This was one of the more alternative perspectives my late father shared with me, as a younger 'un, when it became apparent to him that my curiosity in The Sex had been more than just piqued.
His guidance on sex went something like this...
"You have something between your legs that men will go to war for. Don't abuse your power or use it to manipulate men to get what you want from them."
He went on to roll his eyes slightly and let me know what dumbasses men can be when sex becomes involved in things.
He called this lesson The Power of the P*ssy.
He was something else... my dad. A highly intelligent man who saw things uniquely and all too clearly. And a very fuckin' funny man to boot. The kind of person who could sum someone up in the blink of an eye and was always entirely spot on, he seemed to have an almost mystical intuition about people.
It wasn't anything mystical though.
It was his ability to see Truth.
I now know it requires a great deal of fearlessness to see the negative side of humanity as much as the positive, instead of trying to sidestep or bypass the not so nice stuff because it's often scary or uncomfortable.
It must have been hard for him to see that clearly at times.
I know it was hard for him to see that clearly at times.
But that's another story...
I think it's tough for all people who see the nuances, complexities and all too humanness of being human more clearly. It's often not considered polite to be that kind of honest anymore. The elephants in the room have become an accepted part of social interacting, yet it's not considered acceptable to point them out.
We smile and wave.
We dance around the unspoken.
And I strongly believe this is why so many of us feel like "strangers in a strange land" in this complicated system we call Western Society.
But this post isn't about etiquette.
Although I did consider writing about etiquette for this prompt because fuck knows old school manners seem to be dying as well in the haze of half conversations drummed out on keyboards intermittently.
Left to interpretation
Inevitable miscommunication
Open to manipulation
A weird way of communicating
No eye contact or real validation
that it even really happened...
This is how our youth are learning to interact and socialise in full now.
I wonder how that's gonna to pan out for them?
I thought of writing, or receiving, old school thank you notes for gifts or events for the prompt. And the look and feel of them in hand.
This because I wanted to make a video to say thanks to this community yesterday.
A thanks for all the encouragement and support I've received over the last week. A totally unexpected surprise and the antithesis of my experience of mainstream social media platforms.
But then I overthought it.
Is it still okay to say thank you like that these days? Or would folks think I was only trying to drum up more upvotes? Or think I'm cheesy and overly sentimental
*spoiler alert: I am sentimental. Who wouldn't be at this stage?
And then I got stuck into chatting with people around here and boy can we talk a lot when we get goin', huh @dreemsteem? I guess that's what happens when you've been wandering alone in the desert for three years and you find kindred spirits.
So please take this as a simple thank you to everyone who stopped by, or who I ran into, on PeakD over the last bit. And let's get on with what this memory is supposed to be about before I bore the dressing gown off you.
My dad also suggested I go and study Fine Art.
I won the art prize in Matric unexpectedly and it was the one time he managed to take a break from business to attend a school function. He was there and he was as surprised and delighted as I was.
I guess he'd also seen me work on my paintings at night, often still awake to greet him as he left for work in the morning. The blue paint, accidentally spilled, on the expensive cream carpet in my bedroom was never even mentioned.
He always encouraged me to pursue my passions in lieu of financial gain.
He made this suggestion by mentally adding up all of the days I would work at a job throughout my life... calculating this by hours, into weeks and then into years verbally for dramatic effect...
and then snappily finished off with, "That's a LOT of your life to spend working so you'd better fuckin' make sure you love what you do!"
He swore a lot as well.
I've heard somewhere this is a sign of intelligence and honesty and, although I can't prove that supposedly scientific fact to be true, I do know he was indeed both of these.
I'd also almost been expelled by two schools for non-attendance by the time I discovered painting. An arty boyfriend and a brilliant art teacher at the now third school drew me to it. My grandmother, who also was my mother for some years, painted as a hobby as well.
I would sit, riveted, watching her at her easel in the afternoon sunlight. The smell of oil paint has always been wonderful and feels a bit like home to me. Although to be honest I've never really found a place that truly feels like home.
There was some upheaval in my youth that made stability illusive for some years.
If not permanently...
I began to skip school as a result.
Seeing me so absorbed in this particular school subject must have been why my father thought art a good idea for me. Always the self allocated outcast, I moved between schools and the groups within them, belonging nowhere specifically... adapting like a chameleon to the people and places around me.
There's a school photo of one of my classes from those times and I'm there... a bit to the left of the group...with more than enough space between me and them for a story to be told without words.
But, despite my obvious aversion to educational institutions, university was non-negotiable. My dad was set on providing his children with a higher education. Something he'd not had the privilege of acquiring.
But again... that's another story...
And so I did it.
I managed to get in to one of the most prestigious departments at the University of Cape Town - the Michaelis School of Fine Art. Only 60 students were accepted to enter the program out of, literally, thousands of applications per year.
I mostly did this because my arty boyfriend was studying there and he said I'd never get in.
So I did. Of course.
And I managed to complete my degree despite threatening to drop out every single year of the four year experience. If it weren't for a good friend I probably wouldn't have made it. "One more year." she would say, every time I said I'd had enough and was leaving.
This would happen a couple of times a year.
Every year.
I was working part time, delivering pizzas and also as the belligerent clad in black leather, bourbon swilling door lady of an alternative (Goth/Rock) night club, to supplement my living expenses while I studied.
I would deliver pizza until the restaurant closed and then head to the club straight afterwards. My shift at the club ended way after dawn and there was often a party going on somewhere even after that.
Although my dad was a successful, wealthy and generous man he'd come from very little and had achieved his financial success on his own. He insisted we make our own way in the world as much as possible as well. Another good lesson that probably kept me alive in many ways over the years.
Especially these last few.
Over the years I've resented his guidance at times. I suspected he was patriarchal and chauvinistic by not encouraging me to study medicine, business, law or rocket science because I'm a girl.
I tell you something...
These days it seems he also saw me more clearly than I ever saw myself back then as well.
I graduated with a B.A Fine Art Degree and went on to forget who I was in my pursuit of leading a responsible life and fitting into social expectations of "normal" and "successful".
Artists rarely make a decent living, you see.
Despite my father's wise words he never walked them in action. He drove himself into an early grave by his own hand when he lost the business. A successful business that took most of his time, kept him from being with the people he loved and prevented him doing the things that filled his soul.
It went to follow then that everything he said remained only words despite the intelligence of them. Children learn from what we do. Not what we say. This is how our core beliefs, perspectives and... ultimately... the choices that stem from them are made.
It's unavoidable.
His suicide did reveal some startling truths to me, however, and my direction in life began to change remarkably as a result.
In a way this is turning out to be my memories of him, it seems...
because if there is any nostalgic moment I could recreate by some miracle I would choose to sit with him for a while again.
To sit with him with the learning and understanding of the who I am today.
We parted ways for some years before his passing. Stupid disagreements born of fear and ego. Which are the same thing really. What a waste of precious time.
I'll tell you something else that I know is a truth...
Those arguments and battles that keep us from connecting with people?
None of that matters in the end.
I promise.
Not when death comes knocking and there's no more time to make things right. In fact... I can't even really remember why we began to fight and lose touch with each other at all now.
This is another misconception we humans have because of the same inability to sit with "truth" I spoke of above.
We think there will always be more time.
But the undeniable truth is that our time here is limited.
These days I live every day with this in mind. It helps me appreciate each moment more consciously and it helps me not sweat the small stuff.
I'll say it again until you believe me...
It's mostly ALL the small stuff!
But this post was about something I'd have to explain to my son today from a life back then.
And although I share, of course, the same wise words my father shared with me (because I have walked them in action and I know them to be true for me now), this story is about the art degree my dad suggested I go for. And the photography major I walked away with despite my professor openly saying to the class he was gonna fail my ass for...
for...
you guessed it!
Non-attendance.
I was kindly alerted of my impending doom by a couple of classmates and the cool student lecturer. The student teacher was a gay woman just slightly older than me and I was flirty and provocative back then. She took a shine to me. And I did to her.
This was third year, by the way. Almost there but still enough of a haul to the finish line to make me rebel. It was about two weeks until final year exhibition and I had fuck-all to show for it really. Not even a topic or an idea of what I might present.
My situation suddenly dawned on me in full. I had to pull some kind of miracle out of the proverbial hat or face my father's disappointment at my failure. And the financial implications of it.
University was only for the privileged few in Apartheid South Africa. It was costly and it was still hard to get into despite this. A repeated year would also have been a complete nightmare for me. It was make some magic happen or... probably... drop out completely.
I sat with a final year student and shared my predicament. We were friends from that same club scene and talked often. While I sat there in somewhat wide-eyed terror the conversation somehow drifted towards my dad's "Power of the P*ssy" life orientation 101 class.
Advertising had taken off as an industry in the years prior and I had a keen interest in it. I was also a natural feminist. You can probably tell by now.
A boy girl.
Gender fluid and non-binary because of the respect, freedom and resulting personal responsibility my dad had afforded and encouraged in me. Pissed off at the way I was seen and treated because of my gender because of his influence as well.
It's not that I don't like men. I love men.
Some of my best friends are men. (*stolen and revised)
And my best lovers have been men as well.
I just don't like the way men generally see and treat us women. Or how a lot of women see and treat other women either, to be fair.
And I'm all about equality.
With the heavy conditioning and stereotyping we're exposed to it's hardly even anyone's fault. Bias. Societal expectations. And the resulting suspicions, resentments and lack of trust because of them.
On both side, of course.
It's those pesky elephants you see.
They get up to all kinds of shit when nobody's looking.
So the topic of my third year exhibition became "The Power of the P*ssy" out of desperation and frustration both. It was a statement on how the advertising world was using sex to sell products.
With payoff lines ranging from:
"It takes performance to get to the top of the firm" being used to sell a bust firming gel for women. (I shit you not)
To the proverbial fast cars and hot chicks pics.
It was everywhere in the early nineties. Sex sold! People were obsessed with it. Everybody wanted it. It got and held people's attention fast.
Easy meat.
Nom nom.
I had two weeks to shoot, process, print and frame my final third year exhibition...
I asked my step-mother to be the model.
My home for the short while I lived with my dad was really liberal. I'm guessing me sharing that hardly surprises you right now.
She posed a full frontal for me with her legs spread wide. Yeah. A full frontal beaver shot. I lit the scene so that her vagina was shadowed just enough for the technical next step of the project but not enough for it to not be shocking.
I then took carefully lit shots of the products I was using, from the actual advertisements, with the pretty outrageous payoff lines. These were reversed. Darkly shadowed around the products because I planned to overlay the negatives and print them as one photograph.
The products were to be directly over the in your face p*ssy with legs spread on either side. With the payoff line printed beneath the artwork. I'm not sure you can do something like this with digital.
It was 1992 and I was using an old school film camera, of course. Similar to this one.
We only used black and white film for art school.
I was into high contrast so I over processed the film that came in those small grey canisters. The ones kids used to carry their weed and more around in those days.
Small enough to fit in a pocket and they had lids to keep the contents safe.
Like these...
Yes. We processed our own film.
If you wanted high contrast you had to push the processing time on the film itself. And the same went for the development time for the photographic paper.
No photo or image editing software back then.
Or even personal computers.
I can still remember the smell of the chemicals in the dark room. I love the smell of these to this day, by the way. A powerful vinegary smell. Your hands began to reek of it after a while.
There were tongs to move the photographic paper around in the developing fluid inside the paper trays, after it'd been exposed, but I rarely used them. I would rub the paper with my hands instead to push the contrast up even further.
It was something, I tell you. Rubbing those massive pieces of paper and seeing my step-mother's vagina slowly begin to appear.
Of course I went large!
I printed the shots into one meter by half-meter prints. Or roughly that size anyway.
And I did the whole lot in three days with barely any sleep.
My legs were so swollen from standing, eventually, that it became painful to walk. I would limp to the student lounge, every so often, and lie on the floor with my feet propped up on a wall to try and get the blood flow back to some kind of normal.
The student teacher left snacks outside the darkroom door to keep me going. She was a cool woman. I probably should have married her instead of my first husband looking back.
Hindsight, huh?
Although my photography professor had made his decision and already considered me failed, marks were also to be allocated by the professors of the other art departments at the university: graphic design; drawing; painting; sculpture; print-making.
In addition an external examiner was brought in for a good portion of the final mark allocated.
The exhibition was eye-catching.
Large, stark black and white photos lined at the same just above eye level all around the half of the big hall I was allocated.
On first glance it just looked kinda neat. You couldn't really make out the images in the photos from a distance. You had to walk up to them, real close, to see the products and read the payoff lines.
This still makes me smile.
The painting professor, a woman, walked out and refused to mark my work. She was outraged and considered it sexist and over the top. Seriously. This at the leading art University in Cape Town? I find this fucking hilarious now. And very telling as well. But that day my heart sank when the student teacher alerted me of the initial reaction.
"You walk in and there's just a massive wall of p*ssy," commented the student lecturer... laughing out loud as she said it.
Looking back perhaps that's why she kept leaving me treats.
I ended up getting an upper second in the end. Pretty close to an A. I heard the external examiner loved it! It was extreme, but it was also a first of a kind around those parts apparently.
My pissed off photography professor even softened a bit after that and suggested I take the topic further and elaborate on it for my final year. There had been many, many shots and artworks of male genitalia in the art world, he said. But as far as he knew nobody had done a full frontal, or even subtle half artwork, of female genitalia back then.
But I can't even take credit for it.
This was my father's mind and perspective expressed by my determination to impress him, my love for him and above all... his cheeky and humorous way of walking in the world. And my commentary on how few people had his kind of perspective back then, I guess.
Because he also taught me to fight the good fight.
But...
(of course)
that's another story.
Footnote
I ended up destroying all of my work from that year. As well as the negatives. And most of my final year work as well. I only have two photos left from my final fourth year exhibition. And they're not even the good ones.
That's all that remains from a four year art degree.
Yes. The one up there at the top is one of them.
I added a background with the now digital ease of making art and used both as featured images on Medium for some Chapters of a book I"m writing on all of this.
The working title of that book is currently "The Book That May Never Be Written" because it's a hard story to write at times and I do it in bits and pieces.
A.K.A "The Accidental Theory".
I think this may be part of it...
Thanks for the prompt and inspiration Silver Bloggers and to @tengolotodo for suggesting I take a trip down memory lane.
It was a good day... ❤️
Hardened Dreamer
Mother
Peaceful Warrior
Determined Dancer
and Stargazer
still...
Beyond fear is freedom
And there is nothing to be afraid of.
To Life, with Love... and always for Truth!
Nicky Dee
Images credit and original source:
Kodak film: Jakob Owens on Unsplash
Photo of photography equipment: Baher Khairy on Unsplash
Photo in developing tray: Tima Miroshnichenko on Pexels
Yeahhhh! You wrote a exhilarating post :D
HUGS!
This is actually your work too my darling Snook.
You guys have opened up a worn heart again. I'm coming home... ❤️
Oh, those darn elephants! It was their incredible trampling over everything that got me to comment. And yet, so many still choose to ignore them, me included. I wonder how we got to that place in our society where the social norm is to ignore and lie, keeping a lid on what's bubbling away on the surface? Well, it looks like you are someone who doesn't do that. And it's soooooo refreshing.
The great thing is that by looking through the comments, I can see you've made a genuine connection to so many already.
My dad, also my hero, was possibly the complete opposite to yours. When I stated I wanted to go to art school, he said, "It's about time you got a job." And so I did. I worked for two years in the mundane world before I had to do something more. I attended evening classes and did an English Literature A Level. It was the start of something special. It lifted me up and invigorated me.
There have been many times that I've returned to the mundane. It seems to be a pattern. The elephants wail and I pretend I can't hear them. Until, finally, something (like this) brings me back to my senses, slaps me around the chops and points at the elephants so I am forced to notice them.
Truly, THIS, has blown away the pretence. Thank you, I'm grateful for your bravery and conviction. 💛
Wow, Julia 😌
What incredible feedback and thank you for the thought and time it must have take to respond like this ❤️
I'm SO glad you didn't listen to your dad that time!
Yeah - those elephants. I ignore them too at times. Still! It's a tough one to crack permanently and we do what we can when we are able to. Nice to meet someone else keen on shining some light on the shadows... it's how we end up shifting things at last, I think.
I hope!
Many voices are far more easily heard :) ❤️
I hope too! 💛
This is an onpoint summary of your life's journey and you know ,what really captured my attention here was the first part wherein your did did his duty to keep you safe from those wrong people. All in all I enjoy reading this and I got lessons again.
I love that you found something helpful to carry with you!
Yes. He was a pretty sharp guy.
Enjoy the ride 😊
I gave your comment a lot of thought this morning... again.
It wasn't the wrong people... that was me avoiding myself!
The advice he did give me was to be fearless in my pursuit of the life I wanted. Good advice!!! 😊
Way too much brilliance and honesty for this simpleton to process so quickly and give the deserved reply but for now, thanks for sharing you with us. Genuinely appreciated.
Stop talkin' down to yourself.
I just saw your post on the temple and am going to read it next!
Thanks for your awesome support and connection Nathan 😁
Woah... and the booooost! 🚀
Yay! 🤗
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This entire post was like a collection of mini canvasses... little (im)prints from your life... impacts made both on and by you ... overlaid and underscored by your dad's constant presence in your life - his love and support and giving a f*cking damn about what really matters... both in life and now, as you re-ignite yourself both off-chain and here on Hive.
One thing I will say is... girl you've got cahunas!!! More than most guys I know! You are bold, insightful, creative, sensitive, and intelligent... you have character... and heart and I love that... keep focusing on what's important... and agreed...don't sweat the small stuff!
I enjoyed this read Nicky... I think your book will provide an interesting and revelationary read... it could be something quite special and meaningful. I am rooting for you to finish it one day.
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This community is bringing me back to life!
Tnx @youarealive & @samsmith1971
Fantastic to hear.
Aaaahhh... wow...
We are though. All of us. Sometimes we just need to be reminded so thank you 🙏
Maybe... one day... maybe...
I need to edit the other chapters and bring them here. My voice has softened enormously here. I was scared and angry but now I'm starting to feel safe again. It's quite incredible how that opens up the heart and the words both. I'm finding it easier and more enjoyable to write than I ever have before.
And this platform has done this.
What amazing words from you. Thank you again ❤️
I think we'd all love it if you shared your your book here on Hive❣️ No pressure though...you need to do you in your time 💗 There is no statute of limitations on that 😊
If you look in the right places, you will always find what you are seeking; what you are needing xx
!PIZZA
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The plan is to share ONLY on Hive first and then only release SOME of the content here to other platforms later on. Unless I get pissed off and need a rant on politics and world events. That lives elsewhere. I don't want to taint my experience here with that stuff.
Thanks for your encouragement. It really means so much after the experience I've just walked through...
The story's been so well received I just may continue with the book now. It's quite risqué (and it gets more so the more bad choices I made until I sorted some stuff out) so I was interested to see how folks here would take to it. But it seems to be as open-minded and tolerant as I believed it is on PeakD.
Now confirmed 👏
I think this is the space to release first rough drafts and then expand them into the full novel... I"m thinking this now.
I have another project I need to get off my plate first though. It's a pro bono thing and I'm sick to death of it tbh, but there's info there that is important to share. To be finished this weekend. Box ticked. And then I can focus on the creative stuff here which is SO much more fun!
On we go! ❤️
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Wow @nickydee! I am totally shocked with your story and how you developed your art career. I'm sorry to hear about your father, and I just want to add that I'm also in a weepy stage in my life, I guess the years make us more sensitive.
:) Hello @mjvdc
Not much shocks me anymore 😊 But I've been exposed to a load of stuff (bit of a rebel and adventurer and it's ended up in some interesting situations!)
Thank you. He passed some time ago and but I actually miss him more every year...
A weepy stage can also mean you're healing, my darlin'. Grieving and letting go.
But if it's not anything like that please reach out to a professional who works from a trauma informed background and who you feel you can trust and ask for support if it goes on, Please. Sooner is better. Especially if you find yourself isolating.
It's been rough for many of us. This massive global shift. And it can leave residue that needs to be cleaned out...
Best done with support from someone who knows how that works.
You are not alone. Unless you choose to be. Find the others :) There are more like us ❤️
Thank you very much @nickydee for your noble words.
Pleasure, treasure.
Just take care of yourself please while things shift.
Everything passes. It's inevitable. Change.
This too shall pass ❤️
Hahaha now that's how to attract some whale upvotes Nic. Well done there. Your effort is paying off.
Hey hey.
You know... I'm just being me and starting to believe that's not a bad scary thing for some people after all. It looks like I've just been hanging out in the wrong places. 😊
Nice to "see" you! You were in my thoughts today and here you are!
Just WOW
AH :)
Thank you!!! 😃
That makes the sore back from sitting totally worthwhile!
So much going on here. Heartbreak, stamina and truth. I sent you 40HP, not much but it’ll help you wit your resources. (South Africans must help each other. Haha)
Oh my gosh! How generous of you!
Thank you so much :) You just made my day 🙏💥
I’d give you more, if I could, but I’ve overdelegated as it is. Nevertheless, I think you’ll fly on Hive and get the help you deserve to succeed. Kudos ❤️🤗💕🤗❤️💕💕🤗
Wonderful… such truth and honesty.
Thanks for sharing. I so get it. 🥰💃🏻
I'm so glad it resonated with you.
Keep up the dance! 😊
Thanks @nickydee 😎😁💃🏻 I sure will… you do the same!
Happy Friday 👋🏻☀️
Friday happy days back! Whoop whoop! 😁 💥
Yes! Almost weekend 😉😁😎💃🏻🥰🤗☀️🌺
That photo exhibit must have been brilliant. I'm all for supporting art and artists which push the boundaries; that's what art is all about, after all. If someone wants a feel-good anything, I suggest they watch a Christmas movie.
I still use film. I have dozens of old (pre-SLR) cameras that I like to experiment with. Fun stuff.
I totally agree!
And I think the best conversations, books, music and art leave a conversation incomplete.
You know something has been awoken when you when your thoughts keep circling back to the conversation even after is it "over", I think?
You must have a lot of fun :) There's a totally different look and feel to film. I miss the texture of pre-digital. In music as well.