Revolution Wasn’t Born from Nothing, it’s Birthed Through Our Bodies

October 1, 2018 by

Last night I hit a wall. I’m tired of being so angry. Deeply grounded anger has been in me for so long, and for so many reasons. Fair warning: this post is a passionate one…

I look back through my life, and since I was a child I can remember yelling at sexist, abusive, men-will-be-men fuckers who were in charge of my body, my education, my well being, my financial opportunities, my access to institutions that produce art, my safety, and on and on…

However, the letting go of anger turns into an internalized malaise and depression and because of that

I
Just
Hurt.

I can’t fix it. There’s no fixing to be done. Just deescalation, if that’s possible, over eons of time. Now is not a time of deescalation though. Everywhere I turn there’s another reminder, another slander, another insensitivity, another trigger steamrolled over, another same old song and dance as soon as the waves calm… is this thing ever going to get better?

My anger and this depression is in my body, and there’s nothing to do but keep on feeling it. Keep on processing. Keep soldiering on.

It isn’t fair. It’s never been fair. I don’t even know if “fair” is the point at the end of the day, but this shit is pathological and persistent, not just “unequal but we’ll catch you on the flip-side”, it’s insidious, demented, and strong. I’m tired of keeping my chin up. I’m tired of soldiering on. I’m tired of calmly explaining the state of the world, the state of my body, what it feels like to be abused and denied basic help, what it’s like to be ignored or attacked every single day in some grand scale or microscopic way… I’m sick of regulating my breath and slowing my pulse down so I can speak clearly while I break all this shit down, over and over again. It’s as if I’m teaching a goddamn child every time I’m put on the spot by someone else’s bigotry, misogyny, classism, racism, ignorance, finger pointing, or other fucking railroading bullshit spun in my direction to put their discomfort squarely onto me. I’m tired of holding up my friends who are hurt, because that’s what we do in community to keep ourselves alive or some semblance of sane. It’s been a really long road, holding lots of people up and I’m tired. I’m stuck in this forever-lasting game of “keep the balloon in the air”, and all of us forced into playing are constantly almost hitting the floor while we try to juggle our lives at the same time, fed fairytale hopes through the media machine about how bootstraps can guide you into middle class. We’re fucking understaffed and people keep having to call out because they can’t get out of bed — most of that brought about by actual abuse whether it be rape, harassment, the one millionth rejection in a week just because of who someone is, loved ones being killed, or or or or or or or… and I know compared to many I have it really good.

I’m tired of the bitterness I hear from all sides — righteous bitterness even. Sometimes being reminded of the things I’m furious about when I’m not feeling mad makes me want to curl up and die. I’m exhausted from feeling alone and separated from friends because we’d rather actually be 1s and 0s to each other than risk playing in the woods or looking into one another’s faces when feelings, writ large, spread visibly. I do it too, I hide in my workaholism because I don’t feel safe outside, and I don’t know where else to go to but into my mind. When my cat, Tamlin, dies I’ll probably turn to ash instantaneously — what’s the point of living if you can’t be calmed by the love of a familiar who doesn’t care about your race, sex, gender, orientation, physical abilities, prettiness, social position, or wealth as long as you feed and care for them lovingly?

This country has a serious problem with loving, and it starts with the self. I’m pretty sure the advertisement industry has a stake in self-loathing no matter what the effects or consequences. I’m pretty sure the church and politicians are only too happy to keep that game going. People who love themselves and aren’t afraid of their neighbors are exponentially harder to manipulate than “believers”, and you profit off of them by way of money and power much, much less easily.

I’m sick of the insane lies that come out of the mouths of people who should know better, and I’m sick of the conflations and ignorant tales told by people who wish this stupid fucking world was more simple than it actually is. Please read some articles from non (or less) partisan sources. I’m rabid about the people in power who manipulate just as sure as they breathe, eat, and blink. Never have I understood the Red Queen’s rallying cries more, “OFF WITH HER HEAD! OFF WITH HIS HEAD! OFF WITH THE WHOLE DAMN SYSTEM’S HEADS!!!!”

We do not live in a Democracy, we live in an Aristocratic Oligarchy. The idea that “We, the People” are pulling any strings with levers in a ballot box has been disproved time and time again. When will that change? What do we do to make this civilization listen? How many black people, brown people, red people, women, queers, and other minorities have to be strangled slowly in the town’s center before we stop accepting the example we’re being fed and turn against these abusers once and for all?

Do we not understand that we are in this together?!

I’m sick of the pettiness and fearmongering used to control people where they eat. I am livid that people who have done wrong continually refuse to acknowledge deeper truths through the practice of self-examination. No growth, just doubling down seems to be the rallying call of our hierarchy. And the cycle keeps going, abuse after abuse after abuse… none of this is right.

I believe we are better than this — not even that deep down inside. Most of us are capable of getting back up relatively gracefully when we fall. Most of us are capable of learning, of apologizing, of becoming a better more whole person not despite of but BECAUSE OF strife. FUCK ALL THE DINOSAURS WHO CAN’T GET IT TOGETHER BECAUSE THEIR WEAK-ASS, CATERED-TO LIVES HAVEN’T TOUGHENED THEM UP ENOUGH TO PLAY FAIR, CHANGE THE COURSE, OR APOLOGIZE.

THE REST OF US HAVE DEGREES IN DISCOMFORT.

THE REST OF US HAVE LEARNED SURVIVAL IN THE FACE OF UNETHICAL AND HARMFUL DISTRIBUTION OF WEALTH AND POWER TO THE DETRIMENT OF OUR EVERYDAY LIVES INCLUDING HOUSING, FOOD, AND ADEQUATE RESOURCES FOR AN ERODED SENSE OF SAFETY OR MENTAL HEALTH. THE REST OF US HAVE TAKEN BEATINGS IN THE MOST INCENDIARY WAYS SINCE BIRTH AND WE STILL GET SHIT DONE IN THE MORNING.

If I don’t deserve a living wage for the work that I do, a lying rapist piece of shit certainly doesn’t DESERVE a job sitting in judgment of our country’s A.N.Y.T.H.I.N.G. The F.B.I. had better do their due diligence, and if our president isn’t impeached and sent to prison soon there’s no way I believe in justice, the American Dream, or Democracy. Not in this country.

I’m speaking of unfairness at a level I cannot condone or even rightly comprehend fully, and though it’s been going on forever, it somehow feels worse these days.

To be really clear, I DID report the gym teacher who touched me, and NOTHING came of it, even after my parent’s got involved and it was admitted that I was not the first to report him. He responded to his slap on the wrist (by the male administration) with more harassment and trying to corner me the next chance he got, which was at our next gym class. This is only one rather tame resurfacing of the facts I get to keep replaying in my brain, from my plethora lived stories, these weeks while the nation debates whether or not someone with multiple rape charges against him gets to sit in highest court and decide whether Roe v. Wade will be overturned and what limitations of rights I have over my own body should I happen to get knocked up… Oh yeah, and there’s a “sexy handmaid’s tale” costume being sold through Yandy, in case you want a jump on that before the uniform becomes mandatory.

Do you know what it feels like to freeze and lose control of your body because someone is touching you in a way that they shouldn’t? Do you know what it’s like to black out when you’re being yelled at, and no matter how many times you repeat the word “stop” to have no recourse but to wait, curling into an ever and ever tighter ball on the floor until it’s over? Do you know what that does to your head when it’s over, and you “didn’t stand up to your abuser”? Do you know how long it takes to piece that shattering back together? Time and time again?

You smile, you fucking loser.

I AM FURIOUS ABOUT BEING IGNORED AFTER SPEAKING UP.
I AM FURIOUS THAT “REPORTING” DOES NOTHING TO CHANGE THE GODDAMN SYSTEM — THE SYSTEM WAS CREATED TO KEEP IMBALANCE OF POWER A SUSTAINABLE REALITY AT THE MERCY OF SECOND CLASS CITIZENS, AND WE KNOW WHO WE ARE. WE’RE NOT TAKING IT AS QUIETLY THESE DAYS.

Don’t fuck with survivors. This isn’t a men against women thing, it’s a get your fucking shit in order thing. It’s a break the abuse cycle thing. It’s a grow and learn to empathize and be a better community member thing.

Is there any doubt why I am who I have grown to be? Why I create the things I create? Why I love and support the people I do? Why I educate? Why I art? Why I have zero ability to work in a corporate environment, and I cannot face enacting my art through the “normal” channels available to me if I’d just simply audition?

I have something to fucking say.

I’m drowning in an unfair system that stacks cards this way and that, treated as though being poor is my choice and something I should be shameful for. I’ve had my voice and my body taken away from me over and over again, and have been told there’s something wrong with my body and my voice in the first place. IF ONE MORE FUCKING PERSON OR INSTITUTION CENSORS ME IN THE NEXT YEAR I’M SERIOUSLY GOING TO FLIP. MY. SHIT.

And I swear:

Like blood running down my thighs every month since the age of 13, the revolution is coming. It’s the most natural thing in the world. You either learn to take care of your business, or every month it gets worse…

Play On My Friends,
~ Creature

Support my writing on Patreon. For one time Donations: Support the Artist or email.
This writing takes time, research, and consideration. It is my art. Thank you.

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Connection and Consent: A Gallery Exhibition and Performance

September 29, 2018 by

Photo by Juan Carlos Ruiz Vargas of my performance, “Listen, No Speaking, Touch”, as Medusa at Pulqueria los Insurgentes, Cuidad de México, September 6, 2018. This performance was part of The Scarlet Tongue Project/El Proyecto de la Lengua Escarlata.

I have been asked by one of my favorite artists to install a piece of art and to perform during the opening event of a gallery show running the month of November and into December. Please come by, there are some really fabulous artists on the bill and it would be great to catch you at the opening on November 15th:

***

Ourselves
An exhibition of transgender and non-binary artists making work about the trans experience

Exhibition: November 5- December 6
Reception: November 15, 5-9pm
University of Rhode Island, Providence
80 Washington St, Providence, RI 02903

Curated by Caleb Cole Artists:
Chai Anstett, Sam Bodian, Ria Brodell, Eli Brown, Caleb Cole, Leah Corbett, Arlo Crateau, Catherine Graffam, Jamezie Helenski, Rob Lorino, Cobi Moules, Lenny Schnier, Austen Shumway, J. Turk, Creature Karin Webb

***

The installation and performance I’m bringing to this show is an iteration of the work I started this month in Mexico. I’m excited to bring my work to a third type of venue — from club space, to black box theater, to art gallery!

***

“Listen. No Speaking. Touch.”
by Creature Karin Webb

Installation: A small nook area is set up/created with red fabric walls, it is warmly and dimly lit (as possible). Inside the nook there are 2 chairs and a small side table set with roses, a basin of water, with a stack of washcloths nearby. Scattered around the table, chairs, and floor are rose petals. Each petal is marked with a fingerprint of blood from the artist. There is a small swatch of red fabric with thread revealing a number of stitches already stitched in, the needle still attached, is prepared for more. The shape taking form on the fabric is the figure of a person. On the floor, a chalk circle surrounds the space (alternatively this can be taped or painted — whatever works best with the venue’s floor and traffic patterns).

Performance: The artist is dressed in comfortable, casual, sensual clothing. Outside of the circle on the floor, presented toward the audience, the artist places three signs: “Listen”, “No Speaking”, and “Touch”. The artist takes their place within the installation on one of the chairs. There are a few iterations of this performance which include different “offerings”. I am proposing “Washing” for this venue. The water basin and stack of wash cloths are used. Participants who wish to interact with the artist are welcomed non-verbally into the circle to sit in a chair. The entire one-on-one performance within the circle is non-verbally conducted. There is no expectation of what will happen or not happen. The offering to wash or be washed is physically present, though it is the connection between the two participants which is impetus for all action which occurs. This is a study in non-verbal communication, connection, desire, and consent. Performances with each participant vary in length. Each connection the artist makes over the course of the performance while in character (participants, audience members, etc.) is marked as one added stitch to the piece of red cloth. Eventually the form stitched will be stuffed with petals saved from each performance, and as the work continues, stitches of beading will be added until the object is complete.

Statement: I’ve been meditating on this piece of art and performance for a few years, and I began it’s practice in la Cuidad de México on September 6th, 2018. So far I’ve performed and installed this project in two different venues: the Mexican nightclub, “Pulqueria los Insurgentes”, and in a Mexican theater space, “La NaBe foro”. Both of these performances were created in collaboration with artists during an artist retreat as part of The Scarlet Tongue Project. Installation and performance at the University of Rhode Island will be my third venue. I plan to bring this piece to many venues of varying type and size throughout the next few years. Please write me if you have interest in booking this performance, other of my work, or to bring me to your venue as a speaker or educator: Contact

“Listen. No Speaking. Touch.” is a meditation on the artist I’ve become, the human I am presently, and the rules I’ve needed to break or ask permission to explore along the way. Its performance is an invitation for viewers and participants to grow with me, to experience communication non-verbally, to offer, accept, to hold boundaries, and ultimately to risk being present with another human intimately. “Listen. No Speaking. Touch.” elicits recollections of the ways I (and many people) have been marked, whether by society, socialization, or specific people, throughout our histories in ways which disrupt our naïveté and the fairy tale of what connection, love, sex, romance, and friendship are “supposed to” look like. We struggle, in this society, to find our way within a culture which promises personal rights and opportunities, yet enforces repression of individual expressions of identity through violence, non-consensual acts, systematic poverty, refusal to acknowledge the needs of minorities, through institutionalized bigotry, and largely through fear. We are beautiful as we are, marked though we may be. With “Listen. No Speaking. Touch.”, I want to create space for individuals to connect with me, the queer artist, in basic ways which allow curiosity a chance—by way of simple actions and silence we might discover co-creation. “Listen. No Speaking. Touch.” also invites one to explore thoughts and feelings around current discussions of the #MeToo movement. As we practice and/or witness non-verbal negotiation one becomes more attuned to the subtleties of a language which is physical and energetic, and must begin to take responsibility for the ways we are able to “Listen”, to understand the desires and boundaries of the people around us. We are complicit, we are aware, and we must take responsibility for the moments we create with one another, positive, negative, neutral, and complicated.

***

Many of the artistic opportunities I engage in, and frequently the ones I believe in the most and want to continue to cultivate, are unpaid events. The work I create that is paid usually doesn’t break even and rarely profits for the materials invested and travel expenditures acquired. I don’t have the luxury to consider time and labor costs for my endeavors: rehearsals, tech time, actual time spent developing, creating, and performing, or installing a piece. I have been a professional storyteller since age 11 and have a degree, a certificate, and an entire year of Master’s work under my belt invested in my performance career, as well as decades of touring, producing, artistic direction, directorship, teaching, and troupe management under my belt. To date I’ve performed in almost all of the States, in four countries, and on two continents.

The reason I do what I do is because I believe in humanity and I believe in the power of an engaged community. I believe culture moves toward meaningful progress and improves conditions for under-privileged people because individuals “do” something to push these important conversations forward. My writing of this blog, the performances I bring to stage, the visual art I create, and the subjects and ways I educate are all part of how I, as an individual and an artist, bring my personal resources to the table to try and effect change. I made a choice early on in my career to work for my own creative brain and to develop a performance/artistic aesthetic and mission of my own, and to speak with my own voice to the audiences I find. Rather than audition for the theater community at large, I believe that as a queer person, as a woman, and a person who comes from and lives in poverty, that my voice is needed in contrast to the straight, white, cis, ableist, middle-to-upper class, patriarchal environment we are governed by and exist within.

If you admire or are inspired by any of the ways that I produce as an artist or educator I ask you to become a patron of mine and contribute to my Patreon campaign. My patrons are the only steady (ish) source of income I have, and they are the reason I’m able to invest in my art further and further as time moves on. I currently make about $450 a month. This is the base pay I live off of, supplemented by whatever other gigs I am able to book, and some months there are very few or none. I would like this base of patronage to grow so I can spend more of my time creating my art, producing, teaching, and performing, and less of my time trying to book paying gigs outside of my primary focus. I publish paid content through my Patreon page six times a month. It’s possible for you to pledge at whatever level you wish and to cap the amount that you pay if you desire to. Any amount helps. Please donate, and please share. Thank you.

Play On My Friends,
~ Creature

Support my writing on Patreon. For one time Donations: Support the Artist or email.
This writing takes time, research, and consideration. It is my art. Thank you.

Filed Under: Perspectives on Kink Blog Tagged With: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Haunted by Medusa

September 20, 2018 by

“Medusa Casting Mischiefs”. Drawn by Creature Karin Webb

The following scripted performance was written collaboratively by Samantha Bryan and Creature Karin Webb. Is is meant to bring the story of Medusa into the light contemporarily. We both feel connected to her story, and it was important to us to create art in tribute of her, especially concerning today’s conversations referencing #MeToo.

About Medusa: Medusa was, in her early years, a ravishingly beautiful Temple Priestess for the goddess Athena. Medusa (there are varied interpretations about the level of consent involved) was raped by Poseidon, and so banished by Athena from service. Athena also punished Medusa by making her ugly, turning her hair into snakes, and cursing her so that anyone who looked upon her face would turn to stone. Time passed for Medusa in this form. Eventually Perseus came along. He beheaded Medusa, taking her head with him to use as a weapon. When he finished with this use of her head, he eventually gave it to Athena so that she could mount the head upon her shield. When Perseus beheads Medusa, from her neck is birthed the winged Pegasus and Chrysaor, a giant.

Our performance was a meditation on a combination of factors from Medusa’s story and from our own experiences. It was as much about how one’s reputation (fairly or not fairly evolved) pervasively informs how society treats one. It’s also about the way we evolve as individuals because of the things which have been done to us. Though Medusa dies she is not forgotten, her story lives on in many millions of women and other people marked by sexual violence, self-freed sexualities, and those who wrestle with the brutality of shame. This performance points to our innate connection with one another, and our potential to treat each other with regard or without. It asks how we might come to one another’s aid, empathize with each other, and care for those who are marked as “fallen”. Samantha and my performance pays respect to Medusa’s spirit, one which invoked much inspiration during our time at this past month’s artist retreat for The Scarlet Tongue Project.

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Haunted by Medusa
By Creature Karin Webb and Samantha Bryan

Written for performance in la Ciudad de México, as part of The Scarlet Tongue Project/La Lengua Roja
Performed September, 6, 2018 at Pulqueria los Insurgentes

Medusa (played by Creature Karin Webb) takes her place on a ledge above the crowd and haunts the performance space this night. Like a gargoyle she inhabits her corner of the club. Connecting with audience members silently, she encourages individuals to draw close, taking a moment with each one who dares come forward. She is a ghost of her former self, temple Priestess to Athena. Medusa now haunts this room, connecting with whomever is capable of looking back and offering themselves vulnerably to her. Dark, older, unclean, she has bright eyes and offers her gaze for reflection back to the audience members willing to approach. Each connection is a world unto itself.

A bowl filled with rose petals, each marked with the artist’s blood is by her side. They are gifts, playthings, to smell, and used as offering. Medusa, deflowered long ago, was cast from society. Today from her perch she watches, casting mischiefs to the crowd below. Rose petals rain from above during this connection, or forehead to forehead she offers her silent touch during that one…

At last an actor approaches, and Medusa hands this player a piece of chalk. The performer draws a circle in the center of the room. A third performer, the Scarlet Woman (played by Samantha Bryan), enters and dances her story within the circle. At the end of her dance, she removes her large wig and veil, gestures towards where Medusa watches, and she sets it on the floor. The Scarlet Woman, as in Death, lays down to final rest.

Medusa approaches the circle to care for this woman’s body. She brings a wash basin of warm water, a cloth, and sheet with her into the circle. Medusa respectfully removes the Scarlet Woman’s clothes and washes her, preparing her body for the earth, and covering the body with the sheet last. Medusa sits a moment in witness over the covered body, and then proceeds to walk to the edge of the circle. Medusa slowly follows its path. As she walks her body becomes older and more bent over. Slower, ever closer to the ground, she continues on, crawling the last segment of the circle until she is left crumpled and unmoving on the floor. As Medusa makes this final walk, losing her power, the woman’s body animates from underneath the cloth, beginning to rise. As Medusa becomes motionless, the woman has lifted herself to sitting, sheet cascading away from her body. She is alive.

Like sand, a stream of salt is poured from directly above Medusa’s body onto her motionless form. The sheet, fallen from the Scarlet Woman’s face, allows her to witnesses this end. The Scarlet Woman stands, gathering her things. She leaves the circle, freed.

FIN

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I’d love to hear your thoughts and questions. We hope to perform this, and other pieces we’ve created as part of The Scarlet Tongue Project, at venues everywhere. Please let me know if you’re interested in bringing performances, lectures, workshops, and/or Documentary footage from The Scarlet Tongue Project to a venue near you. Our performance is easily adaptable to any space, and we’re happy to book at colleges, theaters, meeting halls, galleries, abandoned factories, art houses, private homes, or any other venue which has interest in sharing the project with an audience. Help us bring further discussion of women, anger, and art to your community.

Play On My Friends,
~ Creature

Support my writing on Patreon. For one time Donations: Support the Artist or email.
This writing takes time, research, and consideration. It is my art. Thank you.

Filed Under: Brain on Download Blog Tagged With: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,
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