Being Seen. 🏳️‍🌈

Happy National Lesbian Visibility Day 🏳️‍🌈

It brought up a lot of emotions and feelings for me today.
This will probably be my longest caption ever.

To be blunt - feeling seen can be scary.

Identifying with a label can be scary.

(Warning: i go a bit deep here & idc)

“Two women can’t possibly have a long-term relationship.”

The day this opinion was spoken to me... I felt my voice cut out and fall numb. A tightness grew below my chest and went straight to the bone.
I knew then, that I felt unseen.
I also found out that it’s sometimes harder to actually be seen.

Ms. Perfectly Fine, oil on canvas

Honestly, it’s sometimes quite difficult. 
When I came out (and as I continue to come out to people) I’m flooded with ideas of (what will this person think of me now... are they judging me... did their opinion of me change?)

There seems to be a slight hesitation to being fully seen in your light.
Fully seen as a human and not a “stereotype.”
Another honest sentence... I don’t even like the initial word “lesbian.”
I started to like it after learning about the Greek island of “Lesbos” but that’s another story...anyway...I’m flailing here.

I always noticed a space missing as a woman who was interested in other women.
In my own life but mostly in art.
Well to begin, it was comprised mainly of male artists and secondly the subject matter was almost always women. Ironic. 

Anyway... 
Art made me feel seen.

It gave me a voice to communicate ideas in a louder way.
I’d draw pictures of actresses or women’s faces and make up excuses that I just liked to paint their “face shape.”
Why did I want to paint them? I’d beat myself up over it again and again.

Temptation, oil on canvas

I used to look at older paintings that men did of women in art school (mostly always men as I said before) and have a slight feeling of jealousy or envy at their ability to paint them.

*sidenote: i know men can paint women beautifully as well*

Excess, oil on canvas

With that being said, when I viewed the pieces back then they seemed very glazed over and flat. 
A simple silhouette that really didn’t have a backstory or a narrative.
Her hips accentuated and a disproportionately shaped body.
What was the meaning?

A woman is more than that.
I felt I had a different lens.
I noticed the gentler, subtle movements.
Picking out slight gradations of skin tone, a curve of the neck, body language.
Feeling something that sank to the deepest part of me.

Right Where You Left Me, oil on canvas

Bringing this light and airiness to the canvas.
Allowing my heart to paint what it wanted as I allowed myself the same.
My paintings have grown with me over the years.
I will continue to paint what comes through and also what scares me initially.
Those are where the best ideas bear fruit.

Self-Reflection, oil and acrylic on canvas

My ability to express my voice has changed and I am far from being perfect at it.
All I know is I want to be a voice in the fine arts for you wlw out there. 
A voice, a gentle whisper, an echo — some semblance of sound.
There is nothing wrong with that soft place beneath your heart space that lights up with pure joy when you see her.

And if you can see parts of your own narratives in my paintings just the slightest bit... I will feel that picking up the brush is worth it.

Sending you love today.

Halie

living within labels & dealing with negativity online

Labels.
Why do we use them?
Why do we label ourselves?
Why do we label others?
Since the beginning of time, we have made up words and distinctions regarding how we perceive things.

This is red.
That is blue.
The ocean is big.

Yes, these are pretty simple and random distinctions, nothing inherently wrong.
The mundanity of this knowledge is instilled in us from a young age – until we learn to self-direct it,
applying words to ourselves.

I am a girl.
I am tall.
I play sports.
I live in a brown house.

Even after these initial phases,
the distinctions are pretty rudimentary.
Until we begin to judge them. Not out of contempt, but out of mere necessity to understand.
We place judgment.
Positive or negative – sometimes even neutral.

I like to play sports.
I like the color blue, not the color pink.
I don’t like riding my bike.
I only like to play outside, not inside with Barbie dolls.

These judgments do not have an abundant, true meaning.
They possess simple, mundane, trivial judgments.
They do not mean anything until…
one grows older and develops,
living within the social confines of a rigid structure.
This mending and bending contortion
of overused adjectives and stereotypical nouns.

I don’t like him.
He is weird.
Those people are different.
She looks like a boy.
I don’t want to sit by them.
She’s a misfit.

…these may not mean anything to you,
until one is directly applied to you.

That last one…rings a bit louder,
a trigger resonating and pestering my eardrum,
vibrating with a higher pitch.
When someone (I will name anonymous), called me this in middle school, years and years ago…it stung.
Plain and simple – it hurt.

Me… a misfit??! What did I do? How?
I don’t want to be left out of the crowd.
I’ve done something wrong.
Why…

It is insane how long certain messages stick with you.
How long that the belief lays dormant beneath your skin like a virus,
festering and waiting for that perfect time to burst through your pores –
and out into the air again for another breath.

I now look at my differences as complimentary.

I’m a misfit.
I f***ing stand out.
Good.

Cut the Hallmark card B.S.
It’s minuscule Halie.
There’s bigger insults in the world – than for you to overcome being called a misfit.
Grow up.
Bigger problems than “being gay.” (which may I add is not a problem… but a blessing)
I’ve grown to see it in this light.

That’s not entirely what this discussion is about though.
It’s about the “comforts” of applying judgmental labels, which leads to their ultimate demise.
After publicly labelling myself on all of my social platforms…to everyone that I “know,” the struggles didn’t seem to dissipate. It may have even aggravated them.
I knew that I was making myself vulnerable online and was ready to take on these negative comments… head-on. (or so I thought)

The negative comments do sting…
and I’d even go as far as saying,
some labels have teeth. (literally & figuratively)

You’re too masculine.
Damn, you don’t even LOOK gay.
& my favorite one yet…
You’re too hot to be a lesbian, what a waste.

Wow… that last one. Thanks for that.
I appreciate that you believe that all lesbians seem to be less physically attractive than everyone else, applying yet another label.
AND
For the ignorant absurdity of the idea – that because I am not desiring a man – it dooms me into being an utter waste to society as a whole.
Initially, this angered me and I was about to comment back a reply that was…let’s just say… heated.

But, I refrained.
I took a couple of deep breaths,
recollected myself, and thought,
”if this person is using their valuable, free time and energy to watch my coming out video online and posting a hateful comment on it… they must be dealing with some deep, internal struggles of their own.
So, kudos to you my friend.
In the words of Demi Lovato from her new song, I Love Me, all these comments won’t “be f***ing up my energy.”

Maybe it’s just that I haven’t experienced extreme negativity through my vulnerabilities online or the newness of receiving them – but the initial emotions always seem to pierce through a thin, metaphorical skin that protects me in my little bubble.

Either way, the projection of labelling causes an internal divide.
There seems to be two sides of me preparing for battle.
Masculine energy vs. the feminine.

This comment from a stranger seemed to evoke a deeper insight and bubbling emotion from deep within me.
The emotions continued to rise and I found myself asking which version of “me” was ultimately “right.”

Am I projecting myself too much?
Do I need to look a different way – wear more heels… get all stereotypical about looks in general.
Is there a line to expressing vulnerabilities?

And I’ve come to this conclusion.
No, you don’t have to “wear the heels,”
or the flannel,
or the rainbow-colored headbands.
(but you can if you’d like to)

In reality, labelling will never end.
Language will continue and we will use words to formulate our worlds.
It is self-directed, in that we direct where our energy goes and how we allow it to project onto us.
I have – to some degree – placed myself within this label, but I choose not to see the bounds of it…
& yes, I will continue to be vulnerable, because I know no other way as a creator and spiritual being (knowing these two go hand in hand.)

Thank you again to that stranger who left a comment on my YouTube channel and to any that may result in the future.
I will learn to develop a tougher skin.
Or rather, to let it go.

And to whatever labels, may have been projected onto you…
We all possess this choice,
of taking note of it…
and living our own truth.

photography by: Gregory Poulos
edits by me