Almost two years ago, artist Sarah Levy painted a portrait of US President Donald Trump with her menstrual blood, using a tampon and a paintbrush. She was upset at Trump’s outrageous comments implying that Megyn Kelly was hormonal during the Republican debate, and her painting put menstrual blood art on the centre stage. As someone who has been using the menstrual cup for almost five years, I’ve always had access to blood so to speak and to tampons, paintbrushes and canvases that all gather dust in my room. Though I have for a long time followed people who use their menstrual blood to paint for both art and activist reasons, I had myself never gotten around to doing it. I didn’t see myself as having enough of a reason to paint with menstrual blood.
My own ‘Sarah Levy’ moment came a few weeks ago when #padman challenge became the buzzword around the release of the movie. I was upset that women’s shame was being used to sell a movie, that men were now cool because they proclaim periods as normal, that the fact that less ash and saw dust use by women in rural India were making the rounds, that unused pads were being used to pose with them only to be disposed off shortly thereafter while hundreds of women ironically did not have access to them. I was upset because people were getting angry if the above points were raised, while conversations have expanded to sustainable menstrual aids for those who can use them. And I was upset because men were again not listening to the women.
Case in point — all the men lauding a move to install napkin dispensers at cinema hall bathrooms which made me wonder just how many of them had left a movie mid-way to go in search of pads for the women they know. All of these things upset me, and I was menstruating around that time (in that order please, so that you don’t Donald Trump me or come up with a PMS joke of your own). With a cup in my hand and an idea in my head I brought a mason jar out and started collecting my blood in it. Two days and four-cup changes later I had enough to fill a canvas. Here’s the only thing you ought to know about painting with period blood: It stinks.
Of course, it does. Which is why we empty our bins out more diligently while on the period (as pad or tampon users), change them more often then we need to, let companies sell us scented pads, are disgusted by the sight of blood and don’t want to spend a second longer engaging with it. Now saved up period blood is another level together — the stench is over powering, and can make one gag, cough or develop a splitting headache. It did all three to me. But I braved through it, and in an hour had a painted canvas. Not a masterpiece by any means but certainly something that carries a piece of me. No I didn’t really have a reason now to use menstrual blood to paint with, but I’m glad I got to try it. The process itself was cathartic as painting is I suppose, but doing it with my own blood, when there was so much noise about menstruation helped me look inward. It was great to work with a bodily fluid, waste as we call anything we want to get rid off.
The stench added a new dimension, reminding me again and again of the number of people who have to live with used bloody nondegradable napkins lying in their backyard while we carelessly go on dumping them. My painting in hues of red, yellow, purple, black and white reflect a bleeding vagina, a burning earth, and body love. Has this empowered me? No. Learning to love my body and everything it produces is a step towards empowerment. Then what’s the point of this? Realising that there are far better ways of talking about things than temporary wasteful marketing gimmicks. Why am I harping about this now? Because I’m bleeding again, collecting my blood, I’m going to paint in red till every menstruating person finds out that they have a right to bleed, and there is no shame in blood.
ARCHANAA SEKER
seker.archanaa@gmail.com
The writer is a city-based activist,in-your-face feminist and a media glutton