So by now, I assume the majority of my readers (both of you) have heard of the Yale (I think you all know how I feel about Yale) "Art Student" (I think you all know how I feel about art students) who decided to create "art" by artificially insemenating herself with a turkey-baster (I think you all know how I feel about turkey), and then ingesting aborto-facilitating herbs on order to induce miscarriages. Several times. Like a BUNCH of times. Aside from the warped depravity that this girl has shown, and the disgusting nature of her "art" (which we can discuss any time), she has also decided to publish what I can only term as a miscarriage of the English language explaining herself. It resides here: I recommend you attempt to read it, but be sure to wear boots and a helmet, for the BS is raining down. And this is what we will discuss now.
According to her article, the reason she did this was
"to destabilize the locus of that authorial act, and in doing so, reclaim it from the heteronormative structures that seek to naturalize it..."
Translation: "Look at me, I'm an Attention Whore". You will notice that here she is implying that her organs (in this case, the uterus), can be used for other things besides childbirth; apparently the uterus is also useful as a paintbrush. Who knew? I wonder if the uterus could also file my taxes for me? Or perhaps it could be employed to make tasty waffles?
It creates an ambiguity that isolates the locus of ontology to an act of readership. An intentional ambiguity pervades both the act and the objects I produced in relation to it. The performance exists only as I chose to represent it. For me, the most poignant aspect of this representation — the part most meaningful in terms of its political agenda (and, incidentally, the aspect that has not been discussed thus far) — is the impossibility of accurately identifying the resulting blood. Because the miscarriages coincide with the expected date of menstruation (the 28th day of my cycle), it remains ambiguous whether the there was ever a fertilized ovum or not. The reality of the pregnancy, both for myself and for the audience, is a matter of reading.
Ergo, when I apply a significant amount of force to the musclature in my righmost lower appendage, and apply said force in a pendulumic motion relative to Ms. Shvarts' posterior, it will be in the purview of the assmebled viewership to determine if I have, in fact, kicked her squarely in the @$$, or simply provided a resting place for my foot.
Just as it is a myth that women are “meant” to be feminine and men masculine,
Having seen your picture, I can see how you could be confused.
it is a myth that ovaries and a uterus are “meant” to birth a child.
True. As mentioned before, they can also be used to provide tax-preperation advice and delicious waffles.
When considering my own bodily form, I recognize its potential as extending beyond its ability to participate in a normative function. While my organs are capable of engaging with the narrative of reproduction...
More than likely not, sweetheart. That tends to happen when you MAKE YOURSELF HAVE REPEATED MISCARRIAGES. Allah preserve us that she should ever
the realm of capability extends beyond the bounds of that specific narrative chain. These organs can do other things, can have other purposes, and it is the prerogative of every individual to acknowledge and explore this wide realm of capability.
I look forward to seeing what other talents my various organs have. While my colon is shiftless and lazy, my left buttcheek has a 9-5 job at Office Depot.
Art truly has made the world a better place.
Oh, and lest you think there is no hope for Yale, check out this comment from the article:
I'm a Yale Professor. I give Shvartz an "A" for pretentious nonsense. I
give her advisor an "F" for trying to teach her to be anything other than a
clone of the advisor's silly posing. I give the Yale administration an "F" for
running scared from the real story, which is the fact that students at Yale can
fall into majors where they learn nothing other than the ability to parrot
Word up, professor dude. Word up.