girls just wanna have fun and equal pay. Also: safety and respect regardless of race, ethnicity, handicap, or age. Not into this? go to hell.

 

 

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i don’t know what other people are doing at 1:09 a.m. but I imagine it’s something super responsible like sleeping.

ugggggggghhhhhh. I like sleep when it happens, but the idea of it bores the hell out of me.

I’ve been avoiding sleep since I was nine, so that’s twenty-six years of perfected night-owling I am not equipped to undo.

a handful of those years were a misery of dark-scared. 

But one year I got a secretary desk, and I started scribbling. sketching till I reached exhaustion. fell into bed.

Then I got a drafting table. drawing till I reached exhaustion. fell into bed

nighttime freaked me out until I found a part of it that I could own.

eventually I started painting. I painted till I reached exhaustion but then I kept painting through exhaustion, painting my way into regular sunrises and twenty years of avoiding anything that threatens the way I would like to feel inside….

countless sleepless nights.

a lot of time with myself and the things that scare me.

twenty years of painting.

37 years as a woman.

I am just wondering if that is a cumulative fifty seven years resolving the unique fears that women have to confront on a daily basis as they navigate their daly life whilst not letting on that anything shakes their countenance? 

I was working late tonight and suddenly I feel i just broke something open:

paintings are female.

Now, if the dominance of female genitalia throughout the entire history of art has not already made this clear, let me throw my two cents in, for fun and fury.

as I said, I believe paintings to be female, and:

they have a breaking point.

From a purely technical standpoint I have found that my physical work as an artist echoes my physical experience as a “chick”.

i can apply paint all day, several days, a month, a year, all the years you throw into the equation.

i can break that paint down, manipulate.

this only goes so far. it feels far. it feels so far for a painting.

but

too far and the paint resists. the canvas doesn’t yield. 

i can’t do everything i want and i can’t change the place the paint has come to.

paint grips in and it doesn’t yield. really, it resists.

at this point i keep trying, isn’t that a natural inclination?

push and push and push harder.

haha, all the pushing is a waste of time. 

bait. don't get me started. do i empathize with this shark?  i guess so. but really, the better question is, do i placate him? of course i do, i'm a woman; how do i please this shark, how do i mollify him, how do i stay here in my place away from him without upsetting the equilibrium of the entire earth.

bait. don't get me started. do i empathize with this shark?  i guess so. but really, the better question is, do i placate him? of course i do, i'm a woman; how do i please this shark, how do i mollify him, how do i stay here in my place away from him without upsetting the equilibrium of the entire earth.

paint is cemented. paint has rooted. paint has decided that this is where paint doesn’t give a shit about your agenda because paint has already been pushed from a warehouse into a tube into a store for the selection of the selective and then squeezed onto a favored surface at a random point in time to perform to the best of its abilities and then beyond, beyond, and then really beyond. 

paint feels exposed and unappreciated, pursued while exploited,

paint has worked hard and grips in.

it never lets go. 

paint is pissed.

girls go through this. girls feel like this.

and so, i continue to learn more about painting by not really painting. 

does that make sense? no, I know. let me try again.

I continue to learn more about painting by paying attention to blood pressure.

oh shit, maybe that’s not clear. i will try again:

the way that you feel and react and emote and lament and internalize all the beauty and bullshit around you, well, that’s a painting.

the process is as confusing as it sounds:

i try something new and it doesn’t work at all.

i try something stupid and it works out so well that i feel embarrassed.

i take up a lot of time and space, this feels wasteful and stupid and i curse it a lot.  

girls go through this. girls feel like this.

signing off as a girl forever,

signing off as a grown woman that cares about making sure girls know that each generation is working hard to ensure a better version of the same old patriarchal bullshit.

here’s to our daughters blowing some shit up.

being a girl is super hard and even more awesome. find your SELf. take that to the streets.

being a girl is super hard and even more awesome. find your SELf. take that to the streets.