wild things

Women have been told their whole lives, generation after generation, that they’re not enough. They have been labeled to look, talk, walk, act a certain way otherwise they’re difficult. They’re too wild. They’ve carried this burden all over the world, in all cultures, religions, countries that they have to be perfect. They’ve been too fat, too thin, too dark, too fair, too covered, not covered enough, too ambitious, too domesticated, too into their looks, not taking care enough of their looks, dumb, too smart, ugly, just a pretty face, too slutty or a tease, too bitchy, too friendly, asking for it, too shy. If they’re in a burqa it’s a problem, if they’re in short dresses, it’s a problem. They can’t make decisions about their own bodies while they’re told that their bodies were asking for it. They’re made to feel like shit no matter what.

But this journey in recent years, that women all over the world have been on is fucking refreshing. They’re changing the world. Identity, rights, acceptance, beauty standards, authority, power. Women all over the world are fighting back. There giving lesser fucks. They’re unapologetic. They ready to push harder than ever. They’re wild things. Why should they conform to anything at all? Who the fuck decided that they should all be a certain way? Women are of all kinds. Women are fluid. Each is unique. Each is complex. They can’t be tamed. They can’t be told how to live their lives. Women are wild things. They are born to be free. They will choose how to live their freedom.

Just like that, the women I’ve been painting went through a change. My girls, my gorgeous women, they’ve been trying to be perfect, staring back down, perfect hair, long beautiful necks, put together but now they don’t give a fuck. They’re wild things. Their female gaze now is wilder, it’s crazier, it’s ready to bring change.