Tag: women

“White Dresses” – Ruth Daniell

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At the open house held the day after the wedding
you did not recognize the bride until you asked

and your mother pointed her out to you.
Surrounded by wrapped gifts and ribbons,

she was wearing an elegant pant suit appropriate
for a garden party, but you were unimpressed:

you remembered the white gown of the day before,
the tiny pearlescent beads sewn all over its bodice

and the flowing skirts, the way the music swelled
around the fabric as she danced with her groom

and it made you understand something big
and important was happening to the bride

and you thought it must have something to do with
the fact she was beautiful. If I had a dress that pretty,

you said with all the wisdom of your five years,
I would wear it every day. Your mother laughed

and the anecdote became famous in the family
as you grew up. Truth is, you still feel this way,

sometimes. Your own white dress is sheathed
in plastic at the back of your closet and you worry

you will never again be as beautiful as you were that one day
you wore it. You worry it is important to be beautiful,

that there are so few ways for you to be seen in this world
because you were a girl and now you are a woman.

these words by Ruth Daniell were inspired by the work of Nicolas V. Sanchez

On Gender Roles: “I am an extra X”

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Trigger warning: rape

I am the perpetual embodiment of two letters. I am an extra X, and that’s all I will ever be.

Before I even heard my name they saw me on a screen. They sang with joy because I had an X and not a Y and the spare bedroom was already painted a dusty rose. Dad’s heart sunk because I dashed his dreams of taking my team to state.

When I was born they cried and hugged and congratulations overflowed out of Hallmark cards. I got a card too. It noted my extra X. During my third month they called me beautiful and cradled me more gently than they did my brother because my X baptized me as a paper-doll.

They kissed my cheeks and tucked me into floral flannels grandma gave me when Mom had a party with pink paper plates from the dollar store.

When I was five every boy was my prince and I decided that my wedding would be on a white sand beach with lilies in my bouquet.

When I was seven I finally started to colour inside the lines and I hated subtraction but my teacher told me that that was okay because girls are better at art anyways.

When I was nine my mom caught me trying on her makeup and scolded me for using the wrong shades. When I was 12 I cried because the boys wouldn’t let me play soccer with them anymore.

When I was 13 I cried because my ex-teammate shattered my heart.

When I was 19 I dropped out of physics because my test sheets were covered in X’s and I figured I was better at English anyways.

When I was 23 my heart was broken for the fourth time and my friends told me to forget about the X’s on the back of my hand. He bought me a drink or maybe it was six and I let him taste the seventh one on my tongue even though I hated that song and his breath reeked of Jack Daniels.

When I was 24 they still told me I shouldn’t have worn that skirt that night.

When I was 27 I said I do and they called me beautiful and cried and hugged and gave me tips on how to please my prince.

When I was 28 they bought me pink paper plates at the dollar store.

When I was 30 I typed X’s and O’s into a dusty keyboard and my boss called me “doll” and I was in charge of the coffee machine and I called it my life.

When I was dead the obituaries read “daughter and mother and wife” and nothing more. X marked the spot and they dressed me in floral and kissed my cheeks and the Hallmark cards came pouring in.

Sometimes he brings me lilies.

Most times he forgets.

He tells them that I was beautiful. I suffocate. I am an extra X, and that’s all I will ever be.

word by Hannah Chubb

colour by Marina Gonzalez Eme

On Transphobia: “In the flickering light of Bruce Jenner”

11042014_10205205042341878_1057056267_nI should have known because she’d lit a candle- no one lights a candle without some kind of intent. They’re symbolic markers of the passage of time; it would be karmically careless to burn them without a reason to.

But my willful ignorance has gotten me into loads of tight spots: I dress for the weather I want, not the weather it is.

She was painting her nails and she blew on one as the man on TV teared up, eyelid flickering.

      “Do you think he’s lying?” I asked, as if this stranger’s life were a card I’d been dealt to judge. 

She’d lit this big candle and it was just sitting in the middle of the table, like, here it is, I want to fuck you. And I couldn’t help thinking the whole time about this conversation I’d had about how it’s bullshit that a woman is supposed to capitalize on sex, like it’s still an economic equation where it’s all she has to sell and gain by, and yet, I saw that candle and felt like I was probably going to give something away for free.   

      “I think if you feel like a woman, then you are. I believe in that,” she said.

Not a woman, I thought: you can’t decide to be a woman, can you… you can’t know what it is until you live with the certitude that someone could insert a new life into your own body… the uterus, soil for colonization…    

I took her from the front, time burned, and the next day my hair smelled just like the candle and I wondered how much it had cost her.

      “Haven’t you ever looked in the mirror and known that the person that you are is more attractive than the face looking back?” she asked.

      “Are we attacking my looks now?” I said. 

      “No, see, who we are is more important than what we are. That’s why we’re different from animals. That’s why we can be women without uteri, or men with them.”

word by Charlotte Joyce Kidd

colour by Marcus Denomme

Dénommé is currently based in the Coast Salish Territories of so-called Canada, Marcus Dénommé’s works use abstraction to disrupt and critique institutional norms.

Coming from a background in street art, Dénommé’s multi-disciplinary work ranges from expressionist drawing/painting, to relief and estisol printmaking techniques, to performance art, and can be recognized widely throughout Canada.

Their work has been displayed in the Foundation Exhibition at Emily Carr University of Art and Design (2015), and all the way to the public murals of Haileybury, Ontario (1995).

Dénommé seeks to engage with the communities in which he is living, and to use art as an accessible voice against patriarchal colonialism.

Support Word and Colour’s live art event!

 

 

 

 

little red riding hood

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Little Red was going to her grandma’s house in her red cape that was supposed to protect her from the bad men the men that wanted to hurt her. Little Red had never seen a bad man in the forest and she thought it was sort of silly; she had seen plenty of men in the city they looked at her and she was told to be afraid but she was sort of curious. Here in the woods there was nothing just Little Red and her grandma and her grandma’s house with scones in it there were always scones in her grandma’s house and she didn’t know what to do about all the scones any more than she knew what to do with the men. Blueberries in some of them.

Grandma said “Take off your cape Red” when Little Red got to grandma’s house, and that made sense because now here in the house there was no danger she could take off the cape and be safe so she obeyed. Grandma was reading something Little Red couldn’t see the title of it but it looked serious.

“Eat a scone” said Grandma but Little Red ignored that as politely as she could because she didn’t feel like eating a scone. She had brought a basket with wine in it, sweet juice of fermented grapes and Grandma drank some now and it stained her mouth so that it looked like she’d sucked on a painting of a Red Delicious.

“Where did you get such big teeth” Little Red asked and Grandma smiled and said

“When I was your age I looked just like you”

Little Red didn’t know what to say but still she tried to look polite

“I looked just like you but I didn’t know the things you know and life was much easier then”

“How did your skin get so loose”

“There were rules and that made things simple, we followed the rules and they told us what to do”

“How did your face get so long”

“You took off your red cape Red”

“I don’t need it here Grandma”

“Your shoulders are bare, aren’t you ashamed”

“I thought it was safe here”

“I had shoulders just like yours and they’ll hurt you”

“My shoulders feel fine Grandma, the basket wasn’t that heavy”

“Come here I want to touch your face Red”

“I don’t think you should Grandma”

“Come here I want to feel your skin and those shoulders”

“How did your claws get so sharp you’re scaring me Grandma”

“I want you to always be good and never get hurt”

“No one will hurt me Grandma I wear my cape always”

“That’s good Red eat a scone you’re too thin”

word by Charlotte Joyce Kidd 

colour byAnaïs Massini 

This is for the person who has to smile

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trigger warning: sexual harassment

This is for the person who has to smile

or shake their head, or walk faster 
because of a follower who wants

to be that person 

who meets people

who people love

who women love

who doesn’t answer texts right away
who repeats lines from someone smooth in the movie
who succeeds in front of friends

and is recognized

and is validated

I’m a good person, I’m
doing the right thing,

people like me.

colour by Elian
words by Liam