Born, Suckle, Fight, Die

2025

For many female-presenting people, it feels like you're constantly swimming upstream. To a lot of men, you're a walking potential personal pleasure object, and you can feel it. You can feel being unclothed with their eyes. You sense the prayers for X-ray vision. Men may not know that women agree to a lot to keep themselves safe...including sexual acts. Women fake pleasure to get shit over with and to make men feel good about themselves.

But

I'm not here to talk about a piece oozing in sexuality, even if I did make a bra. I utilized a bra knowing it would get attention--specifically male attention-- so I could communicate my message of rage and how cyclical--and ironic-- toxic masculinity is. There's a part of me that feels for men because of being trained to fight until the death with not much pleasure to find except in women who are terrified of navigating a world not made for them to thrive. I wasn't surprised that during my critique, I was warned about the reactions that could come from service members...why was I warned? Because of potential harsh words? Because of people not liking me? Because of men being mad at me? Because of complaints? Because of men yelling at me TO PROTECT OTHER MEN?? Because of people explaining their experiences to me? I'll be the one to say it, but that's every day for a woman in a man's world!

I have immense respect for people who fight to protect our country, but I'm also a person with conflicting feelings. Why is it offensive that I put a bra over a uniform? If men like women so much, then why does a bra taint their service? Many gender studies classes will tell you that men fundamentally don't like women; they like pleasing other men. I'm not trying to diminish anyone or anything, I used a military uniform because it's the best way I knew how to signify a large, male-dominated organization. One that is built on eliminating individuality, training people how to kill, and taking people who might feel it's their only option left and shipping them off to places they've never been before for

years. It's a sacrifice I respect, but we've created a cycle that has resulted in parents raising children to fight and die.

For some people, this piece could be speaking about the female presence in the military. Great! This piece could be complimentary. Great! People will see what they want to see. I know that. I am extremely proud of making such a potent product. I crafted a shadow box, which Michael informed me was originally for storing military memorabilia. The shadowbox (crafted around the dimensions of the bra) is similar to the dimensions of the flag. A box painted with flat white and a frame stained with dark red represents the dried blood of all the people we've lost. I fucking made that. I crafted a bra, not really for sex appeal, but knowing what a bra means to people, with straps that beg to be released from the horrific cycle of birthing, suckling, fighting, and dying. I kept the uniform labels (laundry instructions, size) because washing instructions and "40 regular" can easily represent the constant pressure to maintain size and the domesticity of laundering clothes (which usually falls on the women). What were going to be balloons became pink satin breast pillows that represent a baby's first pillows (or maybe a baby's first bunk), which I ended up liking more.

I write with respect and intention, but also with anger. I boil with rage every day because men contradict every word I say to sound smarter. I boil with rage that my brothers live a completely different reality from me. I boil with rage because it's embarrassing and not worth a man's time to help a woman they don't find attractive. I boil with rage that my doctors can shame me for my decisions without shaming my male EQUIVALENTS for their actions. I boil with rage because women don't think they're "fuckable" enough to be loved forever with evolving bodies, minds, and spirits. I boil with rage that a high school-aged boy can tell me, IN THE MIDDLE OF A SCIENCE CLASS, that I'm "the type" of person to get an abortion. I boil with rage that I danced forty hours a week in high school, and after I finished routines at pep rallies, boys would get in my face and ask me if I danced like that in private. I boil with rage knowing I was stronger, more disciplined, and more determined than any boy who ever had the audacity to turn my art and talent into THEIR gift. I boil with rage that our own fucking president can say "grab her by the pussy" EVER and still be elected president of the United States. The man that runs our country was sent to a military academy because he was misbehaving

as a child, graduated, was handed money, assaulted women, "grabbed women by the pussy", and GOT ELECTED THE PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES!

And you know what? It almost doesn't matter that people might find examples like these unsettling. I think examples like these do make people (including other men) extremely uncomfortable...except... nobody ever says anything. What will it take to truly be treated like equals? Fight? That works out so well for us, doesn't it?

I write with rage, but I make controversial art with my rage. I don't punch, kick, diminish, stalk, bully, touch, or sexually harass people when I'm angry! I write my thoughts in a forum while enrolled in a college art class...I DO NOT belittle children, torture pets/people, threaten, or hold a weapon to somebody's body to make changes. I craft art and occasionally speak relatively quietly. People are entitled to feelings, and that includes me. I didn't give all the answers this time, and I'm proud of myself for that because I know that someone will study this and know exactly what I feel like. This isn't a piece that you skim. It's a piece that you live and understand.

While this piece is inspired by feminine rage for the patriarchy, almost all my collaborators were men (my badass mommy helped too). From listening to my word vomits to the bra to the box to the stain to the assembly to the transportation, men stepped up to help me make it even after knowing what it was about. They didn't feel threatened by my anger; they listened to me, and I took charge. My art wasn't a gift for them. They didn't listen to my feelings as favors. My anger didn't trigger their competitive tendencies. I have some truly spectacular men in my life, and I'm beyond grateful for them, but I must admit it's hard to yearn to be a woman or feel comfortable in my skin (which feels neither female or male) when the rest of the world makes being a woman worth very little. How am I supposed to want to bring a child into this world when my doctors shame me, I don't trust people, I live in fear, feel unlovable, get belittled, get told I'm not the ideal anything, our current president is a criminal, education is being manipulated, history is being erased, we're killing people to keep ourselves alive, and nothing is working?

How can I look at a child, lie, and say, "You'll be safe"?
How can I protect a child when it's "every man for themselves"?
How can I protect a child after finding out it won't be born with a penis?

How can I protect a child when in other countries, girls are given away because of their inferiority?

How can I possibly raise a boy to respect women when the world will accept him more if he disrespects them?

How can I protect a child who isn't straight or doesn't fit into the gender binary?

How can I protect a child who is bullied by religious people who weaponize a holy man who is written to love all?

I could go on and on.
If you're not scared, I don't think you're paying attention.