Saturday 4 November 2017

the Good Feminist

"Being a feminist does not mean living as if post-patriarchy has already arrived, you can not live like that, being a feminist means acknowledging that the world is unequal and doing your part in working towards it not being so."

(Roughly translated and shortened from two of my favourite feminist podcasts. Swedish. The English ones must be hiding incredibly well!)

The good feminist is the woman (not girl) who makes all the right choices. She knows what to do. She hurts no one at the same time as she stands up for her self and all her sisters. She probably has short hair and a successful career but not in a capitalist way. She has many female friends. The good feminist doesn't feel the need to shave her legs or wear makeup and she equal opportunity dates. She doesn't hate men, she educates. She had her children by IUI. Or not. 
Because she doesn't actually exist.
Not any more than the Good Girl. You remember her? The middle school version of the Good Feminist who everybody liked and she had the best grades and nicest dress at the school photo. No, I don't either. But we were all told to be her! 
There is something exhaustingly heart breaking in the thought that the perfection of the good girl followed us into this, the very thing we were revolting against has now entered into the room in a different disguise. 
"If you're such a feminist, why do you *insert any flaw here*?" Because I'm still a god damn human being! Wasn't that the point? Surely the point of feminism was to give us the choice to be fully human and do what we can to make the world better one step at a time, one person at a time, instead of a façade of perfection?  Isn't the work towards equality, however small, and the will and the energy more worth than the heals on my feet or my lack of career ambition? But no, once again it has to be done to perfection or it's picked apart and deemed not worth a try. Usually by a man. Do you know how many times I will re-read this, like any of my feminist posts, to make sure it sounds good enough? To make sure it's not too offensive? Or just too pointless. Perfection drains the will to do any of this out of us all and I know that's the point. Maybe if you tell us we're not perfect enough at this either we'll just stop. "What do you even do about it anyway? Why don't you do something instead of just sitting there writing?" Do you not think I have heard that a million times before. Why do anything at all if you can not do it to perfection.


No. I do not have short hair or a career. Some of my choices, especially when it comes to my interactions with women, are very questionable. My legs are smooth as babies cheeks, but you know what? It doesn't make me any less of a believer in the cause. It doen't make my fire any less bright or the things that I can do any less worth. I am not the housekeeper of all the worlds feminist endeavours. I just do what I can on a little corner and that is enough. One corner is enough. And the rest of the time I just want to enjoy the fucking world a little like any other person. ( Oh and I can hear you say right now "why don't you just tell me what you do do then?" but I wont. Nothing gets better for me once again listing things and putting it up for judgement.)
No. I am not the good feminist. I don't want to fight every day of my life because we all know the world will still be a misogynist place long after I'm gone. After you're gone too. We didn't spend a thousand and one years as property to fix the thought patterns and assumptions of life in just over 100 years, surely you know that? And I am so tired...Despite that I do love this world, more than I will ever be able to express, and I want to live in it too while I'm here. And honestly, I doubt 'the Good Feminist' does overtime.


For anyone interested enough (or Swedish enough), listen to Penntricket & Postpatriarkatet as well. They have some amazing stuff to tell you.

Now I'm going to stay up very late, eat in bed naked and watch some new and shiny episodes of Girls. Because I can.

Thursday 2 November 2017

All Hallows Eve

Step right up! Mini exhibition at number 71!

*Imagine, if you will, a tiny little man with a large moustache presenting a sideshow with just a cone for a megaphone.*

It took me a very long time to figure out what my first little exhibition was going to be about. I only knew I wanted it to be for Halloween because, despite the turbulence of the past two years Halloween is still my favourite English holiday. I like the dressing up, the pagan superstitions, the gothic darkness..the idea that the veil between the living and the dead is thinner and maybe, just maybe... 
In the end it was obvious. The reason I take my Victorian Pictures is to try to reach through to a different world, make the veil transparent between our past and present. So here they are. Some of my favourite photos. Of both the living and the dead.




'As we are now they once were. As they are now we one day will be.'

And if you feel slightly terrified by that thought, let me off set that with lines from pop songs written on strips of paper.

Happy Halloween

Coming soon to Argyle street

 
  It is a new street, a new house..a new life. Life changed and I changed with it. The moment I stepped into this house I felt like it had been waiting for me. With it's creaking floors, glass doors and closets with strangely ornate wallpaper..it was like it was haunted. Haunted by every place I had ever been happy. I touched the walls and felt the uneven surface of a home where I had felt safe as a child before I knew what being foreign meant. The yellow afternoon light was shining in and the breeze reminded me of days waking up late at 19 in my chaotic but liberated new life. The sounds and smells of the place where I lit a fire every morning. It has the warm and homely insufficiency I came to adore when the English kindly took me in. Where I saw my baby grow up. It was like I was finally home after such a long journey. I put my Art Nouveau bag down, like a metaphorical witch, and creativity started pouring out of it. It has been years and years since people have seen my strange artworks because once at a railway station really doesn't count! 
But after a series of much more fortunate events suddenly everything seems possible. Almost easy. Like arabesque flowing on a paper. Life will never be the same again but I have now moved beyond the point of no return and I no longer wish I could go back in time. It is time for my creations to pour out of my my window, out onto the street.