Phoebe Bachman: Women Making Activist Art in Public Spaces

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Phoebe Bachman, a Sculpture student at Tyler School of Art, presented her project Women Making Activist Art in Public Spaces this evening at Temple Contemporary. While it was a presentation of her research, we were encouraged to interact with her displays via post-it notes or underlining sections of the typed documents. In addition to listening, the audience engaged in discussion and Q & A with Phoebe and one another. I wasn’t the only one with a raised eyebrow when one woman remarked that her boyfriend hated the word ‘feminist.’ But that comment sparked a further discussion: what does it mean to say you are a feminist? Do you act as a free agent, individually? Or do you have to see yourself as part of an organization, a larger context….does feminism imply a collective? There aren’t perfect answers, but the evidence around us suggested that wonderful reactions can occur when feminists come together.

Small gestures. Changing one other person’s day. I was touched by that moment in Phoebe’s presentation, that particular phrase. The connections that she establishes are so immediate and open. People respond, and that means she’s getting through our barriers. She’s mentoring us, as she was mentored by the women activist artists she studies. For a moment we were all a community aware of itself, and she made that possible. I’m grateful to have felt like a part of it.

Read more about Phoebe’s work:

http://wmaaps.blogspot.com/

-Nicole

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Fatal Friday–Nueve

Despite twenty-some years of observing others, on Friday I discovered that my judgments are still too hasty. People’s character is infinitely more complex than society’s roles would suggest. And perhaps still more complex than one mind can understand alone.

No doubt you are rolling your eyes now……Hey, get to the good part! What DID you two do last Friday night?

For starters, we witnessed Gloria Steinem give a lecture. Who is she, you ask? Gloria is a writer, lecturer, editor, and the feminist activist. She was speaking at Haverford, to a full house of women and men.

In the course of the hour, she expanded on her theory of the interconnected nature of current social justice movements. She stressed that as long as the construct of racism exists, sexism will never go away, and vice versa. With her particular humor, she made it current by addressing the looming presidential election. She noted that rhetoric over the years has tried to make us believe our vote doesn’t count or is somehow meaningless. She also made it very plain that she considers Romney/Ryan’s proposed policies about women’s bodies dangerous and multi-faceted. One of the best moments of the night was when she asked “Why are ultra conservatives against both birth control and lesbians?” Food for thought. Her answer was because both allow women to have sex for pleasure not procreation. What I loved most about her (besides her wit) was her understanding of everything affecting everything else. She used the circle in her explanation; an idea world is modeled on a endless circle, not an inverted triangle of hierarchy.

Darragh geeked basically the entire time, and after the talk Gloria was signing autographs in the lobby. After waiting in the line, Darragh presented her book to be signed. Not a book written by Gloria, no. This was a vintage book of erotica, a real nightmare of pasty boobs and butts. Gloria looked at the book and made this face:

But being the wonderful person she is, she finally signed the cover “A Terrible Book–Gloria Steinem.” It’s true, I swear.

Flushed with these events, we got our picture snapped by this lovely organization:

(And spoke to its organizer. Keep an eye out for future collaborations.) What could get better than meeting Gloria Steinem in the flesh? While waiting for the train back to Temple, we engaged a neighbor in friendly chat. Her name escapes me, but she listened with good humor and recognized Gloria’s name as a famous feminist. After she got off at her stop, Darragh and I kept chatting pretty much continuously from the train station to the center of Temple campus. We met up with her gentleman there, and then things got a little funky.

A kid was urinating on the bellower. Now bear in mind this was 11:30 on a Friday night. North Philly has seen much odder in its time. But it bothered our guy friend, and he went over and slapped the kid around a bit, as you might discipline a bad, drunk puppy. Naturally, this kid had a group of garden-variety assholes around him, five or so. They started yelling and oooing and ahhhing. In the confusion, Darragh thought one of them told her to “get over here and suck my dick” or some variation of the usual crap. Long story short, she dropped her bag and punched the offending drunk in the face.

Wait, WHAT? Yes. Trust me, if I was making this up, it would be more believable.

For the record, I have never seen her get physically violent before. It was about thirty seconds of what appeared to be total disregard of consequences, pure emotional response. This is very out of character for my partner; she is someone who plans ahead, who has the future firmly in front of her eyes. Before Friday, I would have said it was impossible for her to do that. I guess the old cliche proves true again…..as it turns out, nothing’s impossible.

–Nicole Beck (nikolbolt@gmail.com)

Fatal Friday – Seis

10.5.12

This Fatal Friday began like another other…. I was locked in a battle, for an unknown amount of time, with a student trying to take out equipment from the office where Nicole and I work, although she wasn’t on shift. The student and I fought, tooth and nail, he, for his camera, I, for my need to leave the windowless cave. Fifteen minutes later I was free and finally on my way to Nicole and her loving embrace.

When we reunited on grassy turf near our campus library, truly reminding each other that, yes, we do exist apart from one another, fireworks shot out of our faces and the leaves on the trees began to sing out songs of joy and merriment. On a non-fictional note, there was a live jazz concert being played farther down the slope and there was a small crowed gathering.

While Nicole and her special man friend listened, and danced, I ran around photographing the three-piece band and mingling with other photographers who seemed to pop up out of no-where. Apparently I was distracted by the spontaneous jazz for so long that Nicole stole my bike and rode it around our bell-tower for four loops to get my attention and I even had enough time to (accidentally) completely ignore my special man friend when he came to visit me in between classes. Oops. I felt like a douchey douche. Creatively I tried to mend the situation by writing an apology poem, but as the sun set, we all realized that there is only one thing that can truly fix all problems: food.

We retired to Nicole’s apartment, a lovely home with the best fridge imaginable (to my knowledge, it always houses ice cream and cake). There, as I ranted about potentially quitting one of my jobs, Nicole and her room-mates cooked homemade Chinese food and even made me a vegetarian side-dish! Oh the love! But the food-gasms didn’t stop there. We chose unanimously to crawl into Nicole’s boyfriend’s van, a juggernaut of vehicle, and ride in search of frozen yogurt. Down one street and up the next we went, crossing through Philadelphia’s Center City in vain, until we gave up and settled on making a bee-line for West Philly.

After successfully gorging ourselves and agreeing that we felt less guilty about the dessert because we ate ours together, we jumped back into boyfriend’s van and headed home for snuggles and Brendan Fraser. The four of us, one room-mate, one significant other and two feminists, fit like puzzles pieces onto the couch as The Mummy Returns (2001) flickered onto the screen. I’m not to proud to say that I hid in Nicole’s armpit when the scarabs began to eat people alive, but you do what you gotta do. It was worth the cuddles.

Brendan looks like a parakeet in this picture…Or perhaps he can see into your soul. Definitely one of the two.

About 30 min. into the movie I had to leave to catch my train at mid-night, but I was concerned that zombie mummies were going to eat me. Nicole, walking me out to my bike, took time to reassure me that she wouldn’t let anything bad happen. “I promise that if you are killed by CGI zombies, I will make sure your soul is guided into the proper after-life.”

All I have to say is, Go Team! Cooked Bananas!