harrietquimby

This is the first time I have ever written something to be posted publicly, at the suggestion of my sister.  Even if I did think it was a good idea to take advice from a sixteen year old, that is not the reason why I chose to write this essay.  I chose to write this essay because my instinctive response to her suggestion was that I don’t want to deal with the imminent threats of death and rape in response to being a woman speaking her truth, or someone posting my address and urging others to bring harrassment directly to my door.  I chose to write this piece anyways, because I am afraid.  I am gut wrenchingly, soul achingly afraid.  The past few weeks have been difficult in my life for medical reasons completely out of my control, but that is not why I am afraid.

I am angered because the first time I chose to leave my house after major head and neck surgery, a strange man decided to take pictures up my skirt at a gallery opening.  Actually, let me rephrase that.  It wasn’t just a gallery opening, it was an art show featuring my work.  In an instant, the act of one man turned a much needed source of pride and joy in my life into a violating perversion based on his needs and desires that left me feeling more vulnerable than waking up a week and a half prior with ...