http://www.penandpicas.com + www.wyatt-glenn.com
Today interwebs, I wanna talk about patterns.
That’s probably why I think it’s so boss.
A human sweat gland.
And that, my friends, was patterns and macro photography. Sponsored by: no one. Cause I’m a broke ass art student, and nobody sponsors those.
Some times now or never moments happen, and I hesitate.
I’m kind of a mess right now. It feels like it all started mostly because I kept quiet about it, even though I was far from quiet.
And right now, to help myself heal I need to yell.
Several years ago, I was a rape victim. After it happened I went catatonic. Physically I was lucky: pulled limb muscles, minor internal bruising and skin tearing in places that were private. As it was happening I completely checked out. I remember thinking about the noise from the radio being made, and trying to be loud so someone would hear me over the radio and come help. But nobody came. I knew physically if I were going try and get out of this, I was going to get really hurt. So I screamed and yelled and went somewhere else in my head.
People living right across the hall heard loud music and screams. Some body did hear me! But nobody came to help me. Nobody thought to knock on the door or get an RA. It was easier for them to dismiss it as loud, violent sex, and it was none of their business so they left to a quieter area.
After it was over I wasn’t really with it. I don’t remember when it ended. I only remember telling myself that this will all be over soon, it has to be, moments cannot possibly go on forever. Just hang on. I remember just trying to get through until I could get to some place safe and fall apart.
It’s really difficult to sit here and type all this out. I’ve buried it really well. Mostly because of the fear of others’ reactions. Because after I finally did get to a safe place and fall apart, hours had passed. And when I went to report what had happen to me, I was treated really well by the school’s security (which came as relief and surprise) but the city police told me that if I went to court with my case, I’d have to serve jail time for lying to the authorities.
My instinct to keep myself from physical harm had royally fucked up getting justice in the eyes of the law. If I had just physically fought back I could have saved myself the experience of being marked as a liar. Sure I could have been severely hurt, but when someone had me pinned down and was telling me all the things they were going to do to me and that there was NOTHING I could do about it…I did what I could.
As this is an art blog, you’re probably wondering what the fuck I’m doing on HERE talking about sexual assault. Creating images is how I come to terms with what happened and what is happening to me.
My Goals as of right now include:
- treating myself better because what happened to me was not my fault
- getting my nails painted
- letting myself feel as beautiful on the outside as I do on the inside
- making artwork
- and not giving a fuck about what anybody else thinks of me, but me
A while back I did a photography project about tattoos and tattoo life. My Minolta X700 and I visited about 5 different tattoo shops in Providence. Some of them, Art Freek for one, were terribly nice and let me take all the photos I wanted. (I’ve gotten some work done there, the people are friendly and down to earth and the quality of the work coming out of there is excellent.) And others were absolutely horrible and shouted mean, nasty words at me for even THINKING about taking a picture or their shop.
I’ve really wanted to put them in a professional-like looking book and publish them. But alas, it is one of many dreams I have yet to grasp hold of. So, I’ll just put a few of them up here 🙂
East Providence Tattoo had a lounge. I was jealous.
I enjoy ^that^ one.
This guy’s ink was very green.
This chicky-baby was a Suicide Girl and really was into having her portrait taken.