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and was very smart, very articulate, very well-read. He had come to the film showing, never having seen my films. At the end of the screening, when I asked people for their responses, he said that he had found it very disturbing. I asked, "What was disturbing about it for you?" And he said, "Well, I found myself unconsciously thinking that this wasn't feminine. And
then
I thought, well, how can this
not
be feminine. I mean this is the female part of females! So I looked at my attitudes and realized that, without really knowing it, I had developed certain assumptions about femininitythat feminine means symmetrical and pink and pretty and delicate. I realized that even though I thought I was conscious, I still held unconscious attitudes about femininity." I really appreciated his comment and his willingness to share it publicly.
I had other, very different responses. At one point, I was invited to the University of Wales in Aberystwyth, which was presenting a fine arts festival. I couldn't resist the idea of a fine arts festival in Aberystwyth. I had also been invited to Cannes to show
I Change I Am the Same,
a stunning little forty-five second movie that's still out there making money for me, which is really satisfying. Both invitations were for the same dates. Being invited to Cannes was quite a
coup
for an independent filmmaker, but I decided to go to Wales instead. I discovered that the University of Wales in Aberystwyth was a hotbed of Charles Olson studies. I'm sure you know the American poet, Charles Olson, whom I had met a couple of times and really admired and loved. My boyfriend, D. V. John Dubberstein, and I were staying with a lecturer in the English department, who was much more interested in my anecdotal memories of Charles Olson than in my films.
Anyway, the first night of that festival was devoted to a showing of films by. Stan Brakhage, also a friend of mine from California, and John's cousin. I think John actually owned some of Brakhage's films because we had a copy of
The Art of Seeing
. I was very familiar with Brakhage's work, so I took it upon myself to represent him at the screenings and answer some of the questions from the audience.
Window Water Baby Moving
[1959] was shown and a few other things, and there was general outcry and outrageat
Window Water Baby Moving
! I remember one person in particular, an English professor, who objected
violently
to that movie, and said, among other very hostile things, "Would you film someone making toilet?" I remember thinking, "Does he mean putting on makeup? Is that some kind of eighteenth-century phrase he's using, or is he talking about someone going to the bathroom?" So, when I stood up, I said, "I found your comment very interesting although I wasn't sure if you were talking about someone putting on makeup or someone peeing or shitting." Of course, that created even more uproar, as I, I'm ashamed to say, intended it to. Later, I said in a