Taking back feminism!

I was note taking in a class this afternoon – 300 level contemporary drama paper – where they were studying Caryl Churchill’s socialist feminist works. As part of the discussion, the lecturer asked how many in the room considered themselves feminists. In a room of sixty students, with a 2:1 ratio female to male, two students, including myself put up their hands.

Two. Out of SIXTY.

“Why?” asked the lecturer, somewhat bemused. Because feminists are angry, too radical, responses came thick and fast defending their ‘non-feminist’ status… we agree with some of the changes that they’ve wrought but we don’t like THEM as people… we don’t want to be associated with that stereotype was the sentiment.

As a hairy lesbian feminist (haha - headdesk) I wanted to get angry. I wanted to shout at these  young women. To say WAKE UP you’ve been suckered into participating in your own oppression AGAIN. HELLO?! Anyone home!?

BUT. Now here’s the thing. Anger isn’t working.

 Over the weekend I went to the Charlotte Museum with my partner for an art exhibition opening. The Charlotte Museum is a Lesbian Museum which documents Lesbian history in Aotearoa New Zealand, and as such contains many treasures, biographies of influential or notable dykes and relics of protests-past. Inspiring, affirming, amusing, intimidating. I’m guessing it’s fairly easy to pick which word shouldn’t be on that list. Even as an out an proud, bleeding lefty lesbian, who believes in gender as a construct and is organising an intersectional feminist artist network as we speak, I found some of the slogans intimidating. Even though I could easily have written them. Some of the artwork was graphic, and amusing as an in joke, but could easily be perceived as aggressive and frightening. Aggression, anger and belittling those who don’t fit within our groups – these are not devices which are helping the cause.

The other day, when I was getting extremely frustrated in a discussion with friends, who are relatively open minded, but from my point of view, still very much entrenched in hetero-normative capitalist structure, my lover gently reminded me that mine is not the only truth. If you attack someone’s belief system all guns blazing, their defense shields go up and counter strikes begin, perhaps before they've even considered what you're saying. 

And perhaps so it has been with feminism -  to the point where the really important thing most feminists agree on – that everyone should be equal regardless of gender/sex (I like to add sexuality, ethnicity and class to that but that’s another rant convoluted by my whitey-mc-whiteness)- get lost in the stereotypes of angry-ugly-man-hating-hairy-militant-lesbian-communes.

Our challenge is making people uncomfortable enough with de rigueur that they seek alternative information and change, whilst not making them so uncomfortable that they reject your ideas entirely and  it’s a really fine line.

But another challenge also exists; we need to take back the word feminism – we need to associate it with positive change, with beautiful women of all descriptions, with love, with open-mindedness and perhaps even sex appeal. Because, from what I’m learning doing this study on hetero-porn – sex appeal is one of the driving forces of contemporary culture – we’ve been en-cultured to value it above all other things. Which is why the angry-ugly-hairy-lesbian-feminist stereotype works so well to dissuade women from the feminist cause – all of those things are what you are NOT supposed to be in your performance as ‘sexy woman’. 

We need to come out as feminists. All of us who identify as such – all of us who believe in equality for everyone – to eradicate this stereotype and continue creating steps toward equality. And although it’s ok to be angry, frustrated, enraged, embittered – and these things can fuel your fire – present them as passion with compassion, creativity, empathy, consideration.  That’s what I’m endeavoring to do. 

Reflections

(Written mid February, 2013) 

When I began this research, I thought I had some idea of what it meant to be a feminist; I had an inkling of what it meant to be an artist, an arts activist; I also had a vague idea of the content of pornography, mostly from overhearing my younger brothers interact with their mates around our kitchen table. What I hadn’t considered was the extent to which this research would influence my life. Writing a reflexive piece, outside of the comforts of academic rigour, is daunting. Until this point, I have managed to separate my private life and art life reasonably neatly. However, it is becoming increasingly apparent that the two must come together – art as life as art –; that despite my fears it is time to drop my guard and engage fully, in order to maintain the critical integrity required.

I began writing this piece because I haven’t shaved my legs for forty-two days. Reading outside one afternoon, (a hugely inspirational book Art and Activism in the Age of Globalisation), it dawned on me: I am twenty six, and this is the longest I have ever been without shaving my legs. I have been dutifully trimming my ‘excess body hair’ since I was thirteen and some girl in the high school canteen queue told me my hairy legs were disgusting.  At that stage, I was already too fat, too tall, and too strong to be sexy, so the hair had to go! For just over half my life I’ve been shaving and waxing, without much thought, but with an underlying sense of stress about belonging. On top of routine maintenance, every important event, every milestone, each birthday even, was preceded by a ritualistic removal of body hair. Because I am a woman. Because that’s what women do.

This new hair growth was unplanned – initially we were camping and ‘maintenance’ wasn’t practical – but became a conscious decision soon after. I have been observing the effects with a growing consciousness, changes in myself perception and in other’s perceptions of me. At the moment, I am lucky. I am immersed in a community of likeminded folk– my hairy legs (the phrase still brings a curl of disgust to my lips!) are symbolic of a conscious choice, of belonging, of a shared subversion of cultural norms. It is not too much of a stretch for these folk to conceive of a woman with body hair, and it comes as no surprise as I identify with other cultural ‘outsiders’, being queer and an artist.

My lover also has body hair which makes it easier; I’ve always found it sexy on her.  She is the first, though, in a fairly long list of lovers, to resist the societal dictations around personal pruning. Maybe that’s what I find attractive about it; the subversive nature of the act is appealing. However, it has taken me eighteen months to become comfortable with her unabashedly hairy legs and armpits in public. Whilst she was (or at the very least appeared to be) at ease, a small part of me was embarrassed, ashamed that others might not think my lover was attractive. Of course this was foolish - she is both gorgeous and true to herself. Nevertheless, I’ve found it is possible to be conscious of normalising cultural confines and their agendas, and still be subjected to them. My hair humiliation was further compounded by an acute awareness of my fear driven inability to step beyond my socialisation.

Despite my aesthetic anxiety, I have never shied away from the term ‘feminist’. My lover is one amongst many who surprised me with their deep-rooted reservations at the use of the term, associating it with misandry and hairy-lesbian communes (oh, the irony).  It has been an inspiring journey delving into feminist history. The artists and activists, the lovers, mothers, sisters, aunts and grandmothers, the powerful, independent, self-aware women in the generations before mine had so much courage.  They pushed boundaries, speaking out and protesting, putting their own bodies on the line to get society to where we are today. But what they have achieved is not yet enough! The speakers at recent exhibitions and seminars, particularly the art focussed Feminist Futures (MoMA 2007) and the Wack! retrospective(2008), many of whom have been actively participating in Feminism since the 1960s all uttered the same message: the battle is not yet won - the new generation needs to critically engage and build on their foundations. 

And there are those who will, who do fight, but it is easier said than done! There appears to be a general belief (frustratingly prominent amongst the young women in my life) that we don’t need feminism anymore – that we have equal rights. Even when this myth is exposed, again and again, the levels of apathy are often overwhelming. Despite easily accepting my mildly alternative appearance, the communities I move in seem uninterested in opening many spaces for feminist discourse; the queer community has its own battle for equality to deal with first, and many of the performers and artists (consciously or not) are invested in a patriarchal status-quo. The revival of burlesque, pole-dancing as sport and pin-up girls also limit the capacity for critical discussion. Many of them are extremely talented performers, who are aware of the societal scaffolding in which they operate,  claiming their performance of femininity as a positive and empowering - actively choosing to be the object of desire, or making ridicule of it with daring strip tease performances which push proprietary boundaries.  Even so, when they’re up on stage, the audience – myself included- rarely engages with those politics. I’m certainly complicit within my art practice to some extent; one –segregated- part of my practice involves painting on the skin of nearly nude models, the majority of whom are women. Like the burlesque girls, it is a calculated complicity, fraught with ethical and practical issues I’m still trying to resolve.

Aesthetic valuation as a primary measure of a woman’s worth, especially in our consumer driven society, is a problem which seems often criticised but rarely countered, and I understand why. It is hard to see the way forward. This was demonstrated at a Masters Graduate Exhibition by Lisa Waldner which I attended, entitled I want to be a forensic scientist playboy bunny; sadly the punch of the title encapsulated the content of the show, which demonstrated the contradictions in contemporary ‘female’ experience, but did little to offer any solutions. It was frustrating to hear the tired rhetoric of her female interviewees: the pressure they felt, the physical attributes they identified as sexy, their simultaneous awareness of and subjectivity to the construction of femininity. I hazard resistance seems futile in the capitalist economy where even the subversive act of displaying ‘real women’ has become a marketing campaign to sell more products. The exhibition displayed the findings of the research in bland domesticity (inherently female?!); scribbled thoughts on brown paper, magazine cut outs and fluorescent post-its, already fading under the lights, and a short video - animated typography overlaid with sound clips from the artist’s interviews. The typical response in this video to the f-word? Something about hairy, too hairy, and armpits stimulated a wave of self-conscious nausea in my singlet and shorts - despite my own criticisms of the act of buying in, it seems I’m not immune just yet.   

Disclosing this information feels like an act of activism, as much as it feels like part of a performance. As much as it may be both of those things, it is also the musings of a twenty six year old woman coming to terms with a feminist legacy which is so vast it is hard to avoid paralysis in the wake of its esteem, and struggling within the dictated norms of contemporary society. It’s as honest as I dare to be - at this point, it feels like the first small step toward a feminist-art-activist-practice/life. 

New beginnings.

The bases for this blog, started because I'm on a journey. 

The circumstances: 
In a nutshell, I'm a queer, twenty-something, white female. I have a contemporary, research-based art practice, and I also do body painting (with mixed degrees of enjoyment and criticality).  

Of late, I have been working with an interdisciplinary group of academics (mainly feminist, and based in Critical Psychology) who are studying the effects of mainstream heteroporn on gender politics. They're not essentially anti-porn, but they're also not interested (at this point) in porn in potentia - the focus is on mainstream hetero porn made predominantly for and by men. 

Part of this study involves putting together an art exhibition, and also setting up some art/activist activities in the public arena, and that's where I fit in. I'm one of the exhibiting artists, but I've been involved in the project  (at varying levels of engagement) since it's conception, and for the past few months have been heavily committed to it through a summer research scholarship. I'm writing a paper which seeks to contextualise utilising art in the manner which we are, examining the intersections of art with porn, feminism, activism and sex. Needless to say this is an incredibly complex collision point (thus the title - it's rather convoluted!). 

The Journey: 

When I took on this project, I had no idea just how much this would impact my life.
My art practice up until this point has been at arms length. Political, environmentally conscious, engaging in debates, but never putting myself directly under the microscope or in the firing line. I have always identified as feminist, but I never really engaged with what that meant on any deeper level than a generalised belief that everyone is entitled to equality. I never really considered what my white skin entitled me to, or not, as a woman. Or what my education opportunities, or socio-economic class contributed to my outlook. I never really considered how being queer/female and white/middle class was complicated -- a collision of marginalised/oppressed and dominant/mainstream --, or how well I was socially conditioned, even in my state of artist/activist, to not question many heteronormative structures which reinforced capitalist patriarchy. I'm now unable to ignore these things and am going through the process of examining the structures that I'm encultured by, and engaging with intersectional (and) feminist discourse actively, and perhaps naively at this point. I considered setting up an alternate account for this - something more anonymous, but I don't think that's an option for me anymore either. 

I have been loving and loathing this project in equal proportions. 

Loathing it because I feel inadequate to represent all of the things I feel so passionately need representing. Because, although I thought I had a fairly good grip on feminism, activist art and many other things that were important to me, I had arrogantly been living in a bubble without really engaging with the discourse in depth.  Because there are days when I read about feminist artwork created in the 1960s and realise that you could exhibit it today and it would still hold the same potency and relevance because the same issues are still at stake! Because it is no longer possible to switch off when there are public new stories surrounding rape or sexism or women's rights. Because some of the realities I've been exposed to can never be unseen/unheard/forgotten. 

But I love it - for the same reasons! Because it has forced me to engage with the basis of my beliefs, and be reflexive and critical, conscious on a daily level. Because even though there is a long way to go still, the wealth and depth of literature, artistic contributions, inspiring virtual content, networks and individuals engaging in this is HUGE. And I remain optimistic that we are building up to a new 'wave' of feminism, and that the great seawalls of patriarchy cannot withstand forever. 

Thus, I'm adding another voice to the mass. 

It's a new journey -so please bear with me - I write to help myself understand as well as to contribute to the discourse.