May 1, 2009 § 2 Comments
I don’t know about y’all, but for me it’s been a loooong week. What better to do than to kick back and relax with a sampling of my favorite spoken word Youtube videos?
Cocky by Julia Serano – “My penis is the loose thread that unravels the gender of everyone around me.”
What We Deserve by Sonya Renee – I get chills every single time I watch this.
Bi-Racial Hair by Zora Howard - Shira and I went to middle school with this incredible artist. Video embedding has been disabled, but go watch it. Go. It’s lovely.
March 9, 2009 § 2 Comments
Via Merda D’Artista, a nice visual representation of something important to keep in mind as we celebrate International Women’s Day on the 8th and Women’s History Month all March long.
February 7, 2009 § 2 Comments
Last Thursday (thanks to the sheer beauty of Regents week), I finally went to the Brooklyn Museum’s Center for Feminist Art to see Judy Chicago’s The Dinner Party. This provocatively educational installation features the most powerful women throughout history through displaying what portrays women as powerless: their vaginas.
Judy Chicago, a widely published creator of bad-ass-ness, sets The Dinner Party on a triangle table (the universal symbol for equality). On each wing of the table, different eras of women are represented. One wing features goddesses, the next early historical women like Elizabeth I, and the last women pioneers and the famous suffragettes.
Each featured woman has her own table setting and her own vagina-plate (a 4th grader on a field trip asked his teacher “How does someone eat on this?” when staring dumbfounded at Ethel Smyth’s piano-vagina, but that will be another post entirely). Each vagina is unique in that it represents the possessor’s place in the feminist movement. Some were made of penetrable fire, others unfurling flowers, and some swords and weaponry that lead to mysterious corridors.
My friend and I treaded through the exhibit at a slow pace, writing and absorbing the mystery and stab to the patriarchy each vagina radiated.
Then, I saw Emily Dickinson’s vagina.
The delicate flower with its pastel pink petals repulsed me. It was the color of that really sugary medicine that makes you want to throw up. My friend described it perfectly as “cakey.” Each pink petal unfurled to the nothingness that is her hole of penetration. What didn’t make sense was that Emily Dickinson was a woman of substance, bad-ass in her own right. Didn’t she deserve some type of vagina-art recognition for that?
I think I didn’t like her delicate flower vagina because it did not look passionate. Dispassionate means submissive…powerless. I wanted the vaginas to be flaming with power and determination for equality.
Maybe Judy Chicago’s point was to portray all these powerful women using society’s most vulnerable body part.
But who am I to judge someone else’s vagina?