"all that is certain is that this art, and that of painting large religious pictures, was practiced in convents by nuns who were, significantly, spared the bearing and rearing of children as well as the endless household tasks to which the majority of women were condemned from marriage to death."
"Today, empowerment might mean receiving equal space in the critic’s column, fetching prices equal to men of the same stature, or running a successful business as a printmaker, painter, or architect. “Women, Power, and the Arts,” not a statement of certainty, remains an open-ended question that continues to provoke discussion."
~ Jordana Pomeroy
There is a crisis of representation in the media. We live in a racially and ethnically diverse nation that is 51% female, but the news media itself remains staggeringly limited to a single demographic.
(life, colour, birth) painting done by me: chanell “nana” monae
I find this beautiful and I think it’s tragic when people make something so natural into something so grotesque.
This is the female form,
A divine nimbus exhales from it from head to foot,
It attracts with fierce undeniable attraction,
I am drawn by its breath as if I were no more than a helpless vapor, all falls aside but myself and it,
Books, art, religion, time, the visible and solid earth, and what was expected of heaven or fear’d of hell, are now consumed,
Mad filaments, ungovernable shoots play out of it, the response likewise ungovernable,
Hair, bosom, hips, bend of legs, negligent falling hands all diffused, mine too diffused,
Ebb stung by the flow and flow stung by the ebb, love-flesh swelling and deliciously aching,
Limitless limpid jets of love hot and enormous, quivering jelly of love, white-blow and delirious juice,
Bridegroom night of love working surely and softly into the prostrate dawn,
Undulating into the willing and yielding day,
Lost in the cleave of the clasping and sweet-flesh’d day.
This the nucleus—after the child is born of woman, man is born of woman,
This the bath of birth, this the merge of small and large, and the outlet again.
Be not ashamed women, your privilege encloses the rest, and is the exit of the rest,
You are the gates of the body, and you are the gates of the soul.
The female contains all qualities and tempers them,
She is in her place and moves with perfect balance,
She is all things duly veil’d, she is both passive and active,
She is to conceive daughters as well as sons, and sons as well as daughters.
As I see my soul reflected in Nature,
As I see through a mist, One with inexpressible completeness, sanity, beauty,
See the bent head and arms folded over the breast, the Female I see.
Just discovered an excellent anthology by writing mamas in Canada called Double Lives: Writing and Motherhood. Includes gems like: “I think this new generation of mothers are more determined than ever not to let motherhood change their lives-and therein lies a new problem, because, of…