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via Mother Jones, this is a cute concept for a music video: the mostly-male Swedish band Hold Your Horses re-enact major works of art.

70 Million by Hold Your Horses ! from L'Ogre on Vimeo.

Seeing these men adopting the roles of both men and women in classical paintings really serves to highlight the Guerrilla Girls' points about how women frequently appear in art: naked. Another lesson in why drag can be so powerful. It really makes you see gender norms in a new way.

Oh, and fun music for a Friday afternoon!

Euripides' Medea has defined the modern perception of her. Some time age, the Teatro Instabile Di Aosta presented, in Delhi, a contemporary revisiting of Euripides' Medea in a play based on the texts of Euripides and Pasolini revolving around “discriminations and forbearance, power and revenge, and the meeting of two extremely different worlds; the one that is logical and rational, and the other one that grapples with the possible reality of mythology and ritual,” as the brochure said. The performance was meant to portray the universality and power floating in the story culminating in the “terrible decision that Medea comes to as a result of her painful suffering.”

Her “painful suffering” was the suffering which her husband Jason inflicted on her by being unfaithful to her and marrying Glauce, a princess to further his political ambitions. He justified himself by saying that he could not pass up the opportunity to wed a princess, and Medea was, after all, a barbarian woman, never mind that she was a barbarian woman who'd given up family, home, and homeland for him. He ultimately, apparently, planned to "unite" the two families -- his family with Medea, and with Glauce -- and turn Medea into his mistress.

Medea's "terrible decision" was the plan she decided to execute to revenge herself on Jason -- she killed Glauce (and, Glauce's father, Creon) using a poisoned dress, and killed the two children she had had with Jason in order to spite Jason and cause him as much pain as possible, or so one interpretation runs. Whether or not she should have been held accountable is debatable though.

Jason had supposedly remarried so that he could have children with Glauce. And when Glauce and her father-in-law were murdered by Medea, he apparently rushed to find the children he had had with Medea so that they would not be subjected to revenge because of their mother's act. It could well be argued that one of Medea's aims in killing her children was to spare them death at the hands of her enemies.

Then again, by killing the children, she effectively killed a part of Jason. And perhaps that was the ultimate revenge: Jason wanted children, and she not only deprived him of the possibility of having children with Glauce but also killed the children he had already had with her. To kill the children for a reason that was anything but altruistic would involve viewing the children not so much as individuals in themselves but as extensions of their father, which perhaps could be understood given that contemporary Greek society was intensely patriarchal, and viewed women mainly as breeders and chattel.

Contemporary Athenian law also allowed a man to marry and have children by a citizen woman while keeping a foreign woman who was not a citizen, in this case, Medea, as a concubine. And as far as divorce was concerned, all a man had to do was formally repudiate his wife, and send her back to her father or other male guardian with her dowry. There were two reasons who this did not apply to Jason and Medea though: firstly, Medea had contracted her own marriage, and as such, she had no one she could be "returned to". Secondly, Jason had sworn to be wed to Medea before Zeus and Hera, and as such, by divorcing her, he had in fact, broken an oath to the Gods.

Whether on not Medea is, or should be, criminally culpable is an open question though lying on thoroughly ambiguous moral ground. Medea was obviously distraught at the time she developed her plan for revenge. The murders were premeditated to the extent that she did not commit them on the spur of the moment. However, she developed the plan at a time when she was quite obviously not emotionally stable. And the duration of the time from when she first conceived of the plan to the time when she executed it was short.

In addition to this, there is the question of provocation. In law, if a person commits a crime in consequence of being provoked, their criminal liability could be diminished to the point of being non-existent. It isn't clear whether Jason's conduct would be viewed as "adequate provocation" to cause Medea to commit multiple murders -- presumably, it was not unheard of conduct at the time the play was written -- although it would be difficult to argue that Medea's committing the murders had nothing to do with her being cast off, and banished. She lived in a society in which she seems to have had no recourse to any form of justice, as a "barbarian" woman she was especially disadvantaged, and being exiled would have left her in an entirely hopeless position.

Medea states in the play that she knows her own mind, and that she knows that what she is doing is wrong. However, given that the act which seems to have spurred her to commit the murders is her banishment with immediate effect by Creon, Glauce's father, it is unlikely that she did actually know her own mind.

She managed (by being manipulative) to get a twenty-four hour grace period from Creon, during which time she both planned and executed the murders. Jason arrived to meet her after Creon left her, and insulted her. It was in these twenty-four hours that she planned and committed the murders. In the play, she is simply not decisive with regard to murdering her children until the last possible moment.

Medea unequivocally states in the play that she is an autonomous individual -- an assertion which in itself would have been questionable especially given that women were subject to the rule of men in a very literal sense with little autonomy of their own. Perhaps in the way that Glauce seems to have been little beyond a pawn in the schemes of her father and Jason, and who died because of those schemes.

Medea, however, managed to thoroughly subvert Jason's schemes, and escape the consequences of her actions. At the end of the play, she is shown escaping in a chariot provided by the Gods -- leaving no doubt of whom they supported. She speaks in a voice which is reminiscent of that used by the Gods, cold and distant. Driven to murder by Jason, she is ultimately far removed from emotion itself, it would seem.

Image: Medea by Sandys from WikiCommons

Jennifer Bartlett contributes her second guest post, an interview with artist Sunny Taylor. Note: All the art works included are by Sunny. Without further adieu:

JB: I've been exploring the idea of disability as a strength rather than the societal perception of the disabled body as 'weak.' My idea derives from the concept that people with disabilities accomplish many of the same things that nondisabled people do with a so-called "compromised" body. I wonder what you think of this?

ST: Well firstly I'd like to touch on the word disabled. I like the definitions of the words disability and impairment that exist within the Social Model of Disability. Under this model, the word disabled is used to describe the disabling environment and culture that different bodies live in (for example stairs and negative stereotypes disable me). Impairment is used to describe one's body, one's diagnosis (which is in itself arguably a cultural creation). When I hear or say 'disabled people' I think of people who are oppressed not by their bodies (or not only by their bodies), but by a discriminating and inaccessible world. Thus, when I answer these questions, I'll be using the word impairment for when I'm talking about one's individual experience in their specific body and disabled when I am talking more broadly about the experience of living in a body that is disabled by society. Of course, sometimes they are too entangled to separate!

One of my favorite quotes and in fact definitions of impairment/disability comes from the disabled dancer/artist Neil Marcus. Marcus says, "Disability is not a 'brave struggle' or 'courage in the face of adversity'...disability is an art. It's an ingenious way to live." What I love about Marcus' quote is his focus on the creativity and ingenuity that is needed when living in a body that doesn't work/move in a normalized way and that is discriminated against. I am under the impression that being forced to think creatively and ingeniously makes one a stronger and often more interesting individual, but I hesitate to say outright that having an impairment is a strength in and of itself -but I also would NOT say it's a weakness. I would say the strength comes from a potential creativity that disabled people are forced to deal with out of necessity.


JB: What do you think of the liberal use in the media of words such as wheelchair bound, afflicted with disability, and suffering from disability? Are these terms problematic?

ST: I cringe at these terms! And also the use of words like handicapped, special, and metaphoric language that co-opts and stereotypes words like blind, crippled and paralyzed (i.e. the nation was crippled by the financial meltdown, or blind to the corporate takeover). I'm annoyed, but rarely surprised. Even the most progressive journalists like Amy Goodman use these terms on a regular bases.

Simi Linton, in her groundbreaking book Claiming Disability, has a chapter on why each of these terms are patronizing, stereotyping and generally misinformed.

They are all either loaded with intensely negative history or are biased towards negativity -we are suffering, bound, confined, afflicted -but in actuality wheelchairs are liberating and most of the suffering that comes from being disabled comes from dealing with a discriminating and stereotyping world.

I use the word disabled for its political meaning. Many of us in the disabled community use the word crippled, 'crip' or gimp as a reclaiming of names similar to how the gay community has reclaimed the word queer.

More interview, paintings, and bios after the jump.

JB: I have found that most corners of feminism exclude the issue of disability? Do you agree? If so, what is your prediction as to the reason for this exclusion? Where have you seen feminism and disability intersect in a positive way?

ST: I think that is a very fair and accurate statement. I think generally feminists have the same problem most other people do- they have a hard time seeing disability as anything other then a personal struggle. Until disability is really seen as a civil rights issue the problems disabled people face collectively will not be taken seriously. People have a really hard time believing disabled people when they try to explain how much of what is perceived about disability is simply wrong. When I say that most of the suffering I experience around being disabled is cultural or that I don't mind being in my body, people think I'm over-compensating or that I have a chip on my shoulder. Philosophers like the utilitarian Peter Singer don't help the situation by continuously putting us in a defensive position where we have to prove our quality of life.

Disabled people are the world's largest minority and a huge percentage of us are women. Disability intersects with women's rights in so many ways: economics, abuse, access to jobs, poverty, care work, etc, etc... but yet we are rarely included in the feminist dialog in an empowered way. In fact, a lot of the discussion that happens focuses on disability as a burden (in discussions about care work and also about abortion). This conversation is very important and also often very accurate. However, there is a lot of information and experience that is left out when a conversation about the politics of disablement is left out too. For example, the conversation around disabled fetuses changes if one considers the deep cultural biases against disabled people that exist and that say a disabled baby's quality of life will be bad. I'm very pro-choice, but also think a critical conversation about why disabled babies are considered so negative and burdensome needs to happen.

I think a place where I see the potential for very positive growth in this intersection of feminism and disability is in the concepts of value and worth. What are people valued for? Their work value? Their value as mothers and caregivers? Their sex appeal? Disability studies has done a lot to reframe what is valuable in a person... generally speaking, we aren't the best homogeneous work force, our bodies redefine what society claims as attractive and sexy, and disabled mothers and fathers often don't fit into the historically defined rolls of caregiver and provider. So how do we define value or place worth? How can these troublesome and loaded categories of work, motherhood and sex appeal be reframed and integrated into a more just and equal society? I think disability studies has done a lot of thinking in these areas that could potentially be really invigorating for feminism.

JB: You have lived in both New York and the Bay Area. To me, these places diverge greatly in accessibility and the overall treatment of people with disabilities. Could you explain some of your experiences in each place? Do you find one more welcoming than the other?

S: Public transit sucks for people in wheelchairs in NY. Imagine trying to live in Brooklyn without riding the subway. I think cities in general are often better for disabled people who can't drive simply because they are more dense and "walkable." I would live in NYC in a heartbeat if it would get its act together regarding attitude and access. In NY there seems to be little sense of disability as a civil rights issue. Woodstock, NY, America's hippie progressive treasure, should win a hypocrisy award for unabashed disability discrimination. In the Bay Area literally a store owner will be shame faced if her store is not accessible. Of course, it happens that things aren't, but it's just so different here... it is simply on people's radar. Also, because it's accessible disabled people aren't trapped at home -we're out, shopping, working, dating, protesting. I don't ever have a day here where I don't see at least a few disabled people out and about. We are a valued part of the population here -relatively speaking.

JB: Do you think that people with disabilities are slowly becoming more mainstream in popular culture?

ST: Yes I do actually. It seems especially in the UK. I think there is a very different level of disability visibility over there. In terms of the US, I still think we are incredibly marginal and almost always stereotyped, but I do think we are slowly becoming mainstreamed in a certain way. I don't know how progressive or positive these representations are though and the discussions around disability in the news and such are still dripping with condescending "over-coming" narratives. I think it is still more common to see people with spinal cord injuries represented then other sorts of disabilities. Perhaps this is because of the number of soldiers returning with injuries, but also because I think -and I may be getting into messy territory here -that people with spinal cord injuries are often still proportioned like able-bodied people. They can look more "normal" say than someone who has a congenital disability.

JB: There has been some discussion that the disability movement is weakened by the fact that disability is so far ranging. However, what I find people with disabilities have in common is societal problems: exclusion, unemployment, and so on. Most people with disabilities will experience the same type of prejudice at some time in their life. Would you agree that it is a specific architectural and societal prejudice that can tie us together as a movement? I wonder if its a misconception that any 'group' is tied together by a common physical condition (race, sexuality, gender), rather than a common outside perception?

ST: I couldn't agree more. I also personally find our physical and mental diversity to be pretty thrilling. We will never be an easy population to standardize, which I think is pretty revolutionary.

JB: As a last note, how do you read John Curran's painting, "The Cripple?"

ST: Curran's work annoys me deeply, and I wish it didn't as supposedly that is one of his goals! The Cripple doesn't really bother me more than any of his other work. I find his irony very shallow and his self-conscious (and thus acceptable) sexism troublesome and uninterestingly adolescent.

Jennifer Bartlett's articles have appeared in Feministing, Delirious Hem, Harvard Review, and others. Her first collection of poetry was Derivative of the Moving Image (UNM Press 2007) and her second is forthcoming from Chax in 2011. Individual poems have appeared in the Brooklyn Rail, Ratapallax, and New American Writing, Bartlett is a recipient of a 2005 NYFA Poetry Fellowship and a recent Fund for Poetry grant. She had cerebral palsy since birth.

Sunaura Taylor's work has been displayed in the Smithsonian and in galleries across the United States. She is the recipient of a 2008 Joan Mitchell Foundation Award. In 2004, she received the Grand Prize in the VSA Driving Force juried exhibition for emerging disabled artists. Taylor was born with arthrogryposis and uses a wheelchair. Taylor is the sister of documentary filmmaker Astra Taylor and appeared in her 2008 film Examined Life. Her complete information is at http://www.sunaurataylor.org/

Progressive art can assist people to learn not only about the objective forces at work in the society in which they live, but also about the intensely social character of their interior lives. Ultimately, it can propel people toward social emancipation.
--Angela Davis

Letterpress interpretation of Jen Bekman's slogan "Live with art, It's good for you!" Art print produced exclusively for 20x200. Created entirely from antique wood type and ornaments. Printed by the Cranky Pressman.

Emily Abt is an award-winning feminist filmmaker and the founder of Pureland Pictures. Her first film, a documentary called Take it From Me, was about the impact of American welfare policies on individual Americans. Since Take it From Me came out in 2001, Abt has made several more films, including All of Us, which is about African American women and HIV/AIDS and most recently, Toe to Toe, a story about young women, race, sex and friendship, that screened at Sundance this year.

Abt, who spoke on a panel with our own Courtney Martin at the 92nd St. Y earlier this month, says that she hopes that the film will encourage audiences to think about the issues it addresses, and especially about the sexualization of young women and interracial friendship. This semester, she's teaching a class on social issue film at Princeton University, my alma mater, and my campus spies tell me that the class is "so damn good."

You can check out the trailer for Toe to Toe here, and learn more about Abt's earlier films here.

And now, without further ado, the Feministing Five, with Emily Abt.

Chloe Angyal: What led you to making films, and specifically to making a film about the issues you tackled in Toe to Toe?

Emily Abt: I came to filmmaking in a roundabout way; I used to be a caseworker. And I was doing that right when the Personal Responsibility Act was going through, and the way we treated poor people in our country was changing drastically. There were time limits being placed on public assistance, and work requirements, and I felt very much in the middle of that, as a caseworker during that time. And I had always loved films, and I decided that I wanted to make a documentary that captured the human impact of what I was witnessing. So that's what I did. I followed four of my former clients over a couple of years, as they transitioned from welfare to work, and I ended up selling the film, Take it From Me, to POV, which is PBS' premiere independent documentary series. And that was an incredible experience, and I had beginner's luck in that I was able to sell this film, without having had a lot of experience beforehand. So that's how I got started, thirteen years ago.

I'm very much a social issues filmmaker and very much a feminist filmmaker, and I think that the two things that Toe to Toe deals with in terms of social issues are the sexualization of teenaged girls and race. With the character of Jesse, I'm basically trying to get audiences to look at the sexualization of teenagers, and of teenaged girls specifically, and ask themselves if that's always such a good thing. I think given current statistics - one in four teenaged girls has an STD, teen pregnancy rates are increasing - that it's a really good time to be having that discussion. So that's one of the things Toe to Toe takes on. It also focuses very much on race relations. I hope that people will be inspired by the authentic relationship that Tosha and Jesse have, in that the girls are very honest and direct with each other. They come from very different backgrounds, but what they have in common is that they're both truth tellers. It's not a "kumbaya" film; they don't have an easy relationship, but it's a strong and a real one, and ultimately they're willing to sacrifice a lot for each other.

That whole storyline was encouraged by the fact that for 87% of Americans, their interracial friendships end at age fourteen, which I thought very much went against the way we like to think about race relations as a country. That's a New York Times statistic from a story they did a few years ago, it was a series on race relations, and I read that statistic and it really really jumped out at me. So I'm hoping that audiences will be inspired to reach a little bit further in terms of their own relationships and not be afraid to have some of those awkward conversations that a lot of people avoid, but that ultimately can bring you closer.

CA: Who are is your favorite fictional heroine, and who are your heroines in real life?

EA: For fictional heroines, I like the two girls in my film, Jesse and Tosha. I think they're brave.

My heroines in real life are my mother, my aunts, my many good girlfriends. I'm a fan of Hillary. They're strong and outspoken.

CA: What recent news story made you want to scream?

EA: I think Martha Coakley has gotten pretty beaten up in the press, but I also think a lot of that is appropriate. I guess I sort of wish people would leave Sarah Palin alone. I sort of feel sorry for her, and I don't find it that interesting to keep giving her foibles that much attention.

CA: What, in your opinion, is the greatest challenge facing feminism today?

EA: I think that there's two. I think that a big challenge is getting young women to identify with feminism and as feminists. I also think that feminists really have their work cut out for them in terms of what's going on in countries like Afghanistan and the Ivory Coast, places where there's a lot of violence against women. I think the greatest push should be around those areas. Obviously, feminists in our country have domestic things to work on in terms of the availability of abortion and all that, but I feel like the most urgent needs are in places like the Congo and Afghanistan.

CA: You're going to a desert island, and you're allowed to take one food, one drink and one feminist. What do you take?

EA: I would take avocado, a big glass of milk, and Bella Abzug. She was such a badass. If I could talk with her anywhere that'd be great, and a desert island would certainly do.

Guest Post by Sabrina Chapadjiev

Most people know Diane DiMassa as the brilliant cartoonist of "Hothead Paisan- Lesbian Homicidal Terrorist". What they don't know is that DiMassa is also a high falutin' oil painter whose explosive abstracts are beginning to take off in the art world. I asked DiMassa about the difference between cartooning and paintings, her inspirations and working towards the the perfect art-gasm.

SC: What's the difference between creating cartoons and creating paintings?

DD: Drawing cartoons can feel like riding a tricycle through quicksand compared to painting. Though I am not disparaging cartooning in any way! I love it! I just mean that it's more focused and linear and labor intensive. You are drawing in a little square. You are conveying with words and agreed-upon images; it is clear, it is finite. When I paint I try to bypass my brain as much as possible. In fact, the more cerebral I get about painting, the worse it is. I can never plan for how it's going to "come out." Or I've learned not to try. It just wastes paint.

SC: Hothead is known for being filled with anger while most of your paintings seem to be a completely opposite side of that-with a muted palette and a steady hand. Does painting abstracts allow you to access emotions that you're not able to reach with Hothead?

DD: Hothead exists to be angry, and while I would get ethereal in the comics through other characters sometimes, the focus is always on anger. I am not sure how long whatever painting is accessing has been there. Might not have been there yet. Whatever art is coming out is an accurate reflection of whatever stage of development I'm at.

SC: When did you start doing paintings, and why?

DD: I have always painted, but the discipline has been a progression. I have been doing what I'm doing now daily for about a year and half. Well, you know, almost daily. Where'd all the discipline come from suddenly? Age and revelation of mortality, of course (as in: you're fifty, jack-ass. Get up and get moving.) As for why...well, it's what I'm here for. It's sure not my cooking skills.

SC: Who are your painting idols?

DD: Franz Kline. I've been looking a lot at the sculpture of Donald Judd. Also, Jenny Saville's paintings are...I don't know what they are, but I can't stop staring at them. I also love Wayne Theibaud.

SC: Your work seems to be split between portraits (Patti Smith, Candy Darling), abstracts and landscapes. Is there a certain form that you're drawn to more, or do you try to keep a balance between the three?

DD: I don't really try to balance them, but I find that the abstracts are universal, which I like right now. I think it would be miraculous if all the ways that I work blended into one expression. I want that to happen- the epiphany, the original voice. The Artgasm.

SC: How do you know when you're done with a painting?

DD: When it doesn't make me edgy when I look at it anymore, when I stop springing up to change something. When I feel balance

SC: Can people commission your paintings?

DD: Yes, but no !!#*!%!! portraits!

For more, go to DianeDimassa.com or contact heyhothead@gmail.com.

Sabrina Chapadjiev is the editor of "Live Through This- On Creativity and Self-Destruction" and "Cliterature- 18 Interviews with women writers. She's also a musician and will be releasing her debut cd, "Oompa!" soon. Visit her at sabrinachap.com

Welcome to the 11th Carnival of Feminists! Gender Across Borders is proud to present a Global Edition of the Carnival. We want to thank everyone who submitted posts to this Carnival, and we hope you enjoy reading all of the excellent posts linked below! Academia Ashley tells us about her master’s thesis (on feminist blogging!) and the [...]

As they say, it's always "too many books, too little time." But the holiday season is a time when a) you often get to slow down and actually devour a great novel in one sitting fireside, and b) you get to give books to all the special people in your life. Or maybe I'm just a huge nerd. In any case, here are a range of books that have been sitting on my shelves looking awesome that I thought I'd tell you about in preparation for holiday reading and gifting:

First off: Are We Feeling Better Yet?: Women Speak About Health Care in America by Colleen McKee and Amanda Stiebel. Could there be more relevant reading right about now? In these 21 essays, women from all over the country recount diverse experiences of trying to get the health care they need and deserve with varying degrees of success and/or humiliation. It's the personal is political at its most poignant, from Paula Kamen writing about migraines to Anita Darcel Taylor on bipolar disorder to Maria Rivera on breast cancer. Of note: these essays are truly beautiful narratives. In other words, this is the perfect reflection on health care for those who couldn't read another dry article or jargon-filled blog post without throwing up.

For the artsy fartsy: Angels of Anarchy: Women Artists and Surrealism. This gorgeous book by Prestel is the kind of thing that you put on your coffee table, but than actually read too. There is a new interpretation of "angel" at work in this book, as one of the epigraph's by Luce Irigaray reads: "The angel is that which unceasingly passes through the envelope(s) or container(s), goes from one side to the other, reworking every deadline, changing every decision, thwarting all repetition." In other words, this is about women questioning, creating, disrupting, and deconstructing at every turn. There are striking images by, indeed, Frida Kahlo, but also lesser known artists like Mimi Parent and Dorethea Tanning. A few hours with this book and you'll be thinking of all they ways you might thwart people's expectations (including your own).

For the memoir lover: Mean Little Deaf Queer by Terry Galloway. Galloway writes, "When your body betrays you like mind did me, then who's to say the world won't crack open at your feet, the sea rise up to sweep you away, or the sky won't rain down its cosmic debris?" Galloway takes the reader through her unique and imagination-filled childhood in rural Texas, and all the wonders and challenges that came her way when she started to go deaf at age nine. Her later struggles with sexuality afford her another reckoning that deepens her sense of who she is and her capacity to perform and appreciate that identity. And the writing is plainly gorgeous: "Even after my visions and voices were exposed for what they were, I loved them and held them in awe, believing them to be glimpses of a secret from the beyond that had chosen to reveal itself only to me, special me."

Special us. Happy holidays nerds.

When I was home in Colorado for Thanksgiving last week, I got the chance to swing by the Denver Art Museum and was thrilled at the quality and diversity of the modern art on display (including a sculpture by Kiki Smith, who I blogged about last week!).

Here are my two favorite pieces that I ran across in the permanent collection:

Fatherhood by Wes Hempel

Hempel on his current body of work:

I've actively cultivated this traditional look for a number of reasons. One of my ongoing projects (which I've written about at length elsewhere) is a re-visioning of what art history might have looked like had homosexuality not been vilified. A walk through any major museum will reveal paintings that depict or legitimate only certain kinds of experience. Despite the good intentions of critical theorists questioning the validity of the canon, paintings of the old masters on the walls of museums like the Met, the Louvre, Rijksmuseum still have a certain cache. They're revered not just for their technique but because they enshrine our collective past experience.

Passing/Posing (Marriage of the Virgin) by Kehinde Wiley

The Getty on Wiley's work:

Kehinde Wiley hot-wires the studied attitudes and dramatic backdrops of Old Master portraits with a Day-Glo palette and a hip-hop sensibility, creating a radical artistic mash-up that has been praised as hip, provocative, and technically brilliant. By asking his subjects to assume poses found in historical paintings and sculpture, he transforms ordinary urban men into saints, kings, even Christ. Wiley blurs the boundaries between traditional and contemporary, self-consciously celebrating and subverting the propaganda of self-aggrandisement in European art.

I just went to a really cool event at the Brooklyn Museum of Art where Kiki Smith, artist, and, Catherine J. Morris, Curator of the Elizabeth A. Sackler Center for Feminist Art, had a conversation about Smith's work, it's intersections with feminism, themes of the body, the personal as political etc.

If you aren't familiar with Kiki Smith's work, you should definitely check it out. She's dealt with a wide range of fascinating themes over the course of her career in all sorts of mediums (many of them previously positioned as the "manly" variety).

I was so struck by her stage presence. She was truly in her body, so authentic that I was a bit disarmed. It was clear that she didn't feel any compulsion to play the part of the highly articulate, beyond-it-all artist; she just was. And in her "just being," she said some really profound, simple things. Given my recent experience of being criticized for my voice, my idealism etc., it felt awesome to be reminded how refreshing and critical it is to be comfortable with your own authentic identity in public.

Here are a few of my favorite quotations from the afternoon.

On the personal is political vibe in the 70s:
"You realized what was happening outside your house was also going on inside your house."

On art making:
"Embrace the fragility. Embrace what is tentative."

On resisting hegemonic art norms of what's hip or trendy:
"I don't want to be owned by ideology."