the eyes. It's hell trying to balance a full load of graduate work, a full time job, and the unescapable attraction of learning some new creative outlet.
Even so, I can't seem to escape the concerned inquiries to my well-being or the looks of condemnation from dolled up women. I do realize that we're conditioned to viewing women in this society as nose-powdering, mirror-validated robots, but come on. At least consider the possibility that time's march across my face just might be the result of long hours of hard work.
I might convince myself that I'm foregoing the ritual of painting on society's ideals, but I still fall victim to the thought that I look unpresentable. Once again, I find myself in a tug-of-war. Which one is the real me?
I took this photograph on November 6, 2005, three days after I lost Samantha. Her death shattered me. Weeks passed before I was able to get through a day without sobbing. I couldn’t stand to be in the house because her absence was suffocating.
Last week I was finally able to bring myself to go through her things. Her water dispenser, food bowl, brushes, toys, pill popper, needles, IV bags. I ended up sitting on the floor surrounded by these pieces that made up the last few months of her life.
But I don’t remember her like that. I remember her jumping on the bed to curl up next to me and waking me up in the morning with her paw on my cheek. I remember her talking back to me, even whispering when I would whisper. I remember her pawing my leg, like a child tapping her mother, while I was cooking. I remember how she sat in her chair at dinner, fighting the urge to get on the table. I remember how she would run down the stairs to greet me when I came in the door. She once stayed at my brother’s house for an extended time while I was moving. I will never, ever forget how she desperately ran to me when I came back for her.
Some people will think this is ridiculous because she was a cat. But I don’t care. She was my rock. She was my comfort during the hardest time of my life. She was my angel.
My heart is still broken, but I’m slowly allowing myself to relive those memories without creating distractions to make the hurt go away.
If she were here right now, she would jump into my lap and sleep, as she always did when tears were streaming down my face. She had an uncanny sense about that.
A friend of mine recently told me that when he first saw me present my work, he thought to himself, "Man, this girl could kick some ass!" Comments like these are always humorous to me because I don't see myself like that AT ALL!
However, I do secretly smile at the thought of being intimidating. Not because I want to be a bitch, but because it means I'm no longer that empty shell from four years ago.
Incidently, I joined the gym down the street (more on that another day). It's been a long time since I've lifted weights. But let me tell ya, after an hour of pumping iron, this girl feels like she could kick some ass! ;-)
During the past year or two I have become increasingly aware and intrigued by the rituals that make up our daily lives. We walk through most of them without a conscious thought, but others seem painstakingly self-inflicted if you really stop and think about them. Take makeup application, for example. I don't necessarily have anything against makeup, but as time has begun its march across my face, I'm increasingly aware that when I apply it, the goal is to hide some imperfection deemed unacceptable by society. I'm supposed to wear makeup to look pretty because I don't look as pretty without it. They say. I don't know if I will ever rid myself of what has been beaten into my head since childhood.
I suppose on some level, the ritual began as fun and games when playing dress up with Mommy's makeup and shoes. We weren't thinking about making ourselves pretty. We just wanted to be grown up. Being a grown up was way better than being a little girl, so we would claim that new identity for the afternoon. That carried over into adulthood, where makeup became a tool for creating an altered identity (at least for 8-10 hours until I washed the "face" off).
Makeup isn't necessarily the enemy creating that outer shell. We seem to do the same thing with measurements and dress sizes. How many lost dress sizes did you brag about the last time you went on a diet? I went from ___ to ___! I'm now a size ___! Fill in the blanks and attach that label to yourself because you're using those numbers to define yourself.
As we sit in front of the mirror creating an altered identity, we apply more than just colored talcum powder and dyed wax. We also wear our numbers like prisoners. Whether they are worn proudly or not, we accept them as identity as we immerse ourselves in rituals to either embrace them or reject them.
Before I gained this weight, I never had a stomach... ever!So after almost four years, I’m still not used to this roll above my waistband that’s like a foreign object attached to my body.These days it’s not so much a vanity issue as it is a comfort issue.It’s actually easier to breathe if I can lean back in the chair.
I have two options:lose some weight or buy bigger clothes.I can’t afford new clothes, so I guess I’m left with the daunting task of losing some weight.I hate to even try because I’m afraid I will fail.How pathetic is that?
I myself have never been able to find out precisely what a feminist is, I only know that people call me a feminist whenever I express sentiments that differentiate me from a doormat. ~Rebecca West
"Well behaved women rarely make history." ~Laurel Thatcher Ulrich
