Sometimes it hits. Flood of emotions and wasted feelings.
The cold Western stare into my hysterical Eastern tears.
The lonely one night stand with the potential enemy.
as I listen to the soapy sappy lonely sad pathetic play list for my upcoming performance my heart so to speak softly slowly melts and breaks. Why? The absence of all lovers. Perhaps celibacy is the real answer. Anger hunger for recognition of my work is sometimes too powerfully intense. Anxiety overwhelms my heart. PMS or artistic despair?
unable to be lifted. Let me fly. I anger for artists born women and women born artists. God!!! Let us show our work and breath. I am not advocate for women only galleries or movements or shows, but... Do not let the boys win!
Remember when you were little you thought that women could not write ? Or paint or create anything much in the world, yet you knew that was entirely not true? You felt it in your bones, as you were becoming a woman yourself, you knew the world holds a lie, a big lie. They were there.The creators born with a vagina. Always. The first time you went to the library and found out there is a separate section for women artists? How shocked you were by the discovery of it and appalled by the separation? How truly shocking. You never ever thought there was something you couldn't do, and yet, you watch in despair, as millions of women enter and support art schools and millions of their male colleagues "make it" in the world afterwards. it just ain't cool to have a vagina. It just ain't cool. cold, edgy, hardcore, no pain-no gain. .."if you had a dick...the things you could do, baby..." Oh my how I wished to be a boy when I was young, and how I don't now. How I treasure the ambiguous ground of a female territory, whatever it might be, the ability to shape-shift into anything, the sliding fears of intrusion, the intense emotions, the ability to cope, the frustration of no expectations from the outside and from the onset, the building up and the falling down. the bi-sexuality and absence of maternal bone, the heart and
meat, the blood and slimy fluids, the awareness of the stare and gaze, the extreme reality of biology and its constant denial. A package , burden and true love. bring it to the table!
