FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK

Circa 2016

Made during or in the dreg-days after the height of my t-shirt girls. Who were they, these girls? I tried to wrap my head and words around them at the time in interviews, everybody asking. Were they feminists? They were emblems of a time, when text on shirts was king, when Instagram was new, before the algorithm was an enemy, before the hashtag found me too, and white girl wasted Freud and feminism tangoed in the dark. I remember Matthew K. said something disgruntled about this watercolor when I posted it, probably too much fleshy plush female flesh peeling away from behind within the papered wall. You know, maybe this was painted after Trump was elected, because this is how things felt. We were so young then. It felt a savage rude awakening, the morning after scrambling with puffy face to find the insertion date handwritten somewhere on my flimsy IUD card because suddenly it felt possible that control of our bodies might become lost. The thickness in the air felt like that.