I’m building up courage to expose myself

You joined in helping transgender people in Ukraine. What is their situation?

In some respects, Ukraine is more open than Poland, for instance abortion is legal there. But the situation for transgender people is not easy anywhere, and the war has made it even more complicated, especially for transgender women who are often treated like men. They cannot leave the country because there is a general mobilisation. At the border they are turned back to Ukraine. Fortunately, there are grassroots initiatives to help them.

What can be done for them?

We are raising money for humanitarian aid. We chose the CohortNGO initiative which helps evacuees who have trouble crossing the border because of mandatory military service. They also provide them with shelter in less frequently bombed parts of the country, closer to the Polish border. I suspect that many people are still unaware of the issues facing the trans community, which is why publicising the issue is so important. This situation is very difficult for me emotionally.

You are a non-binary person yourself. There is more and more talk about transgenderism, but still no proper language has been developed. I was wondering how you would like me to address you.

As a non-binary person, I do not identify as being either a woman or a man. But my name doesn’t bother me for now. You can call me Gosia. I use alternating male and female pronouns, sometimes neutrative forms. Indeed, there is more and more talk about trasexuality, but I don’t think it’s enough. Trans people are getting a word in, a few years ago we weren’t given one at all. I see how much it helps, especially for young people, to understand their identity. In the 1990s, when I was growing up, it was a lot more difficult. For most of my life, I had no idea what transgender was, and I don’t think I knew a single person from that community.

You grew up in the countryside, which you also highlight.

I come from Radoszyce, a small village in Subcarpathia, where there is a small, fairly closed community. There’s no shop, no bus service, and it’s hard to get phone coverage. The village is secluded in many ways. Its functioning is strongly influenced by the Church and the priest, to whom the community submits.

What was it like growing up as a transgender child in the 1990s in a small, gated community?

All my childhood it was suggested that something was wrong with me, but I never knew what it was about. I had a hard time getting along with both the girls and the boys in my class. I functioned as the class freak. I had always enjoyed drawing, creating, and writing. Another annoyance was the reactions of the teachers who told me that the art assignments were done for me by an adult. I experienced violence that had many sources. Society socialised me into a feminine role, it was pointed out that I didn’t dress girly enough. Over time, I learned different behaviours and knew what to wear to more or less fit in. Still, it did not fit into the canons. When someone was wrong and called me a boy, I felt great euphoria and fear at the same time. I was also not a perfect daughter because I could not conform to the norms accepted in the village. Fortunately, there were plenty of animals on my parents’ farm. I loved playing with them. My safe space was by the river. I decorated the house there with different stones and flowers. I also had an art gallery there consisting of objects made of mud and moss.

Do you often think back to your childhood?

I talk a lot about my childhood because since my coming out a year ago, I’ve been trying to work through that time and better understand the processes within myself. This is difficult because internalised transphobia is a big problem that shapes us throughout our lives, making us anxious, depressed, and lowering our sense of worth. Sometimes it is also intentional. Some people find it hard to believe in the existence of being non-binary. At one opening, a man approached me to tell me that I presented myself as trans for publicity, because I wanted to be trendy. Although I am able to approach such situations with more detachment after many years of therapy, they are still painful for me.

And yet you speak out about it and help other transgender people.

I want to talk about transgenderedness because then I feel like I’m reclaiming my subjectivity. Sometimes you can also save someone’s life. People who have had similar experiences write to me. Some because of failing sex education, and the discrimination and demonisation of the LGBTQIA+ community may never even know that queer is about them too. And the more people talk about being non-binary, the faster people will understand what it even is. I don’t see any other way. That’s why it’s so important to listen to people who speak for themselves.

What has helped you in this process?

I suffer from depression and anxiety and have an eating disorder. When I was no longer able to cope with my crises, I went to psychotherapy. I turned 18 and I could decide for myself. I didn’t tell anyone about it, not even my parents. After some time, therapy and psychiatric treatment helped me understand my identity and come to terms with myself. It was also a great breakthrough to meet transgender people who spoke openly about themselves. After a while, I realised that I also don’t identify with the gender assigned at birth, that my identity is fluid. I watch my body and emotions and listen to them.

Did your parents support you in this?

This is a difficult topic for me. My parents did not understand me and could not support me. It doesn’t surprise me because I don’t know how a person living in a rural area where there was no universal access to education in the 1970s and the internet is still fresh, is supposed to get a degree in gender studies. If something isn’t on mainstream television, it isn’t talked about. I myself didn’t understand for a long time how I was different from the rest of the kids, so I couldn’t explain it to them. They were definitely terrified. I did not fit into the stereotypical roles assigned to girls in rural areas. I never learned how to milk a cow, which I was often reproached for. I didn’t dress properly. I was not the daughter they dreamed of.

One of your series of works is titled ‘The Farmer’s Daughter’. What, then, should she be like?

All my life I have listened to what a farmer’s daughter should be like. First of all, she should look beautiful and have long hair in a natural colour, preferably blonde. She should also dress beautifully, even while doing housework. The ideal farmer’s daughter also goes to church and is humble. Such a daughter brings no shame to the family. By painting women in their stereotypical roles, I try to visualise them, and perhaps understand them better.

It’s not easy to get into such a tight pattern.

I’ve had moments when I tried really hard to live up to those expectations, to blend in with the crowd, to make sure everyone would leave me alone at last. When I paint these characters, I dress them in things that I wanted to wear at the time but I couldn’t. I envied my friends who were ultra-feminine, even though I felt very bad about stepping into that role myself. Such a tight pattern is traumatising because little room is left to grow in your own way. Girls often cannot go to college because they are tied to the farm or there is no money for it.

Do they clean and milk cows, like in one of your works?

Besides having to look pretty, they work very hard. I noticed earlier that boys have far fewer responsibilities than girls. My brother doesn’t have to do all the things that my sister and I do. I refused to accept such inequality. A woman in the village has a lot of responsibilities that are not seen as work. I painted a picture that has my mum in it. It moves me to watch her. She is already an older, sickly person, and she works every day from dawn until late at night. I don’t think the division of responsibilities is balanced in any rural family.

Can any girl or woman live up to such expectations?

Some people succeed. Some people, however, break out and flee the village.

Like you?

Over ten years ago I moved to Poznań. I tried to cut ties and live in a place where I know no one and no one knows me, where I can start my life over. Where I can be myself.

Polish cities are not a hotbed of tolerance either.

I grew up in a rural area and talk primarily about my experience. In both urban and rural areas, there are people with addictions, those unable to cope with emotions and pressure, people experiencing violence and perpetrators of violence. Although I listen and read about different situations in the city, I don’t want to comment on it and appropriate that space. There are people who can tell it better.

You have exhibitions in important galleries. Are your parents proud of you today?

I think my mum, who I have a better relationship with now, might be proud of me, although I’ve never talked to her about it. The rest of the family is unlikely to understand what I do for a living. My grandmother is still dismayed that I don’t have a steady full-time job, even though I am able to make a living from painting. My sister has been very supportive of me in all of this.

Are they able to accept you yet?

I’ve not come out to them. I think I’ll tell them all about it someday. For now, only my sister knows. It’s hard to say how much she understands. I don’t know if she knows anyone with a non-binary gender identity besides me. I think my coming out may be a hard thing for the family. I’m working on it, and therapy is helping me prepare to go there as myself.

And who do you go there as now?

As a woman. I have specially made costumes that I wear when I go to my family home. I grow my eyebrows, even though I shave them every day, and I dye my hair a neutral colour. I play a farmer’s daughter, maybe not a perfect one, but at least a daughter. Maybe I could talk about being non-binary with my parents, but I’m postponing that moment for now. I know it would be loudly commented on by the neighbours. In Radoszyce parishioners initiated the collection of signatures under Kaja Godek’s homophobic bill. I don’t have the energy to argue with these people, so I just limit my trips to my home village. As much as I try to talk about it openly, I don’t feel as safe in every space. I think I’ll break through it over time. I discovered my identity for myself first, and someday I will discover it for others, but it is a long process. I’m building up courage to expose myself completely.

When you left the village, you didn’t slam that door shut, you keep going back there, also in your paintings.

By leaving, I broke off contact with my family, but now I’m trying to restore it. I get a lot out of therapy. It makes it easier for me to get back in touch with my mum. I can tell her when my boundaries are crossed because I already know where they are. Going back to the countryside in art also has a therapeutic dimension, it serves me to work through traumas. A lot of it stems from childhood, but it’s not a closed phase of my life. I’ve got to do a little bit more with this countryside.

What else are you coming to terms with in your work when it comes to the countryside?

One of my paintings shows a girl dressed in sportswear killing a chicken. I have yet to come to terms with violence against animals. As a child, I saw a great deal of death of cows, pigs, chickens, ducks. Children are not spared these sights. You walk by and suddenly see a cow’s head being cut off. I would run away from these situations, but still far away I could hear the scream of animals being killed. Other animals heard it and scurried away too. Then, when I came back, there was blood everywhere and a quartered body. To this day, I still see those images and can’t get over them. I stopped eating meat at a very young age.

There are also a lot of religious aspects. Are you coming to terms with the Church?

I grew up in a religious, Catholic family. There was a lot of pressure to go to church as a child. I used to want to be an altar boy, but I couldn’t because only boys can do this. I wanted to ring the bell for Mass, but that’s also a task for boys. I signed up for the choir, where I was completely unsuccessful, so after the first attempt I gave up. I have been a non-believer for a long time. Over time, I began to notice a lot of inconsistencies between what is said in sermons and psalms, and what is done. I also saw discriminatory actions against women or LGBT people. I stopped believing the Church. I associate it with violence.

There is a lot of observation of the culture of the periphery, as you call it, in your work, including distinctive emblems.

I remember from my childhood that there was always Caprio orange juice with a 50% off promotion. There is a Caritas candle in every home, even though no one never uses it, but buys a new one every year anyway. Flowers in pots. These are the figures that make up these places. I look back on them with some fondness. Although they are no longer in my life, I still remember them.

The images look like they were painted with a marker. Is that also a return to childhood?

I actually paint them with acrylic on old advertising banners. I really like the children’s aesthetic. Many of these scenes were remembered through the eyes of me as a child. I carry each painting around for a long time, sketching it dozens of times, but when I sit down to paint, I try to make sure it’s done quickly and is in line with the emotions I’m experiencing. My paintings are fairly simple, with clear planes and an economy of colour. By juxtaposing them with such heavy topics, I want to keep it simple.

Why did you choose used banners?

I often recycle various pieces of junk in my artwork. In the beginning, I didn’t have money for materials. My family isn’t rich, and because of my desire to get away from them, I didn’t often ask for support. My partner works at a large format printing company and brings me waste from it. I painted on a variety of materials, but banners worked best. It also alludes to the fact that nothing can go to waste in the countryside. Often the farm is divided by a fence into two parts. The residential one has flowers and tidiness, while everything behind the fence can be neglected: a dilapidated shed, a junkyard, and a landfill for everything. At my house there were several sheds filled with junk up to the ceilings. Maybe it comes from the days of scarcity, when something had to be made from nothing and rural DIY was practised. If they don’t find a practical use, you can still make decorations out of them. I’m still amazed by the swans in home gardens, flowerbeds made from used tyres or other things no longer useful. I’ve also learned to be a hoarder myself, I struggle to get rid of things.

In your series of works about the holy spring, you show what changes are taking place in the countryside.

Radoszyce is famous for its holy spring. It is associated with the story that the pastor’s daughter contracted leprosy and fled to the woods where she lived for several months. The Virgin Mary appeared to her, showed her the spring, the girl washed in it and recovered. It has changed a lot in recent years. It used to be a small watercourse in the forest. Over time it began to grow in infrastructure, a chapel and gazebo were built. They attached a massive plexiglass plaque with the names of the founders. My father worked on the construction of the chapel, but his name was written in small print because manual labour is not as valuable as money. I still go for walks to the spring when I am in Radoszyce, but I can no longer sit there quietly because there are always queues of cars and people who want to fill up on the water. I definitely preferred this place when it was a hole in the ground decorated with a few stones. My mother always recommends me to brew some tea using the water from the spring because it has miraculous powers. I doubt it. They once detected coliform bacteria in it.

The countryside is changing, but I don’t know if that’s the kind of change we’re talking about. People in rural areas still experience exclusion – they have difficult access to cultural goods, often cannot go to bigger towns because they are busy and subject to transport-related exclusion. I define exclusion as violence.

Despite your difficult experiences, you treat the countryside with tenderness.

Some of these things I’m talking about are not directly related to the countryside. Child abuse happens everywhere regardless of financial status or where you live. Also, I love the countryside. I’ve always been close to nature. Radoszyce is the only place where I can really relax. I also still feel part of this community, however it may be. After all, I’m not just going back to the bad things, they are mostly behind me and are in the past that I’m still dealing with, but still they are in the past. Maybe someday I’ll live in the country again and start an animal asylum.

 

Małgorzata Mycek –born in Sanok in 1993. A painter and performer living in Poznań. They grew up on the periphery, in a small village in the Bieszczady Mountains, at the turn of the millennium, which they often explore in their works

Author: Monika Stelmach

Photo: Małgorzaty Mycek:

Photo: Michał Mutor

Painting by Małgorzata Mycek „Farmer’s daughter”

Photo: Bartosz Górka

 

The text was published in „Wysokie Obcasy” a magazine of „Gazeta Wyborcza” on 30 April 2022