So that was a dick move.
I mean, that last post was a dick move. No not THAT way! Come on, get your mind out of the gutter. [Note to self: future blog topic on sex shaming. Why is a sexual reference dirty or ‘of the gutter?’]
And actually it WAS a dick move in THAT way on purpose! I chose to NOT cover myself with a fig leaf or otherwise hide my penis. There is nothing to be ashamed about or cover up…and IT IS ART for god’s sake! Get over your midwestern tight ass false puritanism. Unlike my page and don’t look at my art. And NEVER GO TO CHURCH IN EUROPE! (Thanks Thom Rouse!)
I mean I posted some of my art without any of my back story! That was the dick move ;). Sorry gentle reader.
Yes, the art is there to invite the viewer into a story – and each viewer will find their own meaning in whatever is created. That is what I am learning to accept and love about art!
But, I also feel drawn to tell my story. To once again find my voice again in the world. I want to create art in photographs and digital imagery as well as in spoken word or song. For now, it’s a blog. A journal. With the occasional picture. A lens into my world. And yes, into my ego!
Welcome. Hope you enjoy the ride and take something away with you. If not, maybe next time or the next person! If not, I’m ok with that. Because I’m writing this for me not you ;). (Mostly 😉 (Thanks Big Magic)
Another Case of the Closet Cases
I guess I’m also a closeted writer. Or, I’m allowing myself to admit that I like writing. I always have. I’ve often said I write better than talking “off the cuff.” I like giving prepared lectures or talks or powerpoints or proposals because I slow down enough to think about what I’m saying. And of late, I slow down enough to feel what I’m feeling. Or figure out what I am feeling, so I can figure how to actually FEEL!
Spent a LOT of money in therapy over the years to be able to write that sentence. It’s like getting a liberal art degree. Probably cost about the same 😉 (Thanks Obama!)
The word came to me this week among various interactions and experiences. So I played with it, let it percolate – see what surfaces.
When I think of my friend Harold Brown and his passion for activism that quite literally landed him in the hospital but he still keeps fighting for a better world, I think of courage.
When I think of my friend Dorothy Pettet, who just announced to the world on Facebook that she is starting her medical transition, I think of courage.
When I think of the transgender bartender at The Sportsman in Lafayette, IN in the early 90’s when I hung out there and her stories of starting HER medical transition – LONG before it became safe enough for more people to come out of the gender or the binary gender closet – I think of courage.
When I think of my dad, who grew up in racially segregated Kentucky and worked hard for most of his adult life to earn enough to pay for all three of his children to go to college if they chose to, I think of courage.
When I learn more about my Polish grandmothers’ side of the family through my aunt-who’s-not-my-real-aunt Joan and the life they lived as immigrants in south philly at the turn of the century, I think of courage.
When I think of a 53 year old man trying to heal from a life of shame and trauma heaped on by religion and American society while also learning how to love and be loved by a beautiful human being who happens to be another man, I think of courage.
When I hear your story and the loss, love and pain you’ve lived through, I think of courage.
So that’s why that image came to be. Because of our collective courage.
Thanks for listening.
Keep tellin’ the story.
Signed ever faithfully,
The Right Reverend Lord C. August Peacock III