Taught from infancy that beauty is woman's scepter, the mind shapes itself to the body, and roaming round its gilt cage, only seeks to adorn its prison.

Mary Wollstonecraft

I am currently working on a piece of art for "Prov Creates" this Thursday. It centers around the above quote and explore ways in which this is seen. I have in particular taken three different ways we have "beautified" the female foot, making it feminine. I use some of the following images:









I am surprised at the examples we apply this feminine ideal to the foot. Gymnastics taught me to appreciate a good natural arch and toe point. Natural beauty, however, becomes destructive when a good element, such as smallness, becomes the measurement of the whole. I have been thinking about this issue for a while. Nothing symbols femininity to me more that a pair of pointe shoes. They are re enforced boxes you shove your toes into and then dance on in order to appear light. In practice you blister, bleed, reform your bones, and, if your are lucky enough, go numb during warm ups. Whether we are taught to keep silent about abuse, bend over backwards to please people or fulfil some sexual ideal, women are taught to shove themselves into reinforced shoes.

The element of feet is also symbolic as they are what supports our bodies, gives us the ability to put thoughts to action, and express ourselves by dance, sport, exploration and countless other things. To bind the feet in heels, pointes or the actual foot binding which happened in China, is to severely restrain a human. But just as Wollstonecraft says, we take this restraint and compete for the best expression of it. We actually compete to see who looks prettiest in our cage. We tear each other down to become the most oppressed and thus the most desired.

Regaining balance

“I am not a hero. I stand at the end of the long, long line of good people”

It has taken me a bit of space in time to restore balance to my thoughts from Wednesday. I began to think about Miep who helped to hide and sustain the Franks. She passed away on Monday at the age of 100. The above quote is from her. Excursions into sociology unearth some nasty injustices and I am very easily overwhelmed with all the subtexts I hear with the sociological lens. And yet to be overwhelmed is to be defeated in a strange way. Caring too much can actually be irresponsible. Perhaps it is the way we carry our concern that defines this. It turns out that the world is full of ordinary finite people. The task is not to save the world, that is only given to those of infinite nature. Looking at the story of Miep, and Anne, (and how many others?) I see now that task given to finite people is to be present in life, living as best as one knows. The formation of momentary heroic acts takes years of practice living with courage, justice, mercy—virtue—in daily life. In the end I must realize that Jesus lived a good 30 years before his campaign. For now my task is the daily practice of “insignificant greatness” which may or may not be practice for a time in the future when I am asked to join the long line of good people.

tipped over consciousness

This day as been unexpectedly heavy with three events. I was not ready for a particularly heavy day (not that I usually plan for them.) I have just finished the last event, and I believe a public reflection is required to vent some rage and express some sadness in hopes that my own thoughts are not isolated but shared.

To begin the day there was news of an earthquake in Haiti. I suppose with sociology and sustainable development on my mind I listen to news like this feeling somewhat responsible as I participate in a system which contributes to the disaster. Even if even if the contribution of green house gases may not have a direct correlation to tectonic plate movement, I still feel that being part of the middle class consumer culture systematically disadvantages and exploits people simply by the fact that our economic system is founded on severely unequal competition. No matter how simply I live, I may still buy fruit or rice or something from them, while they are unable to feed themselves. And while I in my consumption contribute to their exploitation in some small way, I feel powerless to help them in some small way today.

Ok, so that pressed on my mind. And then I went to chapel. Now, I have never been a fan of sermons, but I can usually edit out the offensive material and move beyond it. I found this was impossible today.

To begin with, there was a reading of a letter from an upper class family in the states. Both friendship and conspicuous consumption were flaunted. This was after a long spiel from another about the earthquake followed by prayers and pleas to "think about" how we can really help. The letter was supposed to be a tie in to the sermon, read from the controversial Calvinist Ephesians predestination passage which itself has caused great amounts of bloodshed, division and arrogance (I include myself in the latter two).

Announcing that families determine our status, he took the letter from this rich northern family, who took a cruse, BTW, Dah-ling, and proceeded to use them as a metaphor for God, and adoption into His family. Now, family certainly determines status, but don't end there! Now talk about how advantaged this family is because they get the benefits of cheap labour in a "free market" and how the majority of those families in Haiti will never own a square foot of land, let alone have a condo in Florida. And certainly don't compare the privileged family to a God who was incarnated in a person who not only lived in voluntary poverty, but gave up his life so that those who live in poverty, those undermined and exploited could know their value.

The day ended with theatre practice this evening. We are doing The Diary of Anne Frank which if you do not know is the diary written by a young Jewish girl who lived with her family in hiding for 25 months before they were deported to a camp. Val went over the historical context of the racism of the Nazi party and how they ran their camps. We were showed horrific images from the camps. It was all just too much for one day. Not because we were made to empathize with past horrors of racism, but because racism, sexism and genocide are happening at this very moment, and I feel that I contribute by not acting against it. I am in the picture, but I am the idle citizen who watches the death march pass my front door. Only I don't see the emaciated bodies, I see plastic housewares, new clothes and exotic food and am sufficiently removed from the reality of our economic system to easily forget the uncomfortable truths I have and am learning.

I am uncomfortable and restless.