But women can never be careful enough, can we? If we take naked pictures of ourselves, we’re asking for it. If someone can manage to hack into our accounts, we’re asking for it. If we’re not wearing anti-rape nail polish, we’re asking for it. If we don’t take self-defence classes, we’re asking for it. If we get drunk, we’re asking for it. If our skirts are too short, we’re asking for it. If we pass out at a party, we’re asking for it. If we are not hyper-vigilant every single fucking second of every single fucking day, we are asking for it. Even when we are hyper-vigilant, we’re still asking for it. The fact that we exist is asking for it.
This is what rape culture looks like.
This is what misogyny looks like.
This feeling when you walk into big art supply stores …
I miss stores like this. Would make out little lists of all the colors I needed to buy then buy loads more till the money ran out. Rush home and start using them. Pure joy.
They were checking… #pooltime
*active* is the operative word.
Stock photo with no regard to what is in the book? And someone made money doing this. Why? Too lazy to spring for original art? Classics sell themselves and the author isn’t here to protest the cover. An attempt to hide the book has a white male protagonist? Hook unsuspecting girl readers by attempting to offer preteen beauty tips? To show diversity you objectify girls? Fail.
I am busy working on illustrations for a children’s book idea for visiting artist Esther Mahlangu. She will be coming to VMFA during her stay here in the U.S. and the GOH foundation would like to make small children’s books featuring these amazing artist and musicians from Africa starting with Esther. I have sent my questions to her through an interpreter and she has graciously answered a few of them already. Now I am hip deep in research on her amazing life. She is in her eighties, so this may be the last time she will travel to the U.S. I hope this book will due her justice.
I find it hard to name the one book that was so damn delightful it changed my life. The truth is, they have all changed my life, every single one of them—even the ones I hated. Books are my version of “experiences.” I’m made of them.