Monday, 28 January 2008

Feminism Now

Yesterday was the day of women so I went to the market in order to catch a photographer who could help me with a computer problem. She was taking photos of women fighting for ecology ( and I started to wonder what could be the effect of gendering ecological activism. The friend who joined us could apparently not take part in the photo session, male as he was, but managed to be shot for another project by the same photographer. I stayed in email contact with her, still hoping to fix my problem.

The day passed without being aware of its official significance. Even when I visited an exhibition about the “room of one’s own” inspired by my hero thinker V.Woolf it did not come across my mind. At bed time, X. told me about a friend who chatted with her in the messenger, congratulating for “her day”. She asked back when would be “his” day and he anwered: “every day”. I guess that I what feels uncomfortable about “women’s day”, it feels like carneval where once in a year you have the power to act as you want before slipping into your niche again.

In the early morning I dreamt I ran away with a princess I had an affair with at court. It was meant to be a dream in the setting of 17th century but soon turned out to be very contemporary: us, fleeing with a dark big cabriolet stopping at a supermarket, trying to avoid the street control that was looking for two “shabby girls”; a constant hide and seek till we finally reached a city where a so-called uncle tried to protect us against suspicion in the camera spot.
One scene before I took part in a slalom contest at court (like in good old times where I was still a black male sportsman and lover of both, the king and the queen); of course I won, of course the ski fell down from the balcony in the next scene and my father asked me to fetch it. Downstairs a romantic encounter with my beloved one, observed by the king who then was doubting my sexual identity. I turned myself into a “onnabe” a woman-man, a really beautiful one with brown skin and Indian touch and stood beyond doubt.

Reading the “Frieze’s” essays about “Feminism” afterwards did not inspire me much but I enjoyed the short description of surrealist films given by Runa Islam. So far for this year.

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