materialistic deliciousness

 

what now bitches?! i am so freaking exciting about this! it’s in the mail! in the MAIL! i want it NOW! NOW! NOW!

seriously, just call me macbook michelle because i feel like we’re gonna be inseperable.

yay for overconsumption of electronics! now all i need is an ipod and i’m fucking set!

chop me up! (this is EPIC!)

a week post-scarification and i’m sick of aftercare. the constant itch is making me suicidal and the tape chafe is worse than the scarification itself. well, it isn’t but fuck, it may as well be. i was standing in the bathroom ripping the day’s bandage from my leg and a small part of me said, “who fucking cares how awesome this looks. this is so annoying! i am throwing in the towel, letting it heal and just be done with it!”-obviously that isn’t what i am going to do but i have fucking heat rash and i’m less than fucking impressed. given that the birdies no longer hurt an open tape wound and heat rash are far from pleasant…just sayin’.

amidst all this aftercare i have also been reflecting a lot on this whole experience and trying to answer the most common question that arises from this who adventure (“why?”) with something a little more coherent than “why not?”

the other evening jenn and i were talking about the fact generally that girls are generally all self-conscious and that perhaps tattoos, piercings and other such body modifications make us feel beautiful in a way that we don’t feel in JUSTour own skin. For me it’s not about needing an external (potentially permanent) addition to feel beautiful but the act of giving myself something that allows me to connect with my body in a personal, unique and positive way. We as a society are openly and constantly hostile to our bodies because we are trained from a young age to loathe who we are and what we look like; there is always a way to look “better” and we should want it. I think in some ways we are even trained to believe that all we are is what we look like. forget cartesian mind/body separation-our external selves and their relationship to the ideal image are ALL we have. Perhaps it is silly or cynical but on the surface and in our shallow day to day social exchanges the mind simply does not exist. we are merely objects against which the ideal is measured and judged.

cynical and silly, right?

i think body modification is one of the ways that we as individuals refuse to allow ourselves to be manipulated by the ideal. It is a way of saying to the world that our bodies are our own and to choose to adorn them (permanently) the way we do is to deny the power of an unachievable goal dictated to us by some huge capitalist machine that we can never really understand or satisfy.

Feminist theory argues that women undergo more extremes forms of body modification (scarification, major tattoo projects, implants, etc…) as a way to reclaim their bodies from the hyper-masculinity of the history of modification. The tolerance of pain and the practice of tattooing were, in the west, deemed to be typically masculine experiences and women, outside of a context of the hypersexualized circus performer, were often left out of the world. For a women to undergo such an experience is to publicly reject the text created for her by men. (props to michael atkinson for the history and theory shit…). i can’t say i disagree. The choices i have made for my body paint a very different picture of a woman than the one EXPECTED of me. in a lot of ways i suppose the choices are an outright refusal to be and to look how abercrombie, fitch and your boyfriend want me to look. it does however, extend a bit beyond that for me. the thing i love most about my tattoos and piercings is my ability to challenge what people define as deviant-not only for a women but for a person trying to make their way in an industry defined by homogeneity. say what you will about artists but theatre people, actors especially, aren’t much for pushing the boundaries of physical appearance.

going back again to this tendency we have to separate mind and body and to be very afraid of the power of our physical/sexual selves body modification seems to provide a place where it is impossible to simply intellectualize away our relationship to our bodies and to our bodies in pain. by CHOOSING to put our bodies in pain we become hyperaware of a) feeling and emotional reaction and b) our ability to withstand. The threshold is easily broken when we want it to be and once you start there will (perhaps) forever exist a desire to see if it can be pushed further and further. it never ceases to amaze me the lengths that people go to to push their bodies beyond “normal” levels of pain. to see the extremes, watch this movie:

it’s called “MODIFY”…i haven’t seen it yet because suspensions make me queasy but i want to see it and i will soon.

i have my own sort of funny little anecdote about the levels of pain tolerance (and i suppose an image of how women are suppose to be) that i want to share. this seems like a good place to do it.

on jan. 7, 2007 i got my right conch “punched” (the cartilage was removed using a dermal punch) at an 8g. on monday the ball fell off the inside of the barbell. i tried all day to get it back on and was unsuccessful in doing so because of the awkward angle of the piercing. not wanting to a) bother ryan or b) try and find parking on whyte ave i just went to dragon fx in “the mall”. i hate the mall and i hate dragon fx even more but whatever… when i got there i asked the dude at the desk if there was a piercer in-there wasn’t, so i asked him if he could do it for me. i had the ball and everything i just couldn’t get in on myself. so he agrees and takes me into this little room, cleans the ball, puts gloves on, etc and tries to get it in. as he trying he keeps apologizing and talking about how he doesn’t want to hurt me. i tell him not to worry and just put it in-it’s not hurting and i’m pretty tough. he then proceeds to tell me that he can’t believe someone would do this to themselves. my response?

“i just got a scarification done last week”

he looked at me and said, “i just hate to see women in pain”

a noble sentiment but a fucking silly one. regardless of what you like or don’t like i’m here and i chose to get my ear pierced and my leg sliced open and your tentative touch gets me nowhere. you work in an industry where people are constantly in pain. get over it. boy, girl, lady, man, transgendered individual-we all feel pain and when we come into a tattoo/piercing shop we’re actually probably out looking for it. shut up and screw in the ball.

/rant.

anyways, in the end “why?” is all these things for me and none of them. i have pride in my body and this artwork has, in a lot of ways, made me feel more and truly beautiful because i look like no one else. my skin is customized in both colour and texture; but, i still hate my body and i’m still stumped by the clash between the NEED to look like everyone else and the NEED to look like no one else. And yes, i feel like i’m sexy and pretty and feminine in a way that defies all the traditional definitions of those words but at the same time these modifications can set me apart in a way that marginalizes me further and sets me up for judgement of another kind. they also set up preconceptions in the eyes of potential sexual partners. For example, there are people for whom the way i look is intimidating insofar as they feel that i wouldn’t be (sexually) attracted to them because they don’t reflect the same choices in their own bodies. trust me folks, the ratio of tattooed to untattooed people that i’ve had sex with is weighted much more heavily to the untattooed side. tattoos aren’t a prerequisite for getting in my panties.

and yes, i am constantly curious to see how far i can (willingly) push my body and to see what it can withstand but there are moments when i worry about how far this will take me. i’ve already gone so far beyond the line i drew for myself in 2002 when i got my first tattoo that i am incapable of predicting anything and sometimes that is one scary fucking thought. in five years am i going to be blogging about tongue splitting, genital modification, finger amputation, implants, suspension….?? who knows.

so i guess after all of this silly musing the answer is still “why not?” because in the end, all theory aside, it’s pretty and i WANT it and i can’t pin it down to something simple (or complicated) becauseit’s all the reasons you could ever imagine and it’s none. and folks, it’s my body and it’s the only one i’ll ever have and i will do with it as i please. 

oh, and before you ask- when i’m 80 i’ll have some goddamn good stories to tell my grandkids and my tattoos will wear my age the same as my face-with pride.

xo xo.  

michelle.

p.s. buy this book and read the shit out of it:

Atkinson, Michael. Tattooed: The Sociogenesis of a Body Art. Toronto: UT Press, 2003.

and go visit ryan at strange city- he’ll hook you up!

three birdies and some BLOOD!

*the photos below could be considered gross to some people so make sure that you’re ok with blood and pain faces before you proceed. ok? ok.*

when i got home last night i started reading this book called “Tattooed: The Sociogenesis of a Body Art” by Michael Atkinson and i wanted to quote something from this book just to preface the subsequent discussion of my most recent foray into body modification (and before all the bloody pictures) (this quotation related specifically to tattooing but the point remains universal to body modification in general)

” Deviant or not, tattooing is a deeply historical and unique form of human representaion. As a species, we mark our bodies in order to signify our humanity, to express and communicate our sociality as we do through sculpture, architecture, painting, speech, dance, cinema, or gesture. For too long, sociologists have downplayed the (cross) cultural significance of tattooing, favouring depictions of the tattoo as a symbol of personal sickness, subcultural deviance, or social disrepute. Our cultural sensibilities toward this for of art are undergoing rapid change, however, and in failing to recognize the fluctuating nature of the tattoo as a cultural signifier, sociologists have misinterpreted the humanity ingrained in the practice and relevance of tattooing across time and space” (x)

scarification feels the same to me, now that i’ve experienced it. to imply that it is merely a deviant practice completely negates the power of the experience. to go into a room with someone you’re trusting to inflict a considerable amount of pain on you requires the kind of trust i don’t often associate with deviant behaviour. sure, it’s not for everyone but nothing is for everyone. i hate basketball and beef…

what a night though, let me tell you. ryan is amazing. if you need to get a needle poked through something or you want to get sliced open with a scalpel go visit him at strange city. i mean it. he has this amazing ability to put you at ease and joke around and create a really comfortable environment without ever sacrificing an ounce of the professionalism to do a good job.

so the process is a simple one. stencil, outline (officially the most painful part), freezing, and then opening up the wounds (cutting deeper). i’ll tell you though-when the freezing didn’t take i sort of wanted to die a bit… i’ve been trying to think of a way to describe the pain or to compare it to tattooing but it’s completely different. i can’t really explain. it feels like being CUT. (not too suprisingly i suppose). i think overall this was the most physically demanding and intense modification experience i’ve had. there were times when i thought i was actually going to cry actual tears and the outlining of the third bird was absolutely the most challenging thing i’ve chosen to put myself through. it never ceases to amaze me what the human body is capable of.

in short it was an amazing experience. i gotta give big ups to ryan for being as rad as he is and to steven and mary for watching me bleed everywhere, take pictures and provide moral support. thanks friends! ryan, you’re the shit!

so, here are photos. remember, there’s blood…

michelle nancy! this is your life!

you’re suddenly pushed back into the bathroom by this boy you “met” once and he’s kissing you and trying to convince that he’s worthy of your time and perhaps the time of a friend as well. suddenly you take a step back and wonder…”is this really my life?” and you chuckle to yourself, be thankful that it is, and kiss him one more time.

he’s not the boy you wished you were kissing, nor is he the girl you wish you were kissing and eventually you just unlock the door because a part of you knows you’re wasting your time but the rest of you knows that this moment will make for a good laugh in the haze of a champagne hangover the next morning.

what a night friends, what a night.

innocent skank is an oxymoron

2 out of 3 dentists agree that my upcoming scarification is scary as fuck.

i’m sure the third dentist would agree but he’s smoking meth in my bathroom. fuck that shit stinks.

vive la revolution

it’s all over. holy smokes. i’m pretty sure it still totally hasn’t hit me. it was such a quick and completely overwhelming process but such an amazing experience. i think the performance itself went really well and i can’t wait to hear the music once it’s been all mastered or whatever needs to be done with it to fix the balance. our cast party was also hella fun. here are some photos from said wonderful evening:

(sorry there are 9 million photos but i was drunk and i just posted all of them…)

nye 06/07. photoblog!

masochism quartet

masochism doesn’t actually have anything to do with this post. it’s just something i wrote down today in passing and shazzam! i kind dug it.

weird. masochism doesn’t have anything to do with this…

anyways.

i’m working right now and when i say working i mean my real job where i don’t sit in front of a computer all day wondering how the world survives when all we do is internet all day. nope, i’ve been spending my days dripping in creativity and loving every second of it. the more shows i do the more i’m sure. for as unsure as all of this is a little bit of certainty is worth a smile and a small sigh of relief at the very least.

anyways, it’s that week where everything is frustrating and everyone is at each other and no one is getting what they want. we’re all barely getting what we need at this point. THIS IS A CRITICISM OF NO ONE; it’s the way of things and we all know it. i always forget how terrible this week must be for the new kids on the block.

(side note: remember how much being the new kid sucked…being the slightly past new kid is terrifying enough)

so it’s all good but there are things that are eating at me, things i should have brought up long ago, things that should have been handled differently perhaps. i don’t even know. there are things. there are always things.

anyways, tomorrow is opening. i’m stoked. STOKED. and i needed a moment to vent so i could sleep. thanks.

sleep well and wish me a body full of broken bones.

with love,

michelle.

p.s.  i hope you all had wonderful holidays and great new years and i hope that wherever you are and wherever 2007 takes you you get there with joy and love and and an open mind.

parden the bad sentence structure my friends, i love you all.

p.p.s.

tomorrow: i can’t fucking believe it…