My Recent Art = Your Fault (The Harry Potter Dirty Nipple Edition)

My rendition of Sirius Black recently caused waves of “titillation”…

Apparently my nipples alone can crash the whole damn system.

My body has been censored my entire life. Since age 7 I’ve been keenly aware of this weaponized female body of mine, and 33 years later I’m still being told to cover up, or else. My body is dangerous, inappropriate, not-masculine-enough-to-be-looked-upon-nude, yet too-feminine-to-be-left-in-peace-without-commentary. As FemBoyCreature my body is clearly meant to be made money off of — to shave, cover up, costume, and prettify in order to sell tickets, please. My actions against this mandate are absolutely battle strategy depicting dominant ownership of this body I like to think of as “mine”.

I don’t “play along” very well. My creative mind is disinterested in doing what’s appropriate over what I find to be playful and effective. I have more than once been erased from the historical record which social media keeps via photographs and video clips. I prefer to continue on my merry way followed by those who actually want to make meaningful change and understand that nothing ever shifted by pleasing the forces that be. Especially aesthetically, and especially concerning equality.

I performed twice this past week as Sirius Black from Harry Potter, in a HP themed show. My performance was a pretty traditional striptease. I transformed from Sirius, the man, into a dog by the end of the act — Sirius’s animagus form, Padfoot.

I didn’t wear pasties in my act.

This choice, apparently, broke someone.

This choice, apparently, made people wonder about whether the venue could lose its liquor license.

This choice, apparently, had some audience members uttering, “That’s awesome, soooo illegal, but AWESOME!”, under their breath while watching.

This choice, apparently, made such waves that for the four days between shows I couldn’t get a straight answer from my producers or anyone at the venue about whether I would be able to do my second show the same way. At the last minute before show call, I was made to submit an artistic statement about the choice to not wear pasties in order for there to be an unadulterated second performance. What male performer, may I ask, has been asked to do the same while performing topless in Cambridge, MA?

I hope my nipples can crash the whole damn system… I’d love to create my art as it occurs to me to make, and not deal with drama surrounding its presentation.

My Patrons are the people who helped me make this piece of art, and they are helping me create my next. For my next performance I’m playing “Anonymous”. It’s a benefit show fundraising for sex workers called “Herstory“,  and the theme of the show is artists playing historical Femme characters. My inspiration for this piece resonated in the well known words of Virginia Woolf, “For most of history, Anonymous was a woman.” So I shall perform my piece in honor of the unnamed women and minorities who have been my ladder in this lifetime.

My Patrons have been sent a video of my Sirius Black performance. If you would like to be a patron of my work and receive videos, backstage glimpses, and the occasional writing which I don’t publicly share, please visit my Patreon Campaign and contribute. I post up to 6 times a month, and you can cap your donation if you need to. Thank you for your consideration — and a huge thank you to those of you reading who are already a part of my artistic funding team!

This past month I made a mask, hand painted temporary tattoos, and whipped up costume pieces, I cut my wig, trimmed down some new lace facial hair, and spent a tiny fortune on all the little pieces that go into playing this character effectively on stage, I choreographed, filled out paperwork, and I showed up to my day-long tech rehearsal on time.

I’ve performed bare-ass naked on Oberon’s stage before, pastie-less a number of times, and created art which has brought up way more contentious issues than the female nipple. This was the artist statement I submitted in order to perform the second show sans pasties:

I was just now forwarded your letter to the producers of the Potter Prom asking for my thoughts on the pastie issue. I am sending you what I replied to them with. I had also forwarded an entire letter concerning this incident with this information on Monday, hoping you would receive it then. I hope this suffices, I do not wish to change my act tonight. Please reply directly to me if you can, I am on a bus on my way to Boston.

Thursday, June 21, 2018
Dear _____,

The following is cut and pasted from my letter to the venue which I sent on Monday:

The choice [not to wear pasties] is an artistic one. My performance in the Potter Prom is a gender bending and shapeshifting comment on the body. As a trans artist with breasts who frequently plays male characters, I was absolutely invoking the idea of the meaning of the naked breast and gender expectations; also from the perspective of a character who stands up for his rights, the rights of others, and who challenges the authorities and the laws he finds immoral.

It was never my intent to challenge [Venue] itself. My understanding of the venue was that because it had a theater license, the artistic choices held within a theatrical performance were allowed, nudity being a common form of free speech. If I was incorrect about this, I apologize, and ask that the venue let me know how it functions surrounding nudity so that I might not make the same mistake again.

I prefer not to wear pasties tonight. 

Please let me know directly if that is unacceptable.
~Creature/Karin Webb

Maybe I’m all out of fucks about my nipples being an issue in public… I’ve been fighting this fight forever, and I’m tired. I am the only artist in the cast not to have any publicity photos to share from our first night of performance — I don’t even know why, considering there were ample opportunities in my performance where my back was turned, my clothes were on, or I was posed in a manner which obscured my un-adorned breast points. If Cambridge, MA and artistic associates, in the year 2018, cannot figure out how to embrace the “whatever gendered nipple” on stage, I have very little hope for civilization at large.

Help me fund my art, and I will continue to challenge what mores I am able to simply by breathing and creating in the body I was born into.

After the second show a very excited audience member made their way up to me and shook my hand, while out tumbled the words, “Thank you so much! Thank you for putting my gender on stage! I never thought I’d see that, thank you!”. I replied, “Your welcome, it’s my gender too.”

Play On My Friends,
~ Creature

Please support my work on Patreon, or for one time: Support the Artist or email me.
~Thank you.

Moving Through the Rubble Inside

I was reminded today of a poem I wrote a few years ago. I wanted to share it. I’m not currently breaking up with anyone or drastically changing my life these days, but I’ve been musing on the ups and downs of emotions and mental stability which we wade through as the years go by… What are these fires we are forged in? What are the meanings that we make? How to dip into a lake of resilience and make home in a decision to keep living, to continue, or to move on…?

Six Seeds
By Creature/Karin Webb

Your ghost is in smells that I unwittingly bump into
I turn over in bed and your pillow attacks
Right now I don’t want to be reminded
But where are you when I do
Your ghost is unreliable, a trait I should have become familiar
Your ghost could be banished with a burning torch of sage
And I don’t want to
I’m not ready
I don’t want to live with you, Ghost
But I can’t seem to clean myself up and move on today
I am not unlike Ghost
Here but hidden
Persephone roaming the halls of her home
It wasn’t underworld love that we chose
It was flowers and fruit
Flirtation with pain and desire
It was laughter through tears, discovering sex, holding hands, jumping into adventure, fixing things that got broken along the way
I let you calm me into coming
Your cave seemed a castle, but you don’t escape it yourself
And I wander
I was slowly forgetting the fields, and the others above
One by one red pieces of that beautiful tree come up in my mouth
Omen there will be daylight
I will dance with the family I call home
Grass will grow
Snow will melt
And I don’t know who I’ll be on that day
I not sure who I have been

Today I sit with you, wantedunwanted loved ghost
Breathe you in
Feel pain the shape of separation
The shape of self pity and old fears
Cry the shape of loss
Until I’m tired/sick/happy/old/rested enough to seek out what I must
My own
Solid
Flesh

 

Play On My Friends,
~ Creature

Please support my work on Patreon, or for one time: Support the Artist or email me.
~Thank you.

Void

Pen and ink by Karin Webb

I am tired. Weary. Sore. I feel as though I have been shouting into a void and no one is hearing. I know this isn’t true. I have people in my life who value me and tell me so, but I feel overwhelmed. So overwhelmed. Barely surviving type overwhelmed. It’s a feeling I know well, a lifelong of anxieties surfacing. Yearning for somewhere safe and warm. I do not know where that place is. I cannot seem to find it in my mind or my body lately.

The terrain of fear is an insidious pull at the fabric of my armor. Little by little I unravel. Holes appear. They grow larger. Sewing, over and over again these little voids, patches over the larger ones. These are improper fixes and unsustainable courses of action. By the end of my time I will be a thing of patches and mismatched threads, not a whole and happy, well woven piece. These are also my fears. Fear that I grow old and change against standards which keep me superficially afloat — but there are days and weeks where afloat of any kind is still above the waterline.

Thereby, perhaps, my methods are incorrect. Or the supplies and skills and time I have are inadequate to make new, to make whole, to make. Perhaps I am in a time which mismatches my inner reality. “Not of this era”. Though I have a lot to be grateful for.

I dream of simple, and I don’t know if simple is what the United States provides. The math of social proofs are clear to me. Struggle is clear to me. Rage against the machine is clear to me. Love for my friends and family, and empathy for strangers is clear to me. Helping others is clear to me. Helping myself is not.

And I am stingy with self love sometimes.

There is a museum show I want to do. Does anyone I know know programmers at museums who would be open to sexually explicit performance? I have math, a proof to demonstrate, I want to perform, connections to make clear to an adulting public.

I need people who can help me with the red tape of my life. I feed hearts and steady the guts of others well, but filling out paperwork and advocating for myself through forms is not a thing I feel capable of.

Spring. I need more exercise and for the cold grey to end. It’s been a week too long already, and I don’t want this for another month.

I want friends and neighbors I can pass by and smile around. I need not to coop myself up. I wish I had a car.

I am teaching dance to a friend right now. That keeps me balanced on days we meet. I am teaching a few others about their bodies and about devotion. That helps me too. When I can touch in some way my friends who reach out to me, it centers something inside of me also.

I suppose this is my way of reaching out. I don’t know the direct channels. I can’t see my path right now.

Someone stop by with a bottle of red wine and offer to touch my body. With no words tell me it will be alright.

Play On My Friends,
~ Creature

Please support my work on Patreon. For one time donations click here: Support the Artist 
~Thank you.

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