I had been reading concepts of women's writing and/or l'ecriture feminine, specifically Helene Cixous's essay "The Laugh of the Medusa." She calls for the end of a language catered to and invented by patriarchal semiotics and linguistic structures. She wants canons to collapse in terms of how language can be used to describe women's experience.

I went to visit an exhibit at the Harry Ransom Center called Technologies of Writing. I may have done a tricky thing, but I took photographs of all kinds of writing systems from Babylon to Hindu to stream of consciousness to channeling spirits through writing their received words. I was mesmerized by the enormous amount of information one learns in scribbles onto tablets, papyrus, and pages.

By some strange fate, I inherited an enormous broad sword. Obviously, I had to use it for my final performance piece.

Combining a bunch of concepts into one performance art piece, I walked in Butoh slowness, covered in flour, wearing a lace gown, naked underneath and weilding a sword. In my other hand, I held a metal bucket. The film above played in the background. I approached the center of the room and used the sword as my symbolic weapon/phallus/pen. I slowly descended the sword onto the ground. In the bucket, I pulled a mannequin head I had painted as Medusa and presented her eyes to everyone in the room. Finally, on my chest, I painted in (fake) blood the letter "I." As the lights dim, I point to my chest, smiling slightly, looking both crazed and clever.