IN THIS VAPID Articles Where Is The Women Artist? Aesthetically Pleasing Why Is The Ugly So Beautiful?
Art The Small Things The Snake
Creative writing Making Up Catullus #50 Meets Godards Contempt Fractal Patterns Flame Colophon Her Eyes Hold Sea Water Fragmentation Art And A Winter Landscape
EDITORS’ LETTER
Hello all, Here we are again, looking at beauty in all its forms. For a feminist publication, however lazy we are, is always interesting to look at beauty and what beauty means, to us, you. How we define this relatively innocuous (though loaded) two syllable word says a lot about us as 21st century feminists. Or doesn’t. Whatever. One of this issues illustrators explored the beautiful objects around her. There’s something in human nature that makes us lust after beautiful things. I know I certainly collect things simply because they look nice. There’s my rather ostentatious owl pin-cushion made of kimono silk, which as I only have two needles is mostly certainly there only because it looks nice. Then there is the ‘congratulations’ card with the smouldering face of Marlon Brando. Which, as it was given to me for passing my GCSES (some time ago), is certainly there for aesthetic rather than sentimental reasons…
But then on the flip side. Looking up from my desk at my ‘wall of inspiration’ there is rather a lot of David Shrigly up there. Confirming my at least, fascination with the weird and gross, it’s that sense of ‘otherness’ and the ‘outsider’ that can often be interesting. Something, which as women creatives we can often fall into by default. As women we can often be seen only as the object of beauty rather than having the ability to create the beautiful object. Which means when we start to tackle this notion within our work it can become contentious, but interesting… Anyway, here’s Vapid Kitten’s take on aesthetically pleasing’. Much Love, A&B XOXOX
CONTRIBU Creative writing Alexandra Moore avm4@students.uwf.edu
Leila A. Fortier www.leilafortier.com
Alex Moore is a hooligan and a rogue who spends her spare time writing poems, especially during Florida’s rainy season. She is pursuing a Masters in English with an emphasis in creative writing at the University of West Florida.
Leila A. Fortier is a writer, artist, poet, and photographer currently residing on the island of Okinawa Japan. Her poetry is a unique hybrid form in which her words are specially crafted into abstract visual designs, often accompanied by her own multi-medium forms of art, photography, and spoken performance
Angela Brommel ambrommel@gmail.com Angela Brommel is a Nevada writer with Iowa roots. Her poetry can be found at Sweet: A Literary Confection and Writers at Work. She currently teaches Women’s Studies and Humanities at Nevada State College Jane Andrews shoppinginthelostandfound@gmail.com Jane Andrews is a creative writing teacher and poet who addresses big topics through small subjects. She lives in North Carolina. Jacob Edwards Jacob Edwards studied at the University of Queensland, graduating with a BA in English and an MA in Ancient History. He lives in Brisbane with his wife and son.
Fern G. Z. Carr www.ferngzcarr.com Fern G. Z. Carr, lawyer, teacher and member of the League of Canadian Poets, has been published extensively worldwide from Finland to New Zealand. The Parliamentary Poet Laureate recently selected her poem, “I Am”, as Poem of the Month for Canada
TORS Article
Familiar Faces
Ruth Sheils lovinanelevator@live.com
Maude Larke screamingvulture@yahoo.fr
By day Elizabeth Ruth Louisa Shiels works as an assistant quantity surveyor in the North West of England; but by night she writes with a creative imagination and a fast flowing pace. This is her first published piece, and with much more to be unveiled feedback is greatly appreciated
Betsy Lamborn www.betsylamborn.co.uk
Artwork Michelle Gulch chellejamiegluch@yahoo.com Michelle Gluch is an author with more than fifty Idaho based stories, articles, and photographs published in print and on the Internet. Michelle holds a BA in English with a writing emphasis, from Boise State University. Maaya Lad www.maayalad.com hello@maayalad.com Maaya is a freelance designer/illustrator who creates beautiful, unique pieces of work. She has a real passion for design and has a recently found love of knitting!
Anna Frew www.anna-frew.blogspot.com Kate Dunstone - Endpieces www.katedunstone.co.uk
MAKING UP
Foundation, then concealer I hope I look like I spent a day at the beach I’m pale enough as it is Bronzer? No. Uncalled for. I’m not the orange in the fruit bowl. Primer from Sephora on my eyes Do I want to look dramatic? Or blend in? Costumed runway model or office professional? Van Gogh painting or beige-ish skin tone? Pale gold shadow on my eyelids that’s barely there. Pink blush? Red blush? Pink blush. Make it look like I have something to be mildly excited about Scarlet fever may not cut it here. Black eye liner. Without it, I look 14 and get treated as such. Without anything on my eyes, really. Mascara. Almost done. My eyes look bigger. Like I can see anything. I’ll be able to see the creepers that are going to hit on me. From a mile away. Lip liner that matches my lips. This had better be worth what I paid for at MAC. Lipstick, a dusty rose shade. Blot three times. It’s never sexy on my teeth. I admire the finished product. One that can blend in the real world.
- Alexandra Moore
where is the woman artist? ...
women artists in history
As someone fundamentally interested in the work of female artists something that has bothered me for a long time is: where are the women artists? We all learn about the ‘Old Masters’ and ‘Masterpieces’ but where are their female contemporaries? Surprisingly I found the answer after rooting around my parents’ airing cupboard, which currently houses large unstable piles of withdrawn library books, where I stumbled upon Whitney Chadwick’s “Women, Art, and Society”(1990). Which, despite its rather disconcerting title and front cover, stirred my interest enough not only to open it, but to also shed some light on to my questions… First of all, how do you refer to a female artist? Some writers choose to designate women by their given names rather than their surnames, which would be usual for male artists: setting female artists apart before any discussion of their work has even begun. The practice of using an artist’s surname can also create confusion between the generations: for example a painter daughter of their artist father.
These misattributions have plagued art historians for years, with many pieces being misattributed repeatedly. One aspect of the way in which we traditionally evaluate art may also be to blame. Which is that the more wealth, power and privilege that the individuals and groups who created/ commissioned the work have, the better the art must be. This of course throws up an immediate problem for the majority of women artists. As it is of course only relatively recently that a woman has gained status in society and been able to own property in her own right. Combined with the courtly practice of paying artists with gifts rather than money, the greatness of art as it was expensive, is further confused. Art created by women is often described in feminine terms, as ‘decorative’ ‘precious’ ‘miniature’ ‘sentimental’ ‘soft’, no matter the actual focus of the work. Lisa Trickner argued that the production of meaning is inseparable from the production of power, therefore the way in which we categorise art is very
significant as a reflection of its value. The ‘Angels of Anarchy’ exhibition at the Manchester Art Gallery (September 2010) was a female only exhibition of surrealist art. I absolutely loved the exhibition, but at the same time, a bit sad that we had to have an independent exhibition for women. Throwing up the question - Is it still more comfortable for us to evaluate a women’s work only in comparison to that of other women? Another interesting idea from Chadwick is the notion of the woman as aesthetic object. This is another cultural aspect that undermines the position of the woman artist. A good example of this can be found in Johann Zoffany’s painting ‘The Academicians of the Royal Academy’ (1771-72.) The painting depicts members of the Academy in casual arrangement in a life drawing class. However, the two female members, Angelica Kauffmann and Mary Moser, do not appear as figures like their male contemporaries, but as paintings amongst the plaster casts and other objects which serve as inspiration for the male artists. This highlights that, despite their impressive careers as practicing artists and creators, the women are still positioned as objects of art rather than its producers. This painting also highlights another likely reason for the lack of female artists throughout history: life drawing, long considered as the basis of academic training in the arts was barred to women. It was viewed as a corrupting force that would disturb women’s delicate thoughts. In fact women were barred from most education: for example after Kauffmann and Moser, women were
barred altogether from the British Royal Academy for another 150 years. This lack of education for women, and the lack of opportunity for women to teach skills directly to one another must contribute to the lack of historical examples of female artists. So, I’ve discovered that there are any number of reasons for the lack of women artists within art history. But it’s not just history that concerns me, our modern art world is yet to become a place of equality amongst the sexes. According to www.brainstormersreport. net/Top30Offenders2008.html we can see there are still some pretty woeful percentages concerning the ratio of women to men in art galleries. But by following the examples of modern female artists such as Cindy Sherman and Kara Walker we can use the power of language and social codes to create a more equal playing field.
- Anna Frew
catullus #50 meets g o dard ’ s co n t e m p t Youth positions a girl like Bardot ass up, questioning if truly he loves all of her. At twenty-two this charm captivates his wit. She squeals through wine by the case. On her back he traces, an alternating game of brush and linger until the plaster falls from the ceiling below. She is feral beneath so much cotton. Moonlight. If day light was near with a chance just to speak with him. Food ceases to taste good alone. There is no solace in sleeping alone. There is a deadness that rises as she reclines on the sofa to write a poem for him. There is joy in suffering so deeply.
- Angela Brommel
aesthetically
pleasing -
what does it even mean?
The word ‘aesthetic’ has its roots in Greek, from aisthetikos (‘sensitive’) and aisthanesthai (‘to perceive, to feel’): the feeling in your gut when you know that something’s good. The dictionary tells me that in modern British it has come to mean ‘heightened sensitivity to beauty’, or ‘conforming to accepted notions of aesthetics’. Hang on, conforming to accepted notions of aesthetics? It seems a bit of leap from ‘a heightened sensitivity’ and gut feelings to majority rules. Is there a secret code of what is beautiful and what isn’t? Do we really all find the same things, people, clothes, music, art, buildings, beautiful? No, it can’t be, for one thing, ideas of beauty and fashion are notoriously subjective and transient. The renaissance brought us flowing hair, big doe eyes and now Tyra wants us smizing; Twiggy
was the image of the ‘60s while the ‘90s had heroine chic; and Hugh Hefner persistently sticks with his Identikit blondes. Clothes from All Saints with the ridiculous prices for thin fabric carefully produced by someone else to look like its been worn in and adapted to become uniquely fashionable. (There must be a lot of people who find these clothes aesthetically pleasing but not I.) I find ones individual creativity aesthetically pleasing whether this be classics or thrown together by sheer fluke. Hold tight, this is my big theory: at school we learn what it is ‘acceptable’ to find aesthetically pleasing, and what isn’t I remember one of my friends asking me who I fancied and I told them: James Nesbitt, Steven Tyler and Jonathan Creek. And they laughed.
Grrrrrrrrr! I’m no punk but by golly it does wind me up when some people are so scared of finding something different attractive. I believe this is why so many people try to look the same. In a group of girls there might be a pretty blonde one so the others try to copy her look: blonde highlights until they all morph into one. Embrace your personality, like what you like, buy what you want. If you like distressed clothes and celebrity phones go for it - Hurrah! ‘You may say I’m a dreamer but I’m not the only one’ Oh Mr Lennon I agree. What’s wrong with liking what we like? Why can some people have to find what is expected attractive? A symmetrical face, green grass, blue waters are all beautiful but surely the opposite can also be pleasing to someone! Maybe I am a dreamer, but excuse me I will not be buying into something just because someone tells me is aesthetically pleasing. I will defend the concept of ‘one mans meat is another mans poison’ because if that were not true then my heart would shatter. Ever the romantic, I have to believe that my Mr Darcy is dreaming of me right now and his best friend is dreaming of my best friend…. O’ Joyful! x - Ruth Sheils
the small things
the small things These next few pages are centered upon the joy discovered in simple pleasures. Not only the satisfaction found in embellishing the small objects around us everyday, but also the
thatare weinspired find in childhood Mynonsensical handmade pleasure illustrations nature and thenarratives everyday. and I likenatural to create whimsical scenes to forms. make you smile. - Maaya Lad - Maaya Lad
F R ACTAL PATTERNS I have unpleasant dreams, one of which recurs in quite harrowing a fashion. I’m back at school, running late, I can’t find my shoes and we haven’t learnt anything in maths for the last two years. In short, everything’s going wrong. I’m stuck in a regression that a lucid version of me would never care to make. Sometimes there’s a vague feeling of comfort, that everything’s going to be all right, but mostly there’s just consternation. Which brings me to miscellaneous hippie chicks. Zeus Ronin has lured us to a housewarming party for teenage film students. He doesn’t want to be the only old person here. Late twenties, the lost generation, we stand out through dint of our languid interactions; our gently indifferent eyes. Veronica and I agitate in the lounge area. We are trying to decide whether to stay inside or to wander out to the back stairs where Zeus is talking to the hippie chick. Terrible music. Strange art dripping off the walls. We re-arrange
magnetised words on the fridge, but that is not enough. Something feels wrong. The party glides on (rather like a game of Thanatos on the old Amstrad) and slowly the realisation dawns that we and everything around us are merely figments of imagination. Deja vu, perhaps? Certainly, there’s familiarity here; all the trappings of an unpleasant regression. And then it hits us: Zeus Ronin has slipped back in time. He is dreaming. “Did you know,” the hippie chick proclaims from within the bellows of a cigarette, “that grass grows like snow?” It is a hypothetical question, requiring nothing more of us than stunned silence. “What do you mean?” Zeus eventually asks. He is rather drunk and might actually be interested. “Grass grows in a pattern like a snowflake.” Totally self-assured. A puff of smoke. Half-shut eyes like a crafty dragon sitting on gold.
“Really?” Zeus is gob-smacked. “Grass grows in patterns?” “Like a fractal?” Veronica suggests, searchingly. “Yes,” the hippie chick agrees, managing to gloss over this potential complication. “Grass grows in sixsided formations.” Which would seem to require some clarification. Zeus shakes his head in wonderment, and reiterates: “Six sides...” “Unless it’s constrained,” I muse. “If it’s in a garden then it just grows in rectangles.” But wait. Is it really me who says that, or is it a semi-lucid Zeus Ronin, raising his conceptual eyebrows and turning restlessly in his sleep? Ultimately, there is no way to tell. We must live for the moment. Now, if I were to inquire then Veronica would probably tell me that fractals are geometric shapes, fragmented but alike at all levels of magnification. Grass, on the other hand, is a weed. So what do they share in common? Not that much. Unless you are with us at the teenage house-warming; out on the back stairs with Zeus Ronin and the hippie chick; here on this Friday night, where all is as we see or seem.
- Jacob Andrews
flame Die gently tonight (my phoenix), smolder slowly through night till the rage flash again as your own dawn light; between your red embers I’ll rest warmly.
- Maude Larke
colophon for G. i like you best in the lower case, snugged beside me on the starched white sheet. See how we fit together, front of head to back cowlicked, consonant-curled in leggy tandem. we might be quail, shy mates huddled private in our snowy field, plump and faded as old luggage.
- Jane Andrews
*Greek kolophon: summit, an inscription used by printers at the end of a manuscript.
why is
the ugly so fascinati ng ? Car crash Telly. It’s a guilty pleasure. I love it. In fact, I’m bashing out this articles in between various Top Model Programmes (America’s Next Top Model 6-7pm, and Britain and Ireland’s Next Top Model 9-10pm). My addiction to shit reality shows is legendary. I’ll watch anything (ok, almost anything- I draw the line at The Only Way is Essex). I don’t know why, and I can’t justify it. I think it’s a combination of horror and awe: I can honestly say that my sister and I have ever practiced bikini waxes on each other, and when I make dinner for my housemate she doesn’t score me out of ten- we can’t invite people round for dinner anyway: we only have four chairs. Oh and then there’s the crying. Always at least 90% tears (or so it seems) it is all so removed from what I think of as ‘real’ life. There’s got to be part of me that enjoys feeling superior, David Frost said “Television enables you to be entertained in your home by people you wouldn’t
have in your home”, and honestly he’s right. I can spend half an hour feeling a cut (‘kut’?) above the Kardashians, then go on with my life. But it’s not healthy, is it? Of course, being entertained by the base level of humanity is nothing new. The Victorians had freak shows after all, and put dead babies in jars, and of course John Merrick, who became a celebrity of his time. Is my compulsion to watch a programme about Katie Price’s life any different? Of course the idea of using the most base of human interactions isn’t limited to the freak show, or to freak-television. Artists have been using the base elements of humanity for years: Julia Kristeva, in her 1980 book ‘Powers of Horror’, defined Abject Art, and said “refuse and corpses show me what I permanently thrust aside in order to live”, Abject art is concerned with all the body and bodily functions,
and as such seems very intertwined with feminism- think Cindy Sherman, or Carolee Schneenman- and the whether female bodily functions are ‘abjected’ by the patriarchal society. Although, maybe the social commentary of ‘Interior Scroll’ is somewhat different to watching Kim Kardashian’s Playboy photo shoot. In a particularly typical self-contradictory manner, I stopped buying trashy magazines, about a year ago. There was something about documenting cellulite and ‘baby-bump watching’ that I began to find a bit distasteful. So why am I happy to watch Tyra teach wannabe models to slide down a wall and be “sexy, not like a hoochie, sexy, like a model sexy”? There’s the voluntary aspect of it I suppose, unlike celebrities who are just trying to sneak to Tesco to get a pint of milk, these people seem to be courting the attention- I’m invited into their houses, into their lives and it seems rude to say no. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a date with Elle.
- Betsy Lamborn
Trash TV I have watched in the last week: America’s Next Top Model Britain and Ireland’s Next Top Model Come Dine With Me The Glee Project Keeping up With The Kardashians Kourtney and Kloe Take Maiami Underage and Pregnant Geordie Finishing School for Girls
fragmentation Perhaps we Are each a half a face… The collective cut and paste of Individual features too frightened To be seen as whole~ Perhaps it is the Division of what we know will only be Picked apart~ This fragmentation of Attributes into solitary expression~ There will always be pieces… We have become Curiously One Dimensional Through filters of black & white and luminosity~ We Know there is a way to speak Without speaking~ Because Everything whispers… Our secrets Leak From the Absence of eyes And contrasted curl of Soundless lips~ Chromatic And posterized neath accents Of pinpointed light~ Leaving Traces of reticulation~ Muted By conscious applications Of Gaussian blur~ We fade Into A ~Watermarked opacity~ A diffused pixilation of what we wish to see
her eyes hold sea water Her Sage eyes hold Sea water the way that Water holds a woman’s secrets Hair of coral, seaweed, and tangled Anemone~ She is the color of chrysalis Shining like a dew drop in morning~ Swallows tides within her mouth~ A universe swimming in The fish bowl of her belly~ She is an anomaly blowing stories into Sea shells because she was never really from Mississippi~ She Is sunkissed and sunburned~ Ocean tossed and weather Worn~ Shedding her scalloped scales like Glass petals upon the shore~ She has the Residue Of Salt on Her tongue And sand between Her toes to remind her of her Identity~ I wonder how she adapted to Walking and the abrasive absurdity of clothes I wonder if her body undulates to the same music As her words~ If her lips taste like starbursts and Lemon along her neckline~ Who dares splash Beneath the garment of her skin where Her heart remains boldly ~Naked~ ?
- Leila A. Fortier
- Michelle Gulch
- Michelle Gulch
ART AND A
WINTER
LANDSCAPE Shadows stretch their arms and yawn as they lie upon a bed rumpled by trails of footprints disappearing into the distance like a perspective drawing of converging railway tracks. Blanketed with snow-laden pines, mountains watch the shadows sleep under a ceiling of cirrus cloud – their contours sketched upon a vast canvas. Blue – everything is swathed in shades of blue: smoke curling up from chimneys, sky, snow-capped mountains, ice on the lake – reflections of Picasso’s Blue Period; the light – crisp, sharp and focused – a tribute to nature’s artistry as she paints a winter landscape.
- Fern G. Z. Carr
FUTURE SUBMISSIONS
N
ow you’ve read our efforts, and (hopefully) you liked it, perhaps you are thinking “I could do this, for I am an artist/writer/ journalist/illustrator/maker/doer and I would like to contribute to the next issue of VK”, read on… The theme for the next issue will be:
“tell me a story” If you would like to submit a piece of creative writing, please attach it as a word file saved as your name and email it to us. Include a short biography about yourself in the email. Please note, the word limit for creative writing pieces is 500 words.
like to produce. We are particularly interested in visual narratives. If you have any questions, or a more unusual proposal please feel free to email us. Important points: The final submission date for all work is the 31st October All work should be emailed to: submit@vapidmedia.co.uk We will email everyone back, because we hate it when people don’t reply to us.
If you’d like to write us an article please email us with a short outline of what you propose. If you would like to produce some artwork or illustrations, please email us either with examples of what you would like to submit, or a proposal for the work you would
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