The Body. My Body. A Body. Her body. Anger.
What does it mean to be an angry woman but to be a woman who has ever inhaled a single breath? What does it mean to try and make physical what is innately emotional? Can an image, a sound, or a catalog correctly detail the anger that lives inside those who have been made to feel lesser? No. But that doesn’t mean it is pointless to try. In The Body. My Body. A Body. Her body. Anger the idea is to touch on the incessant need yet the impossibility of this very act. How many women’s portraits must be accumulated before it is made clear that the anger is buried beneath the expressions decidedly placed upon our faces? How many bodies must be photographed - faceless but never anonymous- and cataloged before we realize that everybody that has felt oppression is filled with rage? Can the release of anger be the sound of smashing, or a deep breath, or a simple yes? Yes, but It’s so much more.
Here, as with life, the answer lies in the lack of resolution. Anger is in all of those faces, the bodies, the writings, and the sounds. Yet it doesn’t even begin to explain the depth of anger. It cannot make the viewer understand the insidious nature of rage in a body in a cage, or give the lessons in breathing and communication that we need. It absolutely doesn’t teach the patriarchy how to be less controlling or take away the anger of the women bravely displaying themselves to the world. It is meant for an entirely different purpose. It is meant to make space where there has never been any to get, let alone give. It is an exhibition of listening when being heard was something we were told only happened in fairy tales. It is an experiment in radical acceptance. The models accept that beneath a smile or a grimace, behind the safety of their clothes, and the niceties of a cleanly made photograph- they are angry and may always be. It is an acceptance that they live in a body cloaked in a skin leading the people around them to know that yes in fact they are ‘fe-male’ and therefore they are ‘lesser’.
It is an acceptance that they are seen for having that anger and yet are not defined by it or expected to be anyone way or another because of it. It is a stranger on the street accepting the request, to be honest, and vulnerable when there is no reward. Only the knowledge that one day they might become part of an archive of angry women- a humorous tongue-in-cheek exhibition on anger. It is an acceptance of the photographer that the task at hand is futile, insurmountable, painful, invigorating, and unavoidable.
No matter how fast you
run
from yourself
you are always
there
waiting when you return.
Here in this act, these women were given space to discuss their grievances in an environment designed to make them feel safe and heard. It made space where none existed before if even for a moment. These women were allowed to let their anger be taken down into history permanently as something beautiful as art rather than an unfortunate expression of emotion that women aren’t supposed to possess and absolutely aren’t supposed to show. For those who posed nude it became more than a radical act of acceptance, it became resistance. Their bodies were transformed through the lens, both literally and figuratively. The sexually taboo nature of the nude became a declaration of rage as well as an experiment in softness.
Anger doesn’t always live in aggression.
Anger can fold into tears fallen to the floor, or be a gentle sigh seen in between the shoulders of a tired body. Anger can be a lesson in humility and an examination of morals. In this anger was set free behind the veiled faces and bare bodies of women simply wishing to be seen as human, as bodies like all other bodies living and breathing and feeling regardless of sex. The art is in the release. The strangers were able to gift a bit of anger to someone they may never see again, leaving space for uncommon honesty, The words work as release- well-oiled doors opening and closing between intention, gesture. The models showing themselves to the world with wild abandon. The joyous release of energy in creating recordings of anger. As the artist, I too was given a release in each of those ways. Through the repetition of actions, I was humbled. It is no easy task to ask dozens of women in public to let me photograph them, especially for a project as volatile as this. I learned that my anger comes
And goes in many amorphous bodies.
I was able to provide relief in little waves and ways I’d never been able to before. I could speak and be heard and for that breath, I too felt relief. I got to scream, to feel the rage pulse through me whilst smashing glasses, to breath deeply, and to bare myself to the world with my voice, my body, and my actions. My anger became a force that created positivity and community and conversation.
For the purpose of this project ‘female’ is defined as anyone who has grown up knowing the prejudice of being female passing whether that is their gender or not. It does not seek to ignore women who live in male-identified bodies but hopes to speak to the experience of the artist and the models found by chance and through interpersonal relationships. All participants were politely asked for permission to be photographed, were given contact details to be given a copy of the image for their personal use, and were given a brief description of the purpose of the project as well as its intended form once completed. This catalog is expected to continue for the foreseeable future.