2015, photos from books, paper, ink, beads, pearls and other beads, sewing thread, approx. 51 inches around.

Too frequently, artistic pictures of naked women are voyeuristic and mediocre.  I felt the need to tell these “artistic photographs” taken by a dirty man what I think of them. I made three artworks with this series of phtographs, one for each part of the female gawked at anatomy (breasts, fannys, bums). This obviously is a bosom artwork, disguised in a beautifully bloody red and pink doily. The middle is made of pearls drowning in sticky milky bees’ wax.

In my twenties and early thirties, I was free. I was constantly topless and never even considered that men gawked or  groped and when they did, I would laugh and tell them to “fuck off” . When I had children, I never hesitated to pull my breast out, no matter where I was, and give my baby food. I was beholden to my children. I didn’t think of people staring around me or what their staring might mean.  Now, late into my forties, my breasts seem pretty much the same to me, but I don’t want them on display. They are mine and I want to keep them for myself. I don’t know what made me aware, but I now see that when your breasts are showing, someone will try to own them that isn’t you.