This post was written in late September 2018, in the midst of the Kavanaugh proceedings.
some personal reflection on the intersection of art & society, specifically in light of the past two weeks—
Sitting here in the Musée d’Orsay, surrounded by exquisitely carved naked women, I don’t know how to feel. Some thoughts:
1. Everyone would be scandalized if I took out “exquisitely carved”
2. They’re all shaped, formed, decided into existence, by men
3. Their bodies are the creation of men
4. They are beautiful, but they feel trapped
5. I don’t feel empowered, I feel trapped
6. I feel that men walk through the world this way, shaping women’s bodies, getting mad when we don’t fold as easily as clay
7. When we don’t sit still staring blankly marble mouths shut marble hands clutching the apples of our temptation
8. When we refuse to be a moral lesson, a container of and convenient reason for men’s lust
9. Incidentally, I do not feel as safe as these statues. My material being, me, flesh and blood, would not receive quiet contemplation or admiration if I took off my shirt and stood right here next to these statues
10. I am not as deserving of respect as these man-created pieces of art
11. What a way to totally own a body— to form it with your very own, a bastardization of creation
12. It’s not that I think every male artist who sculpts or paints a naked woman is attracted to her, or did it out of lust or desire for power
13. It’s that, living in this world as a woman, in my body that is coded female, I cannot simply appreciate these statues as beautiful women or as beautifully done sculptures, exhibiting the skill of their creator
14. I cannot divorce the creation from the creator, from the context in which it was created
15. I am not allowed to view myself out of context (I am reminded every time I clutch my keys tighter, walk faster, accept responsibility for boys’ actions unto me), so how can I be expected to view them out of their context?
16. I am glad I am a woman. I love being a woman, discovering the fullness of what that means for me. But it feels like I cannot escape how the world, how the patriarchal system, defines that word—
17. A beautiful statue, deprived of voice or movement, clutching my damning apple