Wednesday, July 20, 2011

cloaca

The cloaca is a room full of jars. The smell alerts you to its purpose. Jars that are a perfect representation of our digestive system. Jars that make poo. The poo is sealed in plastic bags although I didn't really stay long enough to see that. It was all about orifices anyway, poo holes and vaginas. There were a lot of vaginas. My vagina can be art. When you look at them all lined up like that there is a rhythm to them. Still each one must be individually scanned and of course I am looking to see which one looks like my own. Even with art I am comparing myself. Is my labia too long, have I more hair than her, how would I look if I shaved like this?

Can I not just enjoy art for arts sake? Must it always be a competition? I wonder if men look at the penises in the paintings and compare and contrast the way I do. Is it just a girl thing?

2 comments:

little hat said...

I thought it was only boys who compared appendages. Of course we're such mature animals we only ever appreciate the art before us. Now, if its not art then the comparitive and competititive gene kicks in big time.
I've never looked that closely at the female version in comparative terms.
Did you really want a response to your out loud musing?

Krissy Kneen said...

yes please, respond away. x