CREATED BY MARIE ANNETOINETTE FOR MERMAID CASTLE PRODUCTIONS | WWW.MERCASTLE.COM | WWW.SOCIETY6.COM/MERCASTLE/
womanist 1. FROM WOMANISH. (Opp. of “girlish,” i.e., frivolous, irresponsible, not serious.) A black feminist or feminist of color. From the black folk expression of mothers to female children, “You acting womanish,” i.e., like a woman. Usually referring to outrageous, audacious, courageous or willful behavior. Wanting to know more and in greater depth than is considered “good” for one. Interested in grown-up doings. Acting grown up. Being grown up. Interchangeable with another black folk expression: “You trying to be grown.” Responsible. In charge. Serious. 2. Also: A woman who loves other women, sexually and/or nonsexually. Appreciates and prefers women’s culture, women’s emotional flexibility (values tears as natural counterbalance of laughter), and women’s strength. Sometimes loves individual men, sexually and/or nonsexually. Committed to survival and wholeness of entire people, male and female. Not a separatist, except periodically, for health. Traditionally universalist, as in: “Mama, why are we brown, pink, and yellow, and our cousins are white, beige, and black?” Ans.: “Well, you know the colored race is just like a flower garden, with every color flower represented.” Traditionally capable, as in: “Mama, I’m walking to Canada and I’m taking you and a bunch of other slaves with me.” Reply: “It wouldn’t be the first time.” 3. Loves music. Loves dance. Loves the moon. Loves the Spirit. Loves love and food and roundness. Loves struggle. Loves the Folk. Loves herself. Regardless. 4. Womanist is to feminist as
to
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EVERYTHING IN THIS ZINE WAS CREATED BY MARIE ANNETOINETTE, UNLESS OTHERWISE STATED 1.
Excerpt from In Search of Our Mothers ’
Gardens by Alice Walker: the definition of “womanist” 2.
Table of Contents (you are here)
3.
Letter from the Editor: The Femme Issue Part One
4.
Feature: How to Not Be Afraid of Yourself
5.
Playlist: *frail*
6.
The Caro Intro to Sad Brown Girl Poetry: Alice Walker, In Search of Our Mothers ’
Gardens 7.
Style: 2016 Aesthetic: Soft Black
8.
Art: Journals That I Wish I Had
I hate feeling like the markers that people use to identify women* aren't present in me. I don't feel like people take me seriously as a feminine woman, especially when I'm not making the extra effort to appear ultra-feminine, to conform to the Western American standards of femininity in dress and manners. I'm not even speaking in purely sexual sense. Even among my female friends I often feel like the beast of burden, the emotional support, the one who's needs don't have to be taken into account because I'm not supposed to have the same needs the other women have, I guess? Even among other women, I feel like I'm supposed to be a/the masculine entity. And maybe that's a problem with how we view men and masculinity, also: an indication of what we expect of them in a given situation. And that's one of the many reasons I have been reticent to be involved with a woman (aside from my doubts about the rightness of it according to the Scriptures). I already know I would get the short end of that stick. I am attracted to other femmes, and it looks like in most lesbian relationships there's only room enough for one feminine entity and I'm not far along enough on that scale to be that one. But that doesn't make me less. Here’s the reality: me being myself, looking like myself does not fit into typical feminine mold of what it means to be a woman. And yet, I am. The basic argument is that I’m choosing not to succumb to my true feminine nature or that if I want to be perceived as more feminine and treated as a
feminine person I should make more of an effort to conform is toxic. I was tired, am tired. And heartbroken much of the time. While I’m not misgendered in person, I’m still informed, by reactions, and treatment that I fail as a woman. And for a moment I almost bought it, almost forgot what these last few years have taught me. My femme identity is purposeful and intentional. I don’t have to destroy pieces and parts of myself to be the woman— the femme— “you” want me to be. It's about appreciating each other as feminine people. To be honest I am attracted to feminine men as well, often more than masculine men, and other feminine nonbinary people and desire to appreciate each other as femmes. That feels like an almost necessary part of a romantic relationship to me, *shrug*. I hate the fact that some people don't take the fact that I am feminine into account. Maybe that's why I it took me a long time to understand the lesbian butch/stud identity. In a world where I'm constantly being denied my womanhood and my femininity both because of my weight and my skin color, and my facial features, I just... It doesn't fit in my mind that someone would want to throw that... privilege(?) away. I don't get it. I ain't mad at you, but I don't get it. (I also know that I don't have to get it.) An ideal romantic relationship--in my expectation--is the one place where femininity can be truly appreciated by a person who (obviously) took pains to recognize it in me and finds me desirable because of it and I can do the same. It might be easier to fully commit myself to fitting into what a desirable woman should. Thinner, lighter, softer. But I would also be dead inside. This issue is just part one of the discussion. The next issue of Caro will explore other femme’s interpretation of Femmeity through interviews, conversations, and essay responses to articles and blog posts considered with this very topic. Thank and I hope you enjoy this months-long labor of love. *Through this essay you'll see that I begin to shift from woman to feminine person to recognize the fact that there are masculine women, feminine men, and nonbinary persons that subscribe to masculine and feminine identity. I didn't correct all instances to show the shift in my thinking as this essay progressed. I also want to note that in speaking of men and women, I am including trans persons. If you have any corrections or concerns please don't hesitate to tell me I am always striving to learn and grow. :)
CREATED BY MARIE ANNETOINETTE FOR MERMAID CASTLE PRODUCTIONS | WWW.MERCASTLE.COM | WWW.SOCIETY6.COM/MERCASTLE/
Constant Craving :: kd.. lang Ghost :: August Eve Crazy Times :: Jars of Clay Che Si Puo Fare :: Barbara Strozzi, sung by Mariana Flores Meet the Frownies :: Mr. Twin Sister Werewolf :: Cat Power Wall :: Nils Frahm Frail :: Jars of Clay All We Have is Now :: The Flaming Lips
Do you know what it’s like to be so afraid of something inside yourself that you can’t even think about it? Can’t acknowledge even that fear, because to acknowledge the fear is to acknowledge that there is something to be afraid of. Can you imagine fleeting edges of thoughts the slight rise of an emotion, being pushed down, swatted away, and wiped clean in less than the blink of an eye, never to be recognized? Can you imagine being angry and sad and hurt all the time and only being able to understand a little bit of why?
This was what I was experiencing before I acknowledged to myself that I was bisexual;. Abruptly leaving jobs, and organizations, and friendships whenever the threat of attraction got too close but not actually being able to recognize why because I couldn’t think about it too deeply. Wondering why I was hurting my friends and myself by suddenly distancing myself, pulling away, not answering calls or texts, just feeling like it was necessary. To be honest, even though I don’t have the same mindset, the habit of stepping out of friendships before they get too deep just in case is ingrained and I have to fight against the impulse just to be able to make friends. Trust is so hard. I can't explain the exact moment I moved from "I'm straight but I have weird feelings sometimes that I'm going to pretend never happen," to "I'm bi, I am also attracted to women as well as men, as well as nonbinary people, this is apart of me and it's okay." Probably because it happened so slowly that that a single moment can't define it. Some of it was gentle probing from friends and family. Some of it was having to confront bi/homo/transphobia in others head-on, and knowing that I couldn't do so while not investigating those biases within myself. Some of it was just being tired of the mental and spiritual gymnastics. I think I thought acknowledging that I was attracted to women would be the end. And to be honest it was *an* end. I had to reconcile my view of myself with the reality I had been running away from. That I was one of those people I had been taught to fear. I had to reconcile myself with the reality that the pain and fear I had been living, I had also helped inflict on others. There were (are) deeply embedded viewpoints about gender and sexuality that I had to let go of. It *was* the end of me, as I understood myself. But it was also a new beginning I can be (more) honest; now: "the end" is scary and I haven't fully reconciled all parts of who I am (Black Southern Woman) (Christian) (Bi Femme). The fear of myself, of my shadow side, of who am yet to become hasn't actually subsided. But there's a hope, and a joy, and a community that is more attractive than living in stasis and self-denial. I am rebuilding. #BiVisibilityWeek CREATED BY MARIE ANNETOINETTE FOR MERMAID CASTLE PRODUCTIONS | WWW.MERCASTLE.COM | WWW.SOCIETY6.COM/MERCASTLE/
This month hasn’t really been a poetry month; I might even dare to say that this year hasn’t been a poetry year. Even though I love the art of poetry, I have more recently found it difficult to connect, especially when I’m not in the mood (by which I mean, I find it hard to write and read poetry when it feels like more important things are going on in the world and in myself. It distresses me that when I’m feeling too deeply, I seem to lose my voice, when it seems that others are actually fueled and are able to express what I want to say. I don’t know what this means for me as writer, that I can’t seem to write to express myself.)
In any case, a part of my journey to regain my poetic voice, has been reading more work by other writers like myself, the ones who seem to have the words I’m looking for. In the first pat of In Search of Our Mothers’ Gardens, Walker highlights the lives and work of women who have been artistic models for her and through whom she found encouragement and not just for art itself, but how to live as an artist. It chronicles her journey to identify the then-unmarked grave of Zora Neale Hurston in Ft. Pierce, Florida. The first chapter of Part 3 hosts the titular essay “In Search of Our Mothers’ Gardens” written by Walker in 1974. She examines the plight, the psychology, the circumstances of Black women enslaved and impoverished who would have been artists but had their avenues of expression completely torn away from them: “WHEN THE POET Jean Toomer walked through the South in the early twenties, he discovered a curious thing: black women whose spirituality was so intense, so deep, so unconscious, that they were themselves unaware of the richness they held. They stumbled blindly through their lives: creatures so abused and mutilated in body, so dimmed and confused by pain, that they considered themselves unworthy even of hope(… ) In the still heat of the post -Reconstruction South, this is how they seemed to Jean Toomer: exquisite butterflies trapped in an evil honey, toiling away their lives in an era, a century, that did not acknowledge them, except as “the mule of the world.” They dreamed dreams that no one knew— not even themselves, in any coherent fashion— and saw visions no one could understand(… ) What did it mean for a black woman to be an artist in our grandmothers’ time? In our great-grandmothers’ day? It is a question with an answer cruel enough to stop the blood(… ) When we have pleaded for understanding, our character has been distorted; when we have asked for simple caring, we have been handed empty inspirational appellations, then stuck in the farthest corner. When we have asked for love, we have been given children. In short, even our plainer gifts, our labors of fidelity and love, have been knocked down our throats. To be an artist and a black woman, even today, lowers our status in many respects, rather than raises it: and yet, artists we will be.” (emphasis added)
Femmeity is motherhood daughterhood, sisterhood, and the communion of CREATED BY MARIE ANNETOINETTE FOR MERMAID CASTLE PRODUCTIONS | WWW.MERCASTLE.COM | WWW.SOCIETY6.COM/MERCASTLE/
femme creation. When I ask myself why this is so important, one of my favorite Bible passages comes to mind: I am very dark, but lovely, O daughters of Jerusalem, like the tents of Kedar, like the curtains of Solomon. Do not gaze at me because I am dark, because the sun has looked upon me. My mother's sons were angry with me; they made me keeper of the vineyards, but my own vineyard I have not kept! (Song of Solomon 1:5-6 ESV)
In Walker’s celebration of discovering her mother’s (and other generations of Black women’s) artistic soul in the clothes and quilts she made, the gardens she grew, in the way she beautified their home, despite how ramshackle as it happened to be, I see the same joy that exploded online and in person during the release of Beyoncé's visual album Lemonade. In both works the difficulty to express one’s pain is channeled through the lives of voices of our ancestors, creating a reverberation that, while not answering all of the questions about the pain that we continue to experience or relieving the ache of STILL being hindered from tending our own spiritual, mental, and creative vineyards, offers comfort and unveils a way forward and through to a new height of expression. It is through remembering ourselves our sisters, our mothers, and yes, our brothers and non-gendered siblings too, that we find freedom in a less than free world. It’s through immersing myself in the works of other Black queer femmes that I’ve been able to complete this issue of caro at all, even when my tongue felt to heavy to move and fingers on the keyboard were paralyzed by the depth of my own personal ache. When I wished I could sit down with my mom and just talk all of it out, while looking through her journals and the boxes of banner fabric she left, even though I know there are so many ways we would not agree (no, I don’t believe in a pre-tribulation rapture anymore; yes, I’m a progressive; no, Mom, I’m not straight; Yes, I go to an Anglican church… ) (would it have even been productive, if I could speak to her beyond the grave?). Somehow it matters still, that I need to speak with her and it matters that she spoke her art at all.
My mother with my younger sister, after our youngest sister was bor n.
br own skin, black hair, African features, pink, red, pastel, black art, femme, black music, flowers, black cool, vulnerability, love love and more love
CREATED BY MARIE ANNETOINETTE FOR MERMAID CASTLE PRODUCTIONS | WWW.MERCASTLE.COM | WWW.SOCIETY6.COM/MERCASTLE/
CREATED BY MARIE ANNETOINETTE FOR MERMAID CASTLE PRODUCTIONS | WWW.MERCASTLE.COM | WWW.SOCIETY6.COM/MERCASTLE/
CREATED BY MARIE ANNETOINETTE FOR MERMAID CASTLE PRODUCTIONS | WWW.MERCASTLE.COM | WWW.SOCIETY6.COM/MERCASTLE/
To see the full moodboard, please visit htt p://bit.do/softblack2016
So I'm still working on the next issue of Caro. It's taking me forever to put together and this theme (femme, femininity, womanhood, gender, queerness, race, etc.) is really putting me through the wringer. It's good because it's personal, and that's always what I want the zine to be; that's why I don't do submissions even though I love that type of collaboration. It's good because I'm doing a lot of self-reflection, reading, and self-examination. But I'm also facing some internalized ish that is leaving me raw on the inside. I won't say more, because it will be in the zine, but let it suffice to say that the next issue *is* coming but it might take a minute :( #zine #poczine #woczine #queerzine #polyvorepoc #pocpolyvore #polyvorezine
Mostly I’m wishing that I was already done with this issue, but now I’m actually going to have to break it into two parts, because there’s so much I need to write that I have no energy for. Selfexcavation is definitely a thing. It’s 11:11am and I am hoping for more energy, hoping for acceptance, hoping no one reads this zine and finds my words contrived, meaningless, or stupid. Hoping that people understand that when I talk about femmeity and bisexuality I’m not just talking about sex and make-up. Hoping readers understand that I’m talking about a mystery that I have no other word for than sisterhood though I mean it in a way that expands for beyond birth and gender. I look into myself and into other Black queer femmes and see darkness and light, multitudes and
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mysteries., reaches and possibilities for a different understanding of the world, of myself. Hoping that like me we see an answer to the question, “Does it have to be like this?”
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