I am a woman, but I am not fierce with feminism. I believe in the fight, but I don't agree with Woolf's premise. Women, throughout the past have been denied the right to express themselves, but they were not denied a Pen and the Page, a brush and a canvas. They denied themselves of these tools. They allowed themselves to be oppressed by Men; they chose to be submissive. When they were told no one would listen, they kept silent. Their tongues were not cut by the weapons of man; their mouths were stitched closed by their own sewing needles. They had thoughts, Words, and wisdom, but they refused to voice them. They suppressed their talents as they were oppressed by society. Women conformed to the ways of the conventional, when they could have, even before the nineteenth century, rebelled against it. For true art, in essence is an act of rebellion and the artist is never defined by gender.
I embrace my sexuality, my pride, and my diginity as a woman. But most of all, I embrace my freedom to create, to write, to imagine: a freedom created by my will alone, a freedom I would be willing to die for.