I lived in NYC for 17 years and learned on day one how to avert my eyes in an act of self-protection when I was being looked at by men.

Better not “invite” anything else, or worse, piss them off.

Sometimes, if I was in a well-lit, high traffic area, I’d look back at them, just so they knew I knew. One time, getting cat-called about my legs in the middle of Times Square, I yelled back “it’s none of your $$$$ing business!” and the guy followed me for a bit calling me a ... well...

you know what he called me.

All of this is pretty relatable and normalized, unfortunately.

So I love this idea of a feminist resistance to define the world by how I see them, not by how they see me.

I wonder how much of this desire to not be seen has infiltrated how I approach my art. I wonder how much I hedge what I have to say in my work, or how much I’ve stopped myself from making big splashy artistic gestures because somewhere at a core level I’m afraid to “invite” a certain gaze.

I wonder what art we miss out on because of the subconscious instinct of self-preservation.

Even writing this, I feel exposed.