Our Stories #broken

  
It's 2018 and I don't know of one woman who doesn't have a story where she was harassed, mauled, pawed, attacked, disparaged, and/or humiliated in her life by the opposite sex.  It could have been by a family member, church goer, teacher, employer, doctor, or stranger on the street. It could have happened to them as a child, a teen, an adult or senior.

One of my first encounters was in early summer while walking with my mother and grandmother to Gertz Department Store in Queens.  I was 11 years old, just beginning to mature. I had on shorts, a t-shirt, and sneakers.   I was walking down a well-lit street, slightly behind the two, when a man passing in the opposite direction grabbed my then quite small breast.  He grabbed, squeezed, and spun me around, and laughed.  I can still remember his laughing face.  The incident left me startled and shaken.  As I quickly ran to catch up to my family, I felt ashamed, and embarrassed by the whole experience.  I never mentioned it to either my mother or grandmother or anyone really.  Even then I expected to be blamed for what happened, more than being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Another similar experience happened 18 years later, walking down 49th Street on my way to a job interview.  I had on a tangerine orange suit with matching heels.  I thought I looked very sharp, going to what I hoped would be my final interview working for a successful hotel chain.  As I passed two men one of them grabbed/slapped my ass so hard it sent me airborne.  This time I had the chance to hurl obscenities at them before I continued on my way.  They too laughed in my face. 

Two similar instances, ones that didn't have much impact on me - other than to remind me that this type of thing could happen at any time. Both events really pissed me off. And both times I just carried on, as if nothing happened.  I did go shopping with my family.  I did go on the job interview.  I did get the job.  In spite of these aggressive encounters with strangers.

These were just two. There have been many many more, much worse experiences which I will tell you about later, if you are interested.

I used to think my own multitude of experiences like this was an anomaly of my very own - that it was something I was doing to draw this type of person to myself.  I really thought that due to an early, barely recallable experience my DNA had been changed forever and, because of that, predators were able to spot me as the vulnerable one in a crowd. They could smell it on me and zero in for an attack.

And don't get me wrong, I am not a victim.  I am a fighter. I am a survivor. In spite of what happened to me, I am ever vigilant, knowing they are out there just waiting for the right moment to pounce. I also know that it is not about sex, per se, it is about power, domination, deviance, aggression.   One thought though, that has changed in recent months, is my assumption that I was alone in this experience, or at least not part of a crowd of women having the same experiences, that is for sure.

It was only after the #metoo movement, along with the resurfacing of an event that happened to me 30 years ago, was I prompted to reexamine this phenomenon.  (It didn't help that it resurfaced during the Kavanaugh hearings).

The realization that I was not alone.  I was not an anomaly.  That everyone, every woman I know, has her own set of tales - many of them with their own first encounters before they too had reached puberty.

Again, I have to say, it really, really  pisses me off.  And even if I have been broken by some of these events, I have pulled myself back together.  I have healed.  And I am stronger for it.  I like to think about it like the Japanese Kintsukuroi -  repaired by veins of gold.  I refuse to be a victim, I refuse to be made into a victim.  Ever.  By anyone.

That said, I am by vocation, a painter and photographer.  I often times uses these experiences and themes as the basis of artwork.  Bodies of work created to comment on this universal/worldwide plight.  I've been told, scoffed at really, that I should lighten up.  Let it go.  Paint pretty instead.  Again, I refuse.

I just started a new project called #brokenwomenmendstronger.  It is a series of portraits painted on slate tiles. It is about women who have experienced trauma, attack, hostility, and abuse, and who have, from the experience emerged victorious. Portraits are painted on discarded slate from the long condemned Kings Park Psychiatric Hospital on Long Island - a haunted locale, for sure, and quite appropriate to connect to our crazy/horrific times and the continued precarious situation for women in the US and abroad. 

I started with obvious women, celebrities/politicians/survivors/heros Hillary Clinton, Anita Hill, Christine Blasey Ford, Emma Gonzalez, Oprah, Maya Angelou, Tina Turner.  I also want to include us, every day women.  We who have risen victorious from these experiences.  We who will not let it break us and, where we have broken, we have mended ourselves in gold.

I would love to include you and your story in this project - which has now taken on the written form as well.

It is only in sharing our stories will we find strength.  Strength in numbers equals power, and powerful results.

It is only when we have power will these attacks on women stop - or at least the perpetrators will be held accountable.

The world we live in now - where men are able to brag about grabbing us by the pussy - and get away with it; able to sexually assault our sisters - and get away with it; able to knock us to the ground - and get away with it - is not acceptable.  The time has come to join together.  It begins with sharing of stories and the realization that we are not alone.  That we can stand shoulder to shoulder, story to story, and mend -  and in mending change our world.

If you care to share your story(ies) I am ready and waiting for you.  I would love to share them here. Anonymous, or otherwise.  I would also like to paint your portrait - of how you look now, or then, when it happened.


If you are amenable, please be in touch. My email is virginiamallon@gmail.com

Thank you.