“While in convalescence, I had to use one of those donut cushions in order not to sit directly on my new labia and the vulvic area, which were still way too sensitive for any pressure. All of the women who had had the same surgery done on them walked around with their donut cushions. I fancied we could call ourselves the ladies of the cushions and maybe we could do a musical chair thing and see who got to sit with their cushions tucked under the fannies.” Joelle Circé LaraméeBreaking… Read more Excerpt from Breaking Free: 45 Years in the wrong body →
Excerpt from Breaking Free: 45 Years in the wrong body.
Even as a child, I knew that I was different than how I physically presented. Not with any clarity, mind you, but I did know there was something about me that was off. It seemed to me that I somehow had the wrong pieces. Yes, I was a puzzle with pieces belonging to another box.
I must have seen the Monologues at least a dozen times, if not more, and heard how my sisters spoke of their vaginas, what they had been through, what they had experienced. It gave me the courage to speak of vaginas from my perspective, to show vulvas through paintings, in my art. I embarked on a series of pieces that I shared with all. I believe in the beauty, strength, love, warmth, passion, birth, power, and heart of vaginas. I believe that they can speak to all things and that… Read more Book Excerpt ( Why I created My Vagina Paintings ) →
Breaking Free: 45 Years In The Wrong Body is a dive into my life as I recount certain moments and periods while prisoner of a body that was never mine and how I eventually, after innumerable sleepless nights, attempts at escaping from who I knew myself to be from early on, a female trapped in a male’s body. I manage to survive mainly due to my creative mind, my desire to draw and paint to imagine that I would eventually break free from what seemed to be my destiny. You… Read more BLURB →
When I was maybe fifteen, I was playing in our backyard on Albert Street. It had recently snowed so the ice rink that my father had made for us to play on was covered in about a foot or more of snow. It was the wet kind; perfect for making snowballs and snowmen. It packed just right and if you made a snowman, it would stay until a good thaw. I remember this particular incident well. It was early evening, just after supper time. I was with a cousin and… Read more Close Call with a Cold Ending ( free peek ) →