I’m obsessed with poet/artist/feminist/tear-jerker rupi kaur.
I ordered her book Milk and Honey and am waiting for a quiet moment so I can read it and cry.
In the meantime I stalk her blog.
What beauty. What love. What a terrible world, what a beautiful world she reveals in this world.
My mother texted me last week,
I just realized you’re a millennial. How does that make you feel?
It doesn’t make me feel anything. It’s a buzzword and the definition of it seems to expand by the day.
But knowing that I have something in common with an artist like rupi, even if it’s just the assumption that we have to be somewhat similar in age makes me really proud. It makes me proud to be in a generation with artists who I trust to speak on my behalf.
I work in theater. I’m in the business of making art. But anyone who knows me will tell you that my greatest skill is communication. I’m good at writing emails, using my hands, words and face to express what is going well and what isn’t. I’m not perfect at it, I’m not even close to being one of the best. But I’m good at it.
I’m good at making people feel wanted, feel loved, comfortable, free to be themselves.
Free to have flaws, questions, comments, concerns. Fears, bad memories.
Cheesy as it sounds, sometimes I think that the only real art I can make on my own is the art of loving people and making them feel accepted. Maybe that’s the true art in communicating.
And maybe it’s why I’ve been craving a creative outlet since my last relationship ended. Maybe that’s why I’ve felt so unable to make anything beautiful.
I know I mention Klimt a lot on here, but I just wanted to say,
I can look at your thigh and see a beautiful, force of nature.
And this artist could look at a woman and see the surface of a distant shimmering planet.
Water Serpents, by Gustav Klimt
It’s All About That Basin
Women in repose.
I think it reminds me that the artist found this sight beautiful enough to paint. And generations of people found it captivating.
And not only did the artist find her beautiful, but the artist found her as beautiful as the blue that is the shadow of her knee.
It’s a lovely blue that was chosen to express the loveliness of that knee. And an equally lovely pink to express the loveliness of her calf.
How lovely to remember that I can look at women every day and remember that they’re as lovely as my favorite shade of purple.
Maybe that’s the artist’s gift to society. To remind us that the things we don’t always look at are still beautiful.
I love this question. There’s a picture of me from when I was about 11 where I’m just looking at the camera and thinking nothing. It’s a picture of just my face and its hanging in my mothers hallway.
My hair isn’t that long anymore, nor my eyebrows that unkempt but when I am standing in line at CVS and a stranger looks at me, that picture is what I look like. Even if it was taken 15 years ago. I’m sure that in reality I don’t look like that anymore but in my head that’s just my face.
Except now the rest of me looks like this.
The other night I was in bed with a lovely fellow and I asked him to tell me what he liked about sleeping with women. I had been hanging out with a bi friend earlier in the day and it was on the brain.
He used some really unhelpful words to describe parts of my body like cute, pretty, hot and perfect.
I like specificity. I was unsatisfied.
So I demonstrated. I told him very specifically what I like about male bodies. Including descriptions about tastes, textures and smells. I used metaphors about fruits, topography, weather. I spoke an essay on male beauty. I wish I’d taped it.
And inspired by my stunning display of verbal gymnastics he improved the quality of his responses.
His answer was yet another example of a man in real life being very attracted to things which the media has been telling me men don’t like. If I had a nickel for every man who told me he liked thick thighs and hairy armpits. It makes me want to call Gilette and Jenny Craig like they’re old friends “Guy’s we’ve had it wrong this whole time! What kind of freaks were in your study group anyway?”
His words made me feel like art.
Rosy cheeked, lumpy thighed, bony fingered, hair askew, eyes sleepy.
Completely undeniably beautiful.
I found this gem on tumblr the other day. Such a beautiful reaction to hate.
Recently my grandmother found out I’m queer. Her response was to tell me that she disapproves of me living with my “friend” (i.e. my girlfriend) and that I should give up my vile queer ways and become a Christian (Lol). She even sent me a bible. Here are its remains, which I made into black-out poetry.
Poem 1: Bisexual (from Leviticus 19:9)— “Have sexual relations with her. Have sexual relations with him. Have sexual relations with both a woman and a man. Have sexual relations with yourself. Vomit on everyone who does not respect you.”
Poem 2:Fisting (from Judges 8:5)— “water/ lap the water/ drink/go down to drink/your hands/go down/I give into your hands/go down/encouraged/down/on the seashore/the whole hand/your hand/inside/I get to the edge/and shout/grasping/crying out/Beth/Beth/Beth/Beth/Beth/God/I came”
Poem 3:A Letter to the Exiles (from Jeremiah 28:13) — “Ze said: ‘Do not let lies name you, nor harm your heart. Gather. Raise the sword against them. They scorn and reproach, for they have not listened— again and again have not listened.’ “
Poem 4:Child (from Ezekiel 16:22) — “Your father and your mother rubbed salt in. No one looked on you with pity or had compassion enough for you, for on the day you were born you were despised. Live! Grow. I looked at you and saw you were enough.”
Poem 5:Father (from Ezekiel 16:22) — “You never adored us. You became very angry. You took some out on us. Your sons and daughters were not enough? You slaughtered— in all your detestable practices— our youth.”
Poem 6: Misandry (from Acts 27:41) — “Dangerous men should be broken.”
Her grandmother might not be a big fan but I certainly am.