body art

Orlan

Jenny Saville 

Cindy Sherman

I was feeling rather hateful towards my body tonight. It's an old familiar feeling, and it's incredibly cruel. I feel disgust and contempt and anger. It's this ugly body's fault that I am not happy, that I am not in a relationship, that I am shy and self-conscious. My poor body. I shouldn't be so abusive towards it.  Even after all of the work I have been putting in to not falling for those same old lies (that diets work, that thinness equals love and happiness, that fat is ugly, that I am worthless and unlovable because of my shapeless and ugly body), they still creep up on me. If I don't check them swiftly and often they'll take hold of me and choke me before I even realize what's happening. Sometimes the lies get so loud in my head that the only way to shut them up to start a new diet, obsess over everything I eat, force myself to exercise when I don't want to. Of course doing things you hate doing is unsustainable and I give up soon enough (usually feeling like a total failure). 

This is hard on me. I don't want to be like that. I want to call bullshit on the whole cycle, on all of the lies, and especially on how justified and righteous I feel when I bash myself for something that is so much not in my control. I'm pretty sure that perverse feeling of righteousness comes from when I was younger and I bought in to everyone's cruel remarks about my body. They would let up if I agreed with them. As long as they knew I despised myself as much as they did, my fatness was slightly more acceptable. Sometimes they would even be nice ("no, you're not that fat!"). Or maybe it's my Mormon habit of constant self examination, the constant comparison of myself with others to check my own standing before God, the constant struggle towards perfection (which I'm also learning to give up, or at least rethink, for the sake of my emotional health and sanity). In any case I firmly believe that no good comes from self-contempt, from guilt, or from comparison with other people. How can I be healthy physically if I hate my body? How can I be healthy spiritually if I get caught in guilt cycles? How can I be healthy emotionally if I compare myself with the fraction of what I know of other people's lives? 

Fortunately I caught it before I woke up tomorrow morning with a new diet in mind. I won't do it. I do not eat badly and I don't need to change any of my eating habits. I move my body every day, and I certainly could move it more, but I think that means I need to find things to get me out of the house and doing stuff. I want to live with a purpose and it's hard to be purposeful when I'm running as fast as I can on a machine going no where. My brain does not like that.

Also, this article helped a lot to remind me that diets are evil and that I don't have to hide my body. Also I bought some fantastic new clothes. I read an article the other day in Bitch Magazine about "fatshion" and how we fat ladies should not be hiding our bodies in shame. She talked about how using fashion to be visible is political, it's participating in fat activism. Visible bodies are powerful bodies; they are speaking bodies, and they demand to be seen and heard. That's why fashion in general is important for women, and why it is especially important for fat women to take seriously. (Seriously, there's this theory called "presence politics" that I plan on learning more about this summer). They want us to hate ourselves into dieting (they being the diet industry first and foremost, but also the people who buy into the cult of the body and the narrowly defined ideals of beauty that actually causes all but a small percentage of people to suffer for it). They want us to disappear, or to fulfill stereotypes and dress like lazy slobs so they can feel righteous and justified in their shaming. So instead of being committed to a diet, I'm going to be committed to finding and wearing loud clothes (which believe me can be very very difficult in a world where the only clothes I can fit into are either online or only found in one store at the mall. Clearly fatties are more profitable in the diet industry than in the fashion industry). So I bought four new patterned tops for my trip to New York next week (which is a big deal because I hardly ever wear patterned fabric). And I'm going to flaunt it.  I also bought a necklace, which is again a big deal because I never accessorize. 

So yeah, don't hate your body. It's beautiful. It's a freaking miracle. And I'll try to not hate mine. 

some girls are bigger than others

I was at Target today and there was a rack of $5 tights, really cute tights in all different colors. There were golden tights and some in dark teal; there were pink, red, green tights.  I was ready to buy a pair in every color. Only, the XL tights were limited to black and gray, and they were very nearly gone. The mediums and smalls in the lovely colors were piled high.  I guess fat girls aren't allowed to buy golden tights? Maybe they think they'll sell fewer of them because fat people don't shop for anything but sweatpants? Funny how all the XLs were almost out of stock.

Before that I was with some friends at Kohls and I thought I'd look and see if they have any jeans.  Again, they had them piled high in sizes 4, 6, 8, 10, but very few in 16 and none in 18. I looked around the store and saw a lot of larger women and I wondered where they bought all of their clothes. You'd think that of all the places that would stock larger sizes in misses would be the place where moms shop for their momjeans. Why are fat women exiled to fat lady specialty shops? I personally can't shop in "plus size" clothing stores because a) all the clothes there are ugly and b) I lack girth in the hip and thigh area. A size 18 in misses will fit me fine, and a size 18 or a 1X in "plus size" will fall off of me.

I suppose it's a good thing that it's nearly impossible for me to find clothes, because, as a friend told me recently, I'm kind of addicted to shopping.  I guess it's better to shop and shop and shop and never find any thing to buy than to be surrounded by cute clothes that actually fit. It's saving me money.

Remember, some girls are bigger than others...

you are not my typewriter, but you could be my demon moving forward through the flaming doors

I've found that when I title posts with lines from songs I can trick the people who are looking up lyrics to read my blog.  So, if you're here looking for lyrics to Wilco's "War on War" you're still in luck!  They're at the end of the post, along with a nice video from youtube.  I hope that means if you're a Wilco fan you'll love me and start following my blog.  

Anyway, I thought of this particular song because, as you'll see, I mention a book in this post called Krieg dem Krieg, which translates into War on War.  It's a hard book to look at, so I don't recommend looking it up, but it's basically a propaganda book published by a pacifist to show the horrors of war.  It's very gruesome and unpleasant, but I think he drives his point home well enough.  Anyway, on with the post. 

I went to see the doctor today.  It was my first experience with national healthcare and I have to say that it so far really hasn't been that much different from my experience with privatized healthcare.  I did have to wait for twenty minutes, but I can't remember ever being directly ushered into an examine room in the States.  The appointment was for only 10 minutes, which is quite short, but I felt that it made it far more pleasant for me. The doctor was kind and efficient, he listened to me and referred me for blood tests and then I left.  The best part was that I left without having to settle a bill.  

Did you know that the NHS was established in 1948 so that healthcare could "meet the needs of everyone, be free at the point of delivery, and be based on clinical need, not ability to pay"? Such insanely radical, communist, ideas that can undo the entire economic and social system of a once great, and soon to be fallen nation.  oh.  wait.  The NHS was started in 1948? And it's 2011? Where are all the death panels? Am I missing something?

Also, why is it that in the US we rarely hear about national healthcare and its successes?  I didn't even know that the UK had national healthcare for so long.  I know the system is far from perfect, but it seems to be functioning.  I wish I'd known more about it during the healthcare debates last year. 

Anyway, I'm blogging now during my lunch break because I've decided that I need to compartmentalize my time a little bit more, and after lunch I must focus on researching at the library.  I've realized last night that if I want to stay in London to finish this PhD I must work much harder than I have been.  I need to submit papers to conferences and journals and I need to show that I'm using my time very wisely on my thesis research.  I have to give a presentation in a couple of weeks on my research and I want to blow their socks off.  

I've shifted the focus of my topic and I feel a lot less anxious and restrained now.  I'll keep talking about World War One and the body depicted in art from the time, but I've decided to expand the view into other wars and at the same time narrow down the kind of bodies I'm interested in looking at.  The type of body is the grotesque male and female body, and I'll look at stuff from Walt Whitman, to Goya, to the war poets, to Dix, to the Dada movement, to Catch 22.  I'll look at these depictions of the grotesque body often as a type of anti-war protest and also as means of healing and transcendence. That sounds nice, yeah?  Yeah, I thought so.  Here are some images I am considering: 

Dix, "Stormtroops advancing under a gas attack" from Der Krieg, Intaglio etching, drypoint

Goya, This is worse 1812-15 Etching and wash, 157 x 207 mm

Janco, Mask, 1919

Wounded Soldier from Krieg dem Krieg (War on War) 1924

I know that these aren't the easiest things to look at, and I apologize for that, but I think they are extremely compelling and necessary for us to be aware of. Also, I personally love what this artist has done with the idea of facial reconstruction, and I will definitely discuss him.  So now I'm off to the British Library to do some nice reading about the body in wars.  My goal is to spend the next 4 hours in there and come out with some great ideas.   

War on War 

by Wilco 

It's a war on war
It's a war on war
It's a war on war
It's a war on war
It's a war on war
It's a war on war
It's a war on war
There's a war on

You're gonna lose
You have to lose
You have to learn how to die

Just watching the miles flying by
Just watching the miles flying by
You are not my typewriter
But you could be my demon
moving forward through the flaming doors

You have to lose
You have to learn how to die
if you want to want to be alive, okay?

You have to lose
You have to lose
You have to learn how to die
if you want to want to be alive

You have to die
You have to die
You have to learn how to die
if you want to want to be alive, okay? 

Go and dance yourself clean

It's been a slightly eventful week. I didn't have any classes so it was technically a vacation week and I managed to get some fun stuff worked in there. On Wednesday my Only London Friend (or OLF) and I went to see LCD Soundsystem. It actually turned into quite a little adventure, and it was my first time out of my Zone on the Tube (and I did it wrong so it cost me like 8 pounds in fees). OLF had class until 6 and the show started at 7 and so I met up with her at her school, then we got some delicious Chinese take out (I got the roasted duck on rice, of course) and headed to Crouch End and the Alexandra Palace. When we got there, there was seriously a mile long queue. I have never seen a line so long in my life. I decided to walk to the front to see if I could find a different line for picking up my tickets and I walked and walked and walked, leaving poor OLF behind. (Ha, ok, I'm sorry Sara, if you're reading this, I'll stop calling you OLF. I just thought it was really funny. It's probably not.) Anyway, FINALLY we got in, right in the middle of Hot Chip's set. Sara and I immediately started dancing and didn't stop until the end of LCD Soundsystem's set, but we decided to leave before the encores since there were probably 20,000 people there and we wanted to make sure we got on the bus before everyone else decided to go. I figured since this was my third time seeing them that I'd live, and I did.

I really loved it and I will see them again if I ever get the chance. I love how much fun everyone has at their shows and how much you can dance and totally lose yourself. I love how their songs have a proper amount of tension leading up to a fantastic moment of release. It's euphoric, and I'm totally addicted. I think I liked this show better than the one in New York. They played all my favorite songs, and I was in GREAT company (instead of totally alone like the NY show). Sara seriously is the funnest person.

Also, I have a total crush on this guy. He is adorable in concert.

So the next day on Thursday I went to see a taping of the Graham Norton Show. It was supposed to be the highlight of my life and it turned out to be rather meh. No one makes me laugh like Graham Norton, and so even though the guests sucked, I thought I'd still have fun. I just found out that Stephen Fry and Bette Midler will be on next weeks show and it broke my heart. I LOVE Stephen Fry like no one else. Instead I got stuck with Colin Ferrall (who told nothing but the most boring stories. He has no personality at all), Daniel Radcliffe (who was late and then really annoying, and just ugh) and then a comedian I've never heard of and then Rihanna, who was cute and everything, but I just genuinely don't care about her music. Also I had to stand outside in the freezing wind, and those who keep up with my Twitter area already familiar with the fact that I was not wearing the proper clothing for such an event. It was really really horrible. It hasn't been that cold or windy in London since I've been here. I honestly don't know if it was worth it.

Anyway, on my way to the show I saw this poster in the train station. It made me laugh, because it obviously does not work.

I don't think it does a very effective job of pushing polite behaviour because the Tube is still full of fools who refuse to budge from their convenient spot right next to the door and impede anyone from coming in or out of the train. In New York I seriously got yelled at for doing that one day when I wasn't paying attention. The poster is just too polite, and I think this one will work much better.

Fortunately at the Graham Norton show I was able to fight my way to the front of what had been a very long queue and had turned into a throng of people rushing the door, and I got the best of the worst seats!

HA! The suckers I had to push over to get to the door didn't get to be on the telly at all, but I DID!

So, since Wednesday and Thursday were exhausting I decided to stay in and work on my paper on Friday, and it didn't turn out well. Friday will be one of those days to forget forever.

Moving on, today I took my FIRST real train ride out of the city! I went with my ward to the London Temple. We took the train from Victoria Station to Lingfield and then a short taxi from the station to the temple. I mention this because it was also my FIRST time in a British taxi! And the first time ever driving on the wrong side of the road, and yes, it is the wrong side. Seriously, driving on the left side is totally counterintuitive, and it's the one cultural difference I'm having a hard time getting past, especially since I've almost got hit crossing the street several times because of it.

Anyway, the temple was lovely and I got to talk to more people from my ward, and hopefully made a couple of friends. I enjoyed myself immensely. Here's a picture of me and Sara in front of the temple. We stood a bit too far from the camera, so you can't really see us well, but that's ok because I didn't get a chance to shower this morning and was a bit of a mess.

And that's it for my week off of school! I start back up again on Tuesday and I'll be killing myself trying to get this paper done. I think i might have made some headway in brainstorming with my sister for a bit, but we'll see!

dance dance revolution

I used to really hate dance. Watching any kind of dance bored me. I couldn't understand the point of the arbitrary motions, which so often felt cheesy and ridiculous. When I taught Humanities 101 I knew that I would have to have a unit on dance, and I also knew that the fact that I hated dance so much would make it difficult. So I decided to try a little harder to appreciate dance, to learn from what I taught my students. It's been a slow process but I think I'm beginning to really love dance like I've never loved it before.

Tonight I went to BYU's Christmas Around the World, a folk dance show that they've been doing for the last 50 years. BYU has the biggest World Dance program in the world, and the dancers are extremely talented. I hate saying this, but I was moved to tears at the very first number, and it was not the first time this has happened. Since I've been trying harder to understand and appreciate dance, I'm finding that I can't help but cry when I watch a dance performance. The energy they create is palpable, and I'm so impressed with the talent that I just tear up. I hate even more saying this, but I cried when I watched the finale of Dancing With the Stars last week. I couldn't help it. Kelly Osborne was so beautiful and had worked so hard, and you could tell how happy she was with herself even though she didnt win. Her experience was life changing and it was really incredible to watch her dance. And Donny Osmond was so humble and wanted so much to have that trophy that he worked his hardest while still being incredibly supportive of the other competetors. It's true he's been a performer for some time, but to dance ballroom like that he had to force himself to change a lot of his habits, and he was incredibly graceful in doing so. I just loved watching these people have so much passion in their dances. I wept like a baby. And then tonight it happened again. I don't know what's happening to me.

One thing that I thought was particularly interesting during the Christmas performance tonight was the Irish dancers. I recognized one of the soloists and as I looked at my program, sure enough she was one of my former 101 students. AND, this is what I love the most, the program said that these soloists were champion level dancers. I had NO idea that this girl was a champion level Irish dancer. Even though she did mention that she danced and that dance was a huge part of her life, she said nothing about this fact every time I talked to her about dance. Such a funny girl.

After the performance we watched Strictly Ballroom, which I thought was pretty appropriate. I loved it so much more this time than I did the first time, and I almost teared up again when the couple was dancing the Passo Doble, one of my favorite dances.

So who would have guessed? It looks like I love dance. I love the energy and the passion. I love how light the dancers are on their feet and how watching them makes me feel lighter. I have been kind of depressed a little lately, distracted and stressed, and I realized today that I'm losing sight of the things that could lift me out of my funk. I decided to watch some documentaries on contemporary 21st century art, and I got that light feeling as I saw these artists create and as their art challenged me and made me feel alive. I'm focusing so much on all the things I have to do, all the research I should be doing, the books I should be reading and the movies I should be watching, that I'm forgetting to have aesthetic experiences with other forms of art. And this bothers me because as a Humanities teacher this is what I try to get my students to understand, that aesthetic experiences are necessary for a balanced and happy life, and here I am neglecting these things, the things that I love so much and that lift my soul. I'm glad I learned this lesson today, and I hope I can make a point to have more art in my life more often.

old pregnant hags, love and life

I am becoming an expert in zombie culture, and horror is my thing. I can work with horror. I can read it and I know a lot about it. Sometimes I forget that I know it so well and I feel like I don't have any particular knowledge with anything else, and sometimes I think "Great job, Jasie. You've become a horror expert. Now people will take you seriously"--all thought in quite a sarcastic and cutting tone. There's so much to learn and know and I feel like I'll never get it all. But that is why I have also been trained as an expert student. I don't have to know everything; I just have to be able to understand what other people say and know and be able to use their knowledge to support my theories.

I kind of like being an expert in horror films because now when I watch them they are so much more enjoyable. I've been trying to verse myself in all the antecedents of Shaun of the Dead because it is a film that takes cues not only from Romero's films, but also from movies like Evil Dead II, American Werewolf in London, Reanimator, and Dead Alive (aka Braindead). The Halloween season is my favorite because it makes watching all of these wonderful horror films feel a little more appropriate. I've watched Dead Alive twice in the last two days. It was done by Peter Jackson in 1992, and it makes me have an immense amount more respect for the guy who did Lord of the Rings (a series that I have to admit bored me to tears). The man is clearly a visionary.

Dead Alive is a film about a boy who lives with his mother and who falls in love with a girl and has difficulty cutting the apron strings, even after his mother has turned into a zombie, even after his zombie mother has tried to kill him and his girlfriend, even after his zombie mother has turned the entire town into zombies. The film is a melodramatic slap stick love story that becomes more and more believable as the two lovers become more and more drenched in blood and viscera. I kept thinking of Buster Keaton being attacked by zombies. There is one point when our hero, Lionel, is trying to run from a horde of zombies. Only, the tile floor is drenched in blood and he simply runs in place as he slips on the blood. This lasts for a good long minute and is hilarious.

I also kept thinking of Mikhail Bakhtin and his theory of the grotesque and the carnivalesque. For Bakhtin the medieval carnival was an opportunity for order to be restored to communities through the state sanctioned disorder of a carnival where social hierarchies would be undermined and people would be free to express their most carnal drives. After the big party people would go home feeling satisfied and regenerated and continue life without any thoughts of rebellion nor any bit of mistrust or dissatisfaction for the state. All would be back into its proper order. The grotesque played a big role in this because the carnival was about the body and physical desires and it was also about rebirth. Thefore, the lower parts of the body were emphasized: the loins, the stomach, the womb; sex, consumption and defecation, and menstration, birth and death. When we think of grotesque we usually think of one or more of these elements. Because so much of the essentials of life are focused in this area and carnival was about all of these elements we find that grotesque language and imagery is essential in the regenerative effects of carnival. For instance, Bakhtin points out that one of the images often seen were little carved figurines of an old, pregnant hag. She represented pregnant death; the opportunity for birth and life to come out of something old and dead; life not yet formed but promised.

Dead Alive is a grotesque carival. There is a strong emphasis on the oozing, bleeding, and consumptive parts of the body. Blood and viscera abound; zombies have sex (which in all of my zombie research I have never seen before) and and procreate, actually making a zombie baby. Then of course the zombies eat human flesh. The most grotesque and fascinating part of the film, however, is when Lionel's mother actually turns into Bakhtin's old, pregnant hag. She mutates into a 20 foot tall version of these carvings with sagging breasts and overaly stated tummy and thies. She is the grotesque mother goddess, and she literally consumes her son back into her grotesque womb. He has to break through her flesh and become in a very literal sense reborn, and it is in this rebirth that Lionel becomes a new man and can finally let go of his mother.

With the comedy, the grotesque images and the love story I found that the carnival in Dead Alive accomplished just what Bakhtin said it would. I felt good after the film, regenerated, happy and better for watching it. This is why I believe horror films are not evil and are worth looking in to and experiencing. Life is tied up in death. Life begins with blood and viscera and pain and often times it ends that way. I think its important to remember this and try to see what lessons we can learn from experiencing it again through the medium of art. We may just become better people.

My body is a cage...

Like every young woman in the Western world, I have body issues. I tend to be rather uncomfortable in my body at times, and it has kept me from accomplishing a lot of things. I know my body doesn't fit into the acceptable perameters that our society has set for attractiveness, and somtimes it is difficult to live with this fact, especially when I am a human who needs love and attention just like everyone else. It's hard to live with and be around people who go on dates and are generally fairly attractive. It is especially hard when I am ignored while boys go after these pretty girls, and I just have to stand back and watch. It is also very frustrating to look for clothes when most of the places where I want to buy clothes don't carry my 16/18 size. I guess this is good because I do always seem to find something that will work, and I've learned to look at something and know whether or not it will fit. I also don't spend as much money as I probably would, and I've had to develop my own style. But it still is incredibly emotionally painful at times to live with my body in this world where I feel that I don't fit, and where I feel so often that I'm not wanted.

Not only am I uncomfortable emotionally when I feel inadequate and unattractive being around a group of attractive people, I also am often just physically uncomfortable. I think it has something to do with my low threshold for pain. I hate it when my feet are sore, and it doesnt seem to take much to do that, and I have a never ending problem with shoes. I simply cannot find any shoe that fits and is always comfortable. There's always some problem. In general, things always have to be just right or I go crazy. I have to be wearing the right clothes; when I go to bed my environment has to be perfect. I sleep with earplugs and I can only sleep in pitch black darkness. When i was younger I could only sleep in my own bed. I am always irritated by something physically, and one sad problem I have is not liking when people touch me. My skin hurts.

I'm going to Italy next week and one of the things that has been weighing heavily on my mind is how comfortable I will be physically. I know my feet will hurt, so I'm bringing several pairs of shoes that I can switch around since each pair rub differently on my feet. I'm going to bring some good strong painkillers, and I have loads of bandaids for when something rubs wrong for too long. I have also chosen my clothes very carefully so nothing will rub me the wrong way. The worst thing is that there are virtually no public restrooms in Italy, which means I have to plan carefully because I do not want to find myself needing to go to the bathroom and not being able to. Unfortunately I'd rather be dehydrated. I am also not looking forward to the beating my body will take just in traveling. I'll leave at 7 in the morning and get there at noon the following day. Now, Italy is 7 or 8 hours ahead so it will feel like the middle of the night to me, and I'll want to stay awake and have fun. Yeah, not looking forward to that day of travel at all.

Oh this stupid body, always needing to be cared for, always giving me problems, always getting hurt somehow. Fortunately I do have a very strong and healthy body. I am fat, but it's something that I need to really just accept because I know it is in my genes and it's not because I am a horrible person. I know my body's healthy weight, even if it is more than I'd like it to be, but I don't want to be obssessed with it for the rest of my life. I eat good food every single day and I am a relatively active person. When I was burned horribly on my face and arm the EMTs, the doctors and nurses were all astonished at how well my body maintained stasis. All my vitals were as normal as can be. The same thing happened when I was born, apparently. The labor was extremely difficult for my mom and I was stuck in a dangerous position for several hours, and yet when i finally came out I received the highest score possible for overall general health. I really was blessed with a good body, and I know that despite the various physical irritations I anticipate on my trip that I will be fine walking all over Florence and Rome for 10 days. I guess I should just chill the eff out and enjoy myself.