A Night at GRIT

Words: Faith Thurnwald
Photos: Victoria Tuakimoana

The night starts in the afternoon. A dirty gin martini or a peculiar take on one at least. The home bars out of olive juice, so pickle juice and blue cheese seem to suffice. Time to get dressed up nice, and find someone who can actually make a drink.

We arrive at Echo and Bounce, for the closing night of Grit. First order of business as usual is to find the bar – once sorted it’s time to move onto the second obligatory point of order: a gritty bar bathroom pic. Grit is a week of workshops and art exhibits centralized around the gumption of girlhood. Grit is described by the events curator, Mayatu Nova as the collective and personal frustrations faced by women. It’s the realisation that women have so many shared experiences, it’s getting angry that we all have to go through the same bullshit.

Female rage, a subject I’m well versed in – just ask the voice notes in my girls group chat, or an unsuspecting driver who forgot to indicate. And although I jest we know it goes far deeper than that. Female rage comes from a long lineage of the suffering we women have had to endure. It lives in our bones, in our very being. It’s far more than the monthly malleus that comes with PMS, when you want to punch your broom for just fucking standing there in the kitchen corner.  It’s a collective notion that we are lesser, it’s a universal pain when we’re silenced, it’s the outrage of the notion we can’t even control our own bodies. It’s the person reading this right now who thinks I’m being hyperbolic, to whom I say; if you don’t get it, then you can just stop reading right now, exit this tab and go fuck yourself. But I digress –

Rant down, bathroom selfies done, it’s time for the art. I bound up the stairs of Echo and Bounce, and straight away recognize some of the local Brisbane Girlies. It’s immediately obvious this exhibition is centered around womanhood. One can’t ignore the themes of the body image debate, the duality of womanhood: to embrace who we really are or to become what is expected, what is required.

Phoebe exhibits a painting depicting mutual masturbation. Where a woman takes her pleasure into her own hands (literally). Pleasure isn’t purely enjoyed or given by a man, but even in this position of power we see the woman remains an object. The males dick – in hand – is centered, and in the position of power; kneeling over the female. It appears even here, man are subject, woman are object.

Eye Fleur exhibits her signature form: clay sculptures, painted and glazed to perfection. She touches on femininity, and intimacy. Her piece on display tonight explores the fluidity of the ever-changing female form. The audacity of embracing how we change with time: no longer hiding period pads in the bottom of the bin, no longer hating hair that’s only protecting our skin; our arms, our belly, our face and no longer feeling ashamed for simply growing.

I embrace growing and I end my night with McDonalds in bed, because while I went out in heels and a tight dress, looking stunning, I am also quite equipped at looking gross and rotting in bed. Ah yes, the duality of women.

For More: ‘A Night at A2Z’s Inertia Art Show’