oil on canvas
The moment before the leaping: it is finally time to fly.
I reread to Kill a Mockingbird last summer and was struck with mourning about Scout Finch having to grow up in society where women were not allowed to flower fiercely. I wondered about how that powerful, crass, excellent little babydragon could even remain herself: how she would either be forced to bend to stupid Southern society’s rules for how a “lady” should be, or how she would be entirely cast out, the future Boo Radley.
I wanted her to be of this age; where a feral woman is at least a little more possible.
This painting is for her: there is a finch atop the DeathHouse.
This painting features characters that are embodied fully in my future solo show “the Feeling of Feathers”
left to right: “the False Matriarch”: a budgie is a bird I associate with caged domesticity. I’ve only ever seen them crowded in pet stores and ankles chained to human wrists. So this character is the woman who has wholly swallowed the false promises that the Patriarchy uses so slyly against women: you will be the mistress of the home we built for you. She is the most dangerous of all humans: the patriarchal woman. Her goal is soul death.
“The Stone Nest”: a man’s head as pot or planter or nest or anchor . Heavy, oppressive, unflinching. The embodiment of patriarchal ideas that, if a woman gets comfortable in them, will lose one’s individuality and agency entirely.
“The Ideal Woman”: a hawk egg served up in a fool’s gold chalice. Society pretends to admire women, to hold them up, to dress them in finery: but the finery is false. A woman is prized only for her beauty or her fecundity. She is mute in this cup. She will be eaten.
“The Death House”: the false sense of security. The anti-wild. The house the patriarchy built for women, saying “you will be happy here.”
The flowers, by contrast, are all species I have encountered on my long distance backpacking treks. These expeditions have unraveled the patriarchy’s hold over my womanmind and have kicked up the mustang of my spirit.
Horses are the embodiment of all that is wild, thrilling, powerful.
30x 36 inches
oil on canvas
The moment before the leaping: it is finally time to fly.
I reread to Kill a Mockingbird last summer and was struck with mourning about Scout Finch having to grow up in society where women were not allowed to flower fiercely. I wondered about how that powerful, crass, excellent little babydragon could even remain herself: how she would either be forced to bend to stupid Southern society’s rules for how a “lady” should be, or how she would be entirely cast out, the future Boo Radley.
I wanted her to be of this age; where a feral woman is at least a little more possible.
This painting is for her: there is a finch atop the DeathHouse.
This painting features characters that are embodied fully in my future solo show “the Feeling of Feathers”
left to right: “the False Matriarch”: a budgie is a bird I associate with caged domesticity. I’ve only ever seen them crowded in pet stores and ankles chained to human wrists. So this character is the woman who has wholly swallowed the false promises that the Patriarchy uses so slyly against women: you will be the mistress of the home we built for you. She is the most dangerous of all humans: the patriarchal woman. Her goal is soul death.
“The Stone Nest”: a man’s head as pot or planter or nest or anchor . Heavy, oppressive, unflinching. The embodiment of patriarchal ideas that, if a woman gets comfortable in them, will lose one’s individuality and agency entirely.
“The Ideal Woman”: a hawk egg served up in a fool’s gold chalice. Society pretends to admire women, to hold them up, to dress them in finery: but the finery is false. A woman is prized only for her beauty or her fecundity. She is mute in this cup. She will be eaten.
“The Death House”: the false sense of security. The anti-wild. The house the patriarchy built for women, saying “you will be happy here.”
The flowers, by contrast, are all species I have encountered on my long distance backpacking treks. These expeditions have unraveled the patriarchy’s hold over my womanmind and have kicked up the mustang of my spirit.
Horses are the embodiment of all that is wild, thrilling, powerful.
30x 36 inches
