V's Version

Accusation: Alpha Femme.

Been called a baby doll, a bitch, a bombshell. A brat a bride and bruised.

And it’s true.

I’m cool. Occasionally.

And other times I call out cat-o-nines into your skin until the caustic cadence of my cackles cut the composure of your calm cachet.

Delightfully daring but discreet – dropping details of the dirty dyke inside the drop-dead dress.

Are you diva? a dork? A dominitrix? A damsel in distress?

Yes. Yes. Yes and Yes!

Are you elegant or evil?

A fragile flower or a fierce femme?

Yes. Yes, I am.

Both the graceful girlie girl with the glossy glam glitter and the grateful grinning grant-holder of another day made of gravy,

Yeah I grappled with the grim reaper.

Does that make me haughty or humble? Who is to say?

Happiness is having hours in the day to harness the heat of my heart and hone it into art.

Am I the helpful homemaker or just high maintenance?

A hussy or High Femme?

Yeah - yeah, I am.

Insecure or an icon?

I am both of these. I am all of these and more than the eye can see.

I am a jiggling juicy jewel who, when played just so, ejaculates with jagged magic that echoes from my soul.

There is no dichotomy between kind and kinky. A woman can be both kissable and spiky – sometimes in the same day. Sometimes at the same time.

That’s what makes me a Lipstick Lesbian, a lover of life full of laughter and losses. Delicate little Lady AND slutty libertine, I lure and lash and undulate – depending on the lyrics.

I was once the main mistress of a minister and now I’m a Mama, a moaner, a monogamous mischief maker who muses and uses music to mark moments in my marriage.

Numerous niches I need to fill – none necessarily nice or not –but rather nestled somewhere in the nuanced nest between naked and dressed.

If I could offer only one holy open poetry of power and pain - it would be for this: politics and practicality.

So that people could peek at a puzzle like me.

Question answered: Yes I am the Queen AND quick to obey. Often considered Queer, I’m not quintessentially quiet and have quite a story to share.

Sex worker, incest survivor, breast feeder, straight A student. I shined brass and kicked ass selling perfume scents. I sold pieces of my skin for school tuition and saw so many peers transition. I sold beads and sold weed and packed silverware in plastic.

I salvaged quilts, and sought props for television and stage. Showed sages in their last stages how to share their last wishes. I served baseball players playing the Red Sox savory room service dishes.

I've so far sidetracked cancer and am willing to answer questions posed often about staying sane while facing the coffin.

I relish being a sister in sin who seeks salvation within.

I was once a Stone Femme –a receptive vessel of steel. Such is the life of an abuse survivor searching how to feel - staggering steps with a stone butch before his transition to “real”.

But now I’m such a sassy siren - no stopping my secret desires! I sing praises for my sobriety and for surviving life’s unsettling catastrophes.

Un-schooling and studio sewing and sowing seeds in the soil - I am a both the steadfast mother and the spicy lover who can bring my stud wife to a boil.

Now I am a teacher, a temptress, a teller of true tales of triumph. I take the trail so many have traveled and twist the threads into twine for rope so that femmes all over can trust and hope that we do not need to be trapped into the tight boxes of dainty or tough.

There’s been enough of this or that. Tempestuous or tame. Tall and thin or too much to fit in.

This Ultra-Femme uses unbridled utterances to unify universal and unlikely.

You see V.

But do you know me?

Vivacious, Valiant, a Vixen with Verve,

often Vivid,

a Volunteer, a keeper of Vows, a Voter and Very,

Visionary,

Voracious, Vulnerable and Vicariously shy

Wearer of Violet and Velvet and Vintage lingerie,

Voluptuous,

Vulgar, Vice-loving, Variable in speed

a lover of Verbatim possessed with a certain Velocity,

I put the V in deviant, inviting, devotion and survivor.

Oh - and did I mention that I am Very? I am. Ask anyone.

So when I weave these whimsical words to a wounded world – I work to wake and win back all the wide-open weft so we will welcome the wanton women we were meant to be.

I explain with complexity and simplicity.

Generation Next calls me x-core because I explore. I extricate why - why the answer is yes.

Yes I am.
I am a zany zaftig princess who is zooming the Zone. I am telling all you femmes you are not alone.

We are all shades of colors between angus black and zinc white.

We are all sizes and all styles and we cannot lose sight

that we are

A to Z

and

every

letter

in

between.


V Kingsley 2007,
www.alotoflife.com

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Labels: femme lesbian lipstick glitter glam girl icon high dyke sister feminist family PNP Paraneoplastic Pemphigus stone

Accusation Alpha Femme Reading - OK - so I read this rough draft out loud like only 5 times before I decided to test perform it. And I forgot about taking off my saline holder. And more than half the audience (which - as Lex said - was "underwhelming") was male. But Dani had the video camera so here is the first reading of it. The updated version is in writing above.
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Labels: commitment lesbian family life artist vision femme lesbian lipstick glitter glam girl icon high dyke sister feminist family sex worker stone femme

Four-Eyed Monsters and the Stages of A Quilt.

Being an artist and a mother and a wife is tricky. Sometimes I get lost in the day to day.

I drive to the bank, run the dogs, drive to gymnastics, fold the laundry, drive to the recycling center, set out fresh flowers, drive to my mother-in law's house, compose emails, drive to the grocery store, wash the floor, drive to the post office, make the bed, drive to the library, fluff the pillows, drive to play dates, shake out the rugs, drive to the pet store, water the garden, drive to get school supplies, call the billing department, drive home.

I DRIVE and DO stuff but I lose my DRIVE to DO artistic stuff.

Then I have a chunk of time and (magically) everything in the house is order and Dani is satisfied and the dogs are lounging in the sun and all the emails are answered and I tell Parker that I am not driving him anywhere - he can walk or read or do one of the 3 pages of "things to do when bored" that I made for him or he can just be bored.

Part of my sense of being lost as an artist is that the day-to-day family life takes priority and part of it is that I create things that I haven't ever seen done before. Maybe somebody is out there creating what I do. Actually - I am SURE people do what I do. But I don't see it. I don't have a pattern or even another artist's DIY-YouTube. I have to make it up as I go along. I love that challenge but it takes time and motivation and faith.

(Sort of like a committed transbutch / femme relationship with the added bonus of a child!)


1. The Honeymoon Stage. All of my ideas are just ideas - brainstorms and flashes of inspiration, color and lines. All things are possible. I do research and draw in my journal. I have no real concrete plan - just sketches and dreams and desire.

2. The Work Stage. Great. Brilliant - I have this vision of what I want but how do I get there? What colors are available? How much fabric do I need? How do I make it work in real life? There is number crunching. There is and trial and there is error. I get impatient. I get overwhelmed. I get bored. I sometimes feel crazy and question if I am cut out for this life as an artist.

3. The Infatuation Stage. Inspiration hits and I work really hard. I see progress. I am in love. I laugh at my former fears and feel great hope and promise. I want to work late into the wee hours of the night. I am obsessed. I am sure that THIS quilt (whatever one I am working on) will be the best work I have ever done.

4. The Roadblock Stage. Inevitably, I get stuck. There are problems to be solved. I hate the quilt. It's ugly and I am unsatisfied. I don't know what I ever saw in it. Family life takes priority over the quilt and if it weren't for the fact that I have a deadline and need the money, I would throw it away. Sometimes there is despair and fear.

5. The Faith Stage. Commitment and follow-through are important to me so I chug along until I am in love again. (I can vacillate between stages 3 and 5 for a while.) Then, I see the finished creation and my faith is restored. I am satisfied and proud that I was able to contribute something unique to this world, grateful that I can contribute money to my family.

6. The Separation Stage. Until I die (may it be a long time from now), I have to deal with separation in relationships. With people, either they move on (through death or circumstance) or I move on (which doesn't happen lightly or often because I have a high value for connection). With quilts, I usually package them in a box and make the drive to the post office to purchase insurance and get a confirmation receipt. I slide the box to the postal worker behind the counter who does not know that I am handing over a creation made from dreams and sketches, made by my own imagination and fingers.

7. The Mourning Stage. I am sad to give up my creations. They are like children in a way. I know they must go to the people who commission them and I am grateful to have the compensation and the incredible opportunity to do what I do but I miss the quilts, envying artists who have so much work that they can have a gallery show. They can put their work on display and have people really see the tiny detail and touch the texture of the fabric. I mourn the loss of each quilt and I mourn that very few people get to actually see and touch my work.

A couple in a relationship is sometimes called four-eyed monster. Two people, four eyes, ever-changing dynamics. I don't know if there is a name for a quilter and her quilt. Design and Chaos? The New Quilt that I am working on has no name yet but it's the one made from feminist T-shirts and the picture above is a hint. Currently, I am in an infatuation stage. It is brilliant.

OK - and - hey - speaking of infatuation and art and brilliance and relationships- please check out Four-Eyed Monsters (today is the last day to view the 71 minute film for free) or go to Susan and Arin's website to check out their work. I've been waiting for a LONG time to see this film and it was worth the wait! I've been following Susan and Arin for two years - through podcasts and youtube and myspace. Arin and I write back and forth sometimes and I hope they make more films because I appreciate their vision, their process and the results!


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Labels: art quilt process fabric film commitment lesbian family life artist vision create Four Eyed Monster

Certain people in my life have probably never heard of Catherine Crouch and her film Gendercator. (Sci Fi short about an andro hippie dyke in the 1970s who parties after the Billy Jean King win over Bobby Riggs, passes out under a tree (a la Rip Van Winkle) and wakes up to find surprising changes in gender norms 100 years later). Some people in my life have probably heard more than they ever want to hear about the controversy surrounding the Bay Area Reporter article and the removal of the film from the Frameline LGBT Film Festival here in San Francisco.

And I just got a voicemail - was it pulled from MWMF Festival too?

I am hardly at the forefront of gender politics but I am somewhere close to the front - closer than a lot of people. And I feel a little lost in the storm. I've been having conversations with various friends about the subject for many reasons and over many years. It is a huge relief to be able to identify my partner as transgendered so that the natural swing between male and female (the "other" box) is more easily spoken of by us as a family. I find that just using the framework of "trans" is liberating and empowering and it feels light and authentic (Dani appreciates being able to identify herself in this way because it helps name her in the world.) My wife is my Daddy and she is a boi and a butch dyke and he is nurturing and she is capable and although she is handsome, he is always being called cute. So we say that she prefers "Mr. Cute"! If you can flow with this - welcome to our world! It is not confusing unless the world is all or nothing, black or white, male or female. (And is most definitely is not. ) We are always evolving and changing. It takes courage to be this free.

I supported my ex-partner in his FTM transition in every possible way. I backed him in theory, I backed him in practice and language. I backed his gender as a parent, as a person, as a friend - even though I didn't always understand the pace of his decisions.

I recently met a woman who considers herself FTMTF. She - like almost every other butch or andro dyke under the age of 30 that I know - considered transitioning. She - unlike an increasing number of her peers - decided that she wanted to embrace her body as it is and to work on demanding that the world accept her as she is - in the box called "other" where she can float between male and female without surgery. She does not have many role models left and why can't we talk about / have anxiety about / question this reality? Why? Her name is Lex and she writes powerful poetry (I'll get a link when I can.)

[[[ aside: Dani and I are trying to raise money to get her to the Michigan Womyn's Music Festival. (Let me know if you want to help.) I would LOVE to hear her perform at an open mic there! Shout out to Nedra, Mel, Frances, Pat and Lee for stepping up right away. ]]]

But anyway - all these bumps into gender politics have me thinking. I don't know what to say - I love the transmen that I know - I support their decisions to have or not have surgery as personal decisions - just like I would support someone's personal decision to have or not have an abortion or whether or not to take chemo or to have plastic surgery or Gastric Bypass surgery. These are personal decisions based on changes (some would say advances) in medical procedures that are more widely available and acceptable. And who am I to legislate life and death, body image and health? Who am I to set the moral bar?

But there is a moral imperative here. Freedom of expression. Freedom of being. And medical ethics. The rate of increased numbers of people using these medical procedures is astonishing. I truly am perplexed and don't feel comfortable. Maybe my grandmother feels this way about computers. Maybe her grandmother felt that way about electricity. Maybe her grandmother felt that way about machines. The pace of change is upsetting to me and I want to catch my breath long enough to ask - is this what we want? Is this OK?

Just because C-sections are available does not make them the best option in all birthing situations. Just because a smaller stomach and liposuction might take pressure off the heart and the kness does not make it the best path to overall health. But would I put anyone down for having one of these medical procedures? Far be it from me! My problem is with the pressure - the unbelievable pressure - to have C-sections, gender reassignment surgery, stomach stapling, tummy tucks, abortions and implants. Why can't we examine that pressure right alongside the examination of trans discrimination, size discrimination, sex education and the implications of intervention in birthing?

It's not a question of whether it is OK to transition genders. It's a question of whether it's OK NOT to transition.

This is not a subject that is going to float easily by. This is one of the dilemnas of our lifetime (along with global climate change and access to clean water and finding our paths to peace.) I cannot hide from the conversation but I don't really know how to proceed.
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Labels: transgendered inclusion lesbian feminist misogyny medical ethics birthing size discrimination boi trans politics michigan womyn's music festival