The Feminine

The feminine was buried in the brushstroke, the weight of canvas, the agreement to be gender masculine and the whispers of the fathers who came before. Once the agreement was broken, the feminine emerged, in its power, shame and beauty. It was awkward, and messy. Sewing fabric, salvaging clothing. A smell, touch and memory each piece pulled from the everyday around me. Stitched, taped, veiled, bound with ribbons, string and thread, all repositioned through my feminine.