A Woman's Rage
The piece I've been avoiding writing about
This is part of an ongoing series I’ve come up with called ‘1000 muses’. I contend that my art doesn’t come from me, it comes THROUGH me from somewhere else. Elizabeth Gilbert calls it the ‘muse’. So I’m naming all my muses, the little sparks from the universe that land on me and invite me to bring them to life.
“A woman’s rage is her love made whole
a love that says no
a woman’s rage is always for her kin
is always leveled at cruelty’s wins
a woman’s rage is her heart bursting free
screaming her love
for all to see”
Ironically, ever time I tried to start writing about this piece-a piece that is literally a woman screaming-I feel my throat close up. This is one of those art pieces that I created because articulating what I am thinking and feeling feels like a jumbled, chaotic mess.
But if the inspiration is jumbled and chaotic, then maybe trying to make anything I say about pretty and cohesive isn’t the way to go.
So here is an incomplete list of the muses for this piece:
My friend Jenn’s situation. I’ve talked about this before and I’ll keep talking about it because the detective basically told her to move on with her life and I highly doubt the people that harmed her will ever seen a single consequence for their cruelty.
My friend Judy’s situation. She hasn’t spoken about it publicly so I won’t either but another woman I know who had to flee her life and everything she loved because a bully decided she didn’t deserve it.
The Epstein Files. Even if they addressed by the government and lawmakers, the people who did the most harm will probably not see the consequences that they deserve.
Having less bodily autonomy legally than my mom did when she had me. What in the actual f*ck, America.
The fact that often when I got into public bathrooms, there are flyers on the interior doors about s*x trafficking and numbers women in those situations can call to get help.
The fact that even if women do call those numbers, they will probably not get immediate help or help to the extent that they need because those sorts of resources are never, ever, ever properly funded for the size of the problem.
That myself and every woman I know had to learn how to ward off the attention of creepy men before we hit puberty.
That myself and every woman I know have hid and pushed down and repressed so much joy and natural expression because of the negative and hurtful attention from predatory men it’s received.
That I and every woman I know was force fed beauty standards that were based on the preference of pedophiles.
That I am 50 and I still sometimes wish my body looked different than it did sometimes because of those ‘standards’, even though I know rationally that they are BS.
I wish it were different. I wish my inspiration was something beautiful. But I guess if it was, I wouldn’t have created a piece about rage.
Sometimes I can’t even look at the piece because when I do, I think of Jenn and Judy and the Epstein survivors and the inequity and pain that women and girls carry and the rage damn near paralyzes me.
BUT. You’ll notice she’s screaming a rainbow. Vibrant. Colorful. I gave her something I have hard time connecting within myself: the ability to look all that pain square in the face and chose to express beauty instead. To not let all the reasons listed above dampen her voice one iota. To keep spewing joy and possibility. Why??? Because f*ck them, that’s why. When I can’t get past the rage, she spreads beauty and hope out of spite. She says I won’t let them take my full fruitful life from me. I will do what others can’t and make sure I am putting love into the world.
Whew. And now I can breathe again. I hope you can too.
xoxo
Brandi