"Like dirt. Bagpipes. Stinky men."
Ahh, the smells of a renaissance-faire as described by jenthompson's growing-older-boy.
So true, so true.
I was thinking, and as we know
thinking is *very* dangerous.
Mom told me a new story,
usually I get old ones.
She had told me before about a college art project,
where she made this small precious THING
where you can watch yourself ALL BROKEN UP.
(A broken mirror at the bottom of a black-velveted tube.
A handmade spiderweb hanging above the broken, reflected you.)
Because... college art.
What she didn't tell me was that the class project was indeed
"Small. Precious."
and that the "winning" work of art for that project;
the one that was judged superior against all others
circa 1966-67 was
"The Pubic Hair of a Virgin"
In all actuality a single, plucked short-and-curly
laid honorably on fluffed cotton
in a special little box.
"Ha!" I laughed. Funny.
The Dadaists weren't dead yet.
And then mom shared how
the women in the class were banned from LOOKING AT IT
until long after grades had been given.
Imagine, working on a piece of art...
... and the top grade in the class
is restricted from the women as obscene.
She described how the men gathered around the piece,
tittering, blocking it from view.
Keeping it secret.
How the winningest grade, could not be
publicly compared in front of the class.
WOMEN NOT WELCOME to judge this artpiece
because? Women.
Because women can't know
about pubic hair.
Truth is, the women
would burn it.
Not because it was an 'obscene' object
but because the grade was.
This is an old story, though it is new to me.
"It was the 60s" we can say,
but, is the world so different now?
Is that psychology of protection
of women,
and adulation of men,
and the male ownership of
the world of sex,
dead?
Ha.
Ha. Ha. Ha.
As if.
It's the little things, ya know?
So true, so true.
I was thinking, and as we know
thinking is *very* dangerous.
Mom told me a new story,
usually I get old ones.
She had told me before about a college art project,
where she made this small precious THING
where you can watch yourself ALL BROKEN UP.
(A broken mirror at the bottom of a black-velveted tube.
A handmade spiderweb hanging above the broken, reflected you.)
Because... college art.
What she didn't tell me was that the class project was indeed
"Small. Precious."
and that the "winning" work of art for that project;
the one that was judged superior against all others
circa 1966-67 was
"The Pubic Hair of a Virgin"
In all actuality a single, plucked short-and-curly
laid honorably on fluffed cotton
in a special little box.
"Ha!" I laughed. Funny.
The Dadaists weren't dead yet.
And then mom shared how
the women in the class were banned from LOOKING AT IT
until long after grades had been given.
Imagine, working on a piece of art...
... and the top grade in the class
is restricted from the women as obscene.
She described how the men gathered around the piece,
tittering, blocking it from view.
Keeping it secret.
How the winningest grade, could not be
publicly compared in front of the class.
WOMEN NOT WELCOME to judge this artpiece
because? Women.
Because women can't know
about pubic hair.
Truth is, the women
would burn it.
Not because it was an 'obscene' object
but because the grade was.
This is an old story, though it is new to me.
"It was the 60s" we can say,
but, is the world so different now?
Is that psychology of protection
of women,
and adulation of men,
and the male ownership of
the world of sex,
dead?
Ha.
Ha. Ha. Ha.
As if.
It's the little things, ya know?