Continuing to paint my breasts

A continuing work in progress. It felt good to continue working on it after a hiatus because it’s a bit of a declaration of my intention to stop trying to fit in, to toe the line of what it means to be a respectable woman in western culture.

I’ve been told so many times in so many ways that if I just learn to play the game I’ll be more successful. By my teachers when I spoke my mind to often, by my family when I wore ‘immodest’ clothing, by my lecturers when I stood my ground about my disability.

The thing about playing the game is that it is set up for cis-straight-able bodied-white men to succeed. Not me.

I want to stop trying to toe the line because doing that props up the success of those people and not my people, the ‘minorities’.

Painting my breasts

A work in progress. I’m painting my breasts because since age 12 I have been told over and over in myriad ways that they are shamefully sexual for every day life.

I have a distinct memory of photo day at sixth form college. My male head of year stared pointedly at my breasts, said ‘oh my god’ and insisted I must button up my cardigan for the photos. His facial expression is seared into my memory. It was a confused mish-mash of surprise, embarrassment and amusement. I never figured out what was funny. I was wearing similar clothing to my classmates but it seems my large breasts sexualise everything that isn’t a baggy T-shirt.

This was one of the many times that it was drilled into me that my body was shamefully sexual and I must cover up to make the rest of the world comfortable. It’s been almost a decade and the view that female bodied people should cover their breasts to be respectable is still in the majority.

So I’m painting my boobs in all their massive glory. Fuck everyone who thinks I need to put them away in public to be respectable.