"Degrees of separation" created in January 2019. This piece is a collage with four sections sized 8.5 x 11'' which make up a dynamic collection.
Degrees of separation: a personal exploration of my rights, my place within society, and my experiences of oppression and discrimination thus far. This collection was born after an in-depth discussion with my partner about the bounds of consent and the give and take of sexual power. I had limited materials available, but my urge was to utilize words, images, and ideas that already exist and mold them into my own interpretation of the points noted above.
The first section is a study of the feminine. It is the Entrance to the piece, and features the Entrance to the human experience; a ‘homecoming’. The vaginally shaped image in the bottom right is comfortable, welcoming, with an opening and pubic tendrils, something that is often portrayed as “taboo” in mainstream American media. A man scrutinizes. Above, portrayals of Woman: the feminine as angelic or divine; the feminine as artwork to be consumed and studied; the feminine, allowed or not, to interact with the politics that directly affect them.
The second section was born as my artistic process grew through the creation and contemplation of the first. The idea of Woman as art is further discussed, as well as feminine ability to interact with their world. It holds a sarcastic statement: “wow, see that woman ride a bike! See her succeed!” Then, there is anger burning through: The girl learns to grab the snake, the old white man is left to hang, and I look towards a world where Post Boy becomes Post-boy. Superficial interpretations, but a beginning.
I find myself exploring deeper and arriving at the root of my inspiration and anger in the third section. I discover material from the ‘70’s that has “The Discovery Museum: where the rules include, ‘please touch” written out literally, but portrayed as completely unsuggestive: fuel for my fire. Below the caption are an image of a young boy touching a young girl, symbolizing my own experiences, and several pictures of men examining and touching animals as they please, glee in their expressions. More specifically, in many of them, it is a kitten they hold and stroke. A poorly disguised metaphor, which I flipped and bent around in order to discuss my own trauma.
Finally, Farm Wife. Growing up on a working farm, I watched my mother, grandmother, and aunts bend to the will of their husbands, quietly carry out the essential tasks that kept their way of life. They worked tirelessly, not only to get everything done but to keep men happy. Their husbands, sure, but their sons and nephews and acquaintances as well. Those who put the pressure on. All this without being truly seen, while being seemingly smothered at times. It was never seemingly intentional, never obvious or discussed, and yet ever-present.
This piece flowed out of me in the same way that other works have in the past. Personal emotions, experiences and discussions built up and triggered a need to express and examine my thoughts, and this collection was the product. It is but a first attempt at a much larger and more complex piece.
