Q3's Bad Feminists: Art Collection

The Bad Feminists art | photography | poetry

Cover artwork by Izzy Boulton It’s a collage of a photo i took at the Women’s March on Ottawa whilst I was studying abroad earlier on this year. It depicts my friend holding up her banner on Parliament Hill with the slogan ‘Fight Like a Girl’. I chose this photo because it was the first march I had ever been on and i was so overwhelmed with emotion whilst walking with my friends. It was such a supportive atmosphere, with people of all ages and gender taking part. It was amazing to walk down the streets of one of my favourite cities and feel so empowered. As we walked one woman in particular struck me, she stood on the pavement waving her scarf shouting “Thank you for everything you’re doing, god bless you!”, and other people were waving from their offices in support. It was an incredible day and I think this collage summarises my experience.

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Letter from the editor Editing Q3’s seventh theme, ‘The Bad Feminists’, has been a wonderful experience; however, curating the following collection of feminist artwork, photography and poetry has been my favourite part of the job so far. As second-wave feminists made it clear, ‘the personal is political’ – and there is no better, more honest way to express the personal and affect the political than through art. The following pieces represent how people think of feminism, how strong an importance the movement holds for them.

Some see feminism as a form of activism (as seen in Izzy Boulton’s artwork), others associate it with private experiences (evident in Lilia Ikonomova’s poetry), yet others get their inspiration from female icons (such as Isobel Roach in her featured poem). One thing is clear: the fire of feminism gives people undeniable power.

I chose to contribute my self-portrait and an oil painting to this collection. The oil painting, as seen below, is called ‘The Mermaid & The Snake’. It attempts to illustrate the way some men attempt to manipulate, control and possess women in a snake-like manner. Their bright yellow colouring may appear intriguing at first glance; however, shiny appearances can only distract for so long. The vibrant, boldly-coloured mermaids (representing independent women) cannot be controlled quite so easily.

Yes, their world may be infested by snakes who try to wrap themselves around them, but the mermaids are too quick, too strong, too smart to ever be truly captured. The mermaids needn’t fight, they escape by simply being themselves; in the meantime, the snakes drown in their own selfish agendas.

I hope you enjoy the following collection as much as I enjoyed editing it, and perhaps be inspired to create even more art. Regardless of how casually it is sometimes received, I truly believe that art holds the strength to change the world.

Lucy Aprahamian, Q3 Editor-in-Chief

‘The Mermaid & The Snake’

by Lucy Aprahamian oil on canvas, Aug 2018 3

Self-portrait

by Lucy Aprahamian charcoal and graphite pencils 2013

Flower

by Janani Suri They’d planted seeds of expectation When they recruited me “Bloom into a warrior, a lover, Champion for equality, Fight to prove – we fight our battles, All for one, one for all” The sisterhood said, as if one.

These admirable dreams Floated around me as I put out shoots, Cajoled access to everything That my brothers and friends had The same football games, The same late nights, Hesitation gave way to resignation and eventually To acceptance.

There was no difference between them and I; We were the same.

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All of social media rang with my voice As I budded into more global avenues The same jobs as my brothers, The same amount for services, I wanted the same path to advancement The looks came in then, Eyes blazed at my demands As their voices brand me “angry” and “hateful” For asking for the same As they got.

I germinated in their disapproval Clothes of any length were okay, If I wanted to.

I could marry when I wanted, Love whom I desired, date whichever way I wanted, Cross lines I wanted to cross, Back away if I wasn’t fully in, Procreate when I was good and ready, Make the choice to stay home, My stalks grew tall, my leaves green and rich Shading those who knew and accepted me, Blowing away those who told me to stop..

As the rich tints of my petals Begin their journey into public vision, I am loved, I am praised by the sisterhood For the efforts I have made.

The rights I have gained For the people I have shamed.

I see the world with new eyes sometimes, Wonder if I had pushed a little less For what was equal I would’ve had an easier growth Maybe if the sisterhood Had let go of our need for domination We’d not have watched our good brothers Go down for crimes they didn’t commit If they so much as looked at us wrong.

As I’m prepared I bloom in the guilt, Bloom in the expectation Bloom in the sisterhood So many ways to grow, So little time

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Artwork by Nichola Bagshaw ‘Deep Waters’ (left) and ‘Grass Pillow’ (right)

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photography by Charlie Troulan (pages 8-11)

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Choice

Artwork and poetry by Sumaiya Quraishi

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Contortionist ‘Contortionist’ is a critique of society’s continuous demands of women; inconsistent, unjust, exhausting—a cycle of misery.

Conform, contort, comply A little to the left, a little to the right The voices echo Feed the fire in my lungs I breathe a little heavier but I still run My limbs are tired but I can no longer twist no more turn An audience forever unsatisfied the show? It never ends.

Disciplined creatures ‘Disciplined creatures’ attempts to discuss society’s dialogue addressing attacks against women, dehumanising the attackers. In doing so not only do we implicitly but incorrectly shift the responsibility of these attacks on to women by making them the sole thinking creatures in the situation, obliged to have taken preventative measures beforehand; we also accept that the attacking men are incapable of reason, are lesser creatures who do not have the autonomy to be found blameworthy, who can exercise no control over themselves. As it is plainly apparent, this is not the case, being human is being a thinking creature and so such language ought to be avoided; it blames the victim, it overlooks the possibility for a future that is better to and for women. Our capacity to think means we can change, we are capable of it, men are capable of doing better. It also points out our hypocrisy in finding women inferior in the roles of leaders and decision makers. We make excuses for men as attackers saying this is who they are, ‘men will be men’, they’re control questionable. Yet when it comes to female success and prosperity, positions of power, our rhetoric shifts to ‘women are too emotional, their judgements are too clouded’.

A stroll?

Oh no, no not tonight Only ever in the daylight The dark; it is refuge to preying creatures uncontrolled heathens In light; they govern I’m not fit to my discipline or there’s; the more questionable?

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objectifixation if my body were a masterpiece: the painted dyeing of my ovaries the writhing roting in my cavities the drawnout decay of my arteries

i refuse to call you zeus oh i have been starving hungry for your power you who called me darling you who made me cower you who turned my body in a tower and told me it was best to lock myself. you who turned me into something else. something quite disturbing. aching. breaking. burning. something kept too static: crackling and erratic: tearing through the fabric: am i not igniting? sizzling-striking–charring— am i not like lightning?

Poetry by Lilia Ikonomova

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femininity girls are ruthless in the way we starve our bodies mar our skin and kill our hearts so you would call us gentle.

strap marks i know they told you there are parts of you they find obscene– that you should keep your curves in– that you should cover your skin– but your body was made by the hands of infinity and men were always too cowardly to face divinity.

cosmos they say us girls are vulnerable at night: our hair flung back like a comet’s tail our skin aglow like starlight our irises like an eclipse; they say us girls are dangerous at night: our smiles push planets out of orbit our glances open black holes our bodies like meteors; they say us girls are dangerous at night: and they are right.

perspective girls are soft as wolf’s fur subtle as a starburst fragile as a porcelain knife and we sting, we cut, we bite; girls were born with strings tied to our wrists and we’ll gently drag you down; you will lean in for a kiss and we’ll steal your paper crowns.

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Artwork by Jasmine Snow Inspired by Jefferson Lima’s photography

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Percy and Mary Shelley take London

by Isobel Roach Fever in the exiled quarters; Mary takes gulps of freedom At the window by her late Mother’s grave. The dead name Taught her to write, to hold Stone inheritances in one Hand and Want in the other.

Father won’t see them; Every grimed mouth is made For their name, His name, And Mary takes a pencil Between her fingers and Feels its grey tip scar her skin.

What is it that they say about her?

Faithless. Mother of dead things And monsters. Mistress of Roman Frenzies and supple to the bard’s Fleshy touch. Wife to no one.

Spirit of cold beds. Phantom of Father’s fury. The girl that plays With making life.

One night when He is chasing Spirits and numb with bad wine, Mary opens a notebook and Wonders who she is. The ink Tears through her coward’s soul and comes out thin, a script trained To loveliness Reborn in the shape of a nightmare.

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Artwork by Nicole Rees-Williams

Acknowledgements Editing and design by: Lucy Aprahamian

Contributors:

Izzy Boulton | Lilia Ikonomova | Sumaiya Quraishi Nicole Rees-Williams | Isobel Roach | Jasmine Snow Janani Suri | Charlie Troulan