I am so sick of people passing judgement on my period work to make them feel superior about themselves. Never mind that they enjoy fucking on their periods, or that they hate having their periods, or that they have self-esteem issues, or that they’ve been divorced several times, or that they are martini parents who say mean things to their kids, or that they’re on prescription antidepressants, or that they need to get a life. When they write hurtful things about me, they can feel good about themselves for a brief moment.

That said, I can take a deep breath and think that in a way, I am glad that my work is potent enough to affect people in a deep and profound way. People, especially women, are either liberated and empowered by my work, or they are utterly disgusted. What amateur critics don’t realize is that my work is only a mirror reflecting who they are. People’s reactions betray their strengths or weaknesses. My work polarizes people. There is no in between. This ain’t no landscape art people thoughtlessly pass by at the office. You won’t find this in suburban art fairs next to badly drawn charcoal portraits of children and dogs. I would rather be criticized than ignored.