from inside your tvs and hospitals, sick people have always comforted you-- with tragedy, or miracles, or else, with horror. your cherished escapism is made of controlled encounters with our divergent bodies, while you avoid our real ones like they're the plague. you can bank on a cushy thrill, willingly jerk a sniffle, anticipate measured spikes in dopamine and adrenaline and the feeling pure or deep or whole that, don't worry, will always follow.
you love to have us embody your 2d fear and sadness and kill us off, or disappear us, or heal us, which is also a kind of killing us off that spares the dirtying of your hands.
when we are projected onto your bright, fun boxes, you falsely feel like we aren't missing in the room.
its so easy for you to quarantine us into hospitals, jails, institutions, our own abusive or lonely homes from there. we are not "bound" to them, intrinsically, so much as you bind us.
my intent is to interrupt this, to make strengthening your atrophied empathy toward diseased bodies feel more necessary and possible. one of my methods is by forcing the perspective shift you are most terrified of— your body as the one hypothetically diverging. the gore you, the voyeur, project onto us, projected back.
my art is not supposed to shock you. you are supposed to sit with it until it doesn't. bodies are difficult before they are beautiful. you, abled people, are cowardly by habit, and if, and as, you commit yourself to being less so, you will practice being able to interact with integrity and love with my more personal body art-- and, slightly more, i can hope, to people with rotting bodies like mine. if you're far from there, i ask that you be accountable in your role as spectator and freeloader and not mindlessly consume my pain.
if you are abled and aren't willing to have that intent, as well as tell me who you are so that accountability is possible, please move along. disabled people deserve that and as well to be given reparations for the suffering that goes into our art-- without which it wouldnt exist to affect you. (if you are not able to send me money, ask me how else you can make it be easier/more likely for me and my family to survive. there is always some way.) it is not my intent to inform, move, or entertain the people complicit in my oppression if i am not being compensated for that labor. if you do interact with my art, know that you are looking in on something without having earned it yet. this is not for you.
second femme
my body is a horror
you love to have us embody your 2d fear and sadness and kill us off, or disappear us, or heal us, which is also a kind of killing us off that spares the dirtying of your hands.
when we are projected onto your bright, fun boxes, you falsely feel like we aren't missing in the room.
its so easy for you to quarantine us into hospitals, jails, institutions, our own abusive or lonely homes from there. we are not "bound" to them, intrinsically, so much as you bind us.
my intent is to interrupt this, to make strengthening your atrophied empathy toward diseased bodies feel more necessary and possible. one of my methods is by forcing the perspective shift you are most terrified of— your body as the one hypothetically diverging. the gore you, the voyeur, project onto us, projected back.
my art is not supposed to shock you. you are supposed to sit with it until it doesn't. bodies are difficult before they are beautiful. you, abled people, are cowardly by habit, and if, and as, you commit yourself to being less so, you will practice being able to interact with integrity and love with my more personal body art-- and, slightly more, i can hope, to people with rotting bodies like mine. if you're far from there, i ask that you be accountable in your role as spectator and freeloader and not mindlessly consume my pain.
if you are abled and aren't willing to have that intent, as well as tell me who you are so that accountability is possible, please move along. disabled people deserve that and as well to be given reparations for the suffering that goes into our art-- without which it wouldnt exist to affect you. (if you are not able to send me money, ask me how else you can make it be easier/more likely for me and my family to survive. there is always some way.) it is not my intent to inform, move, or entertain the people complicit in my oppression if i am not being compensated for that labor. if you do interact with my art, know that you are looking in on something without having earned it yet. this is not for you.
second femme
my body is a horror