A Murmur, a Cry, a Scream, & (sometimes) a Song

As a child and adolescent growing up in the 60s & 70s, I frequently butted heads with my mother. She and her four sisters — all born during the first two decades of the 20th century — had experienced misogyny, sexual abuse, and little-to-no access to reproductive rights. The Feminine Mystique and all that followed were revelations to me from a very young age. I was disturbed and angry that my mother (and extended family) didn’t feel the same. As time passed, my mother grew stronger and more vocal about women’s rights, and we ultimately shared many of the same beliefs. Looking back, I admire the courage she found and the beliefs she embraced. But it has taken me a long time to realize JUST how substantial the steps forward were for her after a lifetime of oppression. This humbles me greatly and also makes me realize that I/we, too, must continually reassess how much work there is to be done and never ever be complacent. I was fourteen when Roe v Wade was first decided and would never have imagined all these years later that women would — shockingly — be again fighting for reproductive rights. 

My installation, A Murmur, a Cry, a Scream, & (sometimes) a Song, simultaneously reflects back on my own family history and also imagines possibilities for the future. Many of the Kleenex in the installation have one or more lipstick prints all placed by me. I vividly remember from my childhood seeing my mother blotting her lipstick on Kleenex. I would watch her do this almost daily . . . it seemed like a bit of an adult ritual at a time when I still wasn’t allowed to wear lipstick. Other times, many of these Kleenex would end up in her purse at the end of the day. These imprinted tissues tie me to my past literally as I have the same shaped mouth as my mother and other women in her family. They are also metaphorically tied, as I hope my voice is a continuation and extension of theirs. These prints are reminders to not be complacent, to fight for what matters, to remember the past, and to retain some humility throughout.

The text written on the napkins are my reflections on family history and my speculations and hopes for the future. The writing includes both my ambivalence of what I experienced in my early years and my growing admiration for what evolved. The small nearly illegible text is a nod to Hebrew micrography (and Jewish mysticism) in which text alone was used to create decorative patterns and images.

Much of my work, including the installation in this exhibition, embraces uncertainty. The title of my piece and the installation itself do not give a clear indication of what will still happen. I do believe our voices — individual and collective — matter greatly. But I know that the real work is ongoing and the outcome is uncertain. I nevertheless hold hope that our tenacity, strength and collective voices/efforts are what will prevail. 

— Judith Brotman

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In the 1990s

In the 1990s abortion providers were regularly facing constant threats and deadly attacks by anti-abortion fanatics, generally Christian Fascists, driven by hateful rhetoric.

The abortion providers appreciation day poster commemorated Dr. David Gunn, an amazingly courageous doctor who was murdered in Florida in 1993.

The anniversary of the 1998 murder of Dr. Barnett Slepian in Buffalo, NY, was the partial impetus for the Guerrilla Girls Broadband’s poster The Advantages of No Choice Whatsoever, which was initially installed as part of a project in bus shelters in Buffalo for a show at CEPA Gallery in 2009. The bus shelter poster was based on the Buffalo transit map. We made the “Advantages” as a stand-alone poster the following year.

I and others also made a poster commemorating the murders of abortion clinic workers Shannon Lowney and Leanne Nichols in Brookline, MA, in 1994.

— Jenny Polak

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Dearest One from an Abortion Doula

Dearest One,

This is an offering.
This is holding space.
This is a reminder.

I love you. I don’t need to know you to love you but I do know you.
I know that you deserve the world.

You deserve care and tenderness and a gentle long safe embrace.

You deserve more than the deepest sincerest apologies, you deserve remedy, redemption.

Abortion is basic healthcare. Abortion is a human right. You deserve choice, this is a non-negotiable. You deserve unwavering choice and not a work around the choice that is your birthright. You deserve agency and power and control over your life, your body, your future.

Despite what the world wants us to believe, we are allowed to enjoy sex, we deserve to enjoy sex. We are worthy of pleasure. Our bodies are magical, and fun, and not to be feared. I hope you can feel safe in your body. Embryos do not spontaneously fertilize. It takes two. And I hope, deeply, that you have another — to witness and hold and validate your worth. 

You are worth more than your womb. You are worth your dreams. You are worth support. You are worth a witness, a witness for your life, a witness for your choice, a witness for your future.  

With or without a witness, you are not alone. And, it is okay that you feel alone.

You are not the first or only person to choose abortion and it is okay that it feels like you are the only one, or even that the scores of others don’t assuage the turmoil you are in. And it is okay to not be in turmoil at all about your choice.

You can be sorry. And you don’t have to be sorry. You can hurt and feel relief, and hold opposing truths close at once. You don’t have to apologize. Abortions are ordinary. They should remain ordinary.

If I got pregnant today, I would need to get an abortion. One can have an abortion and still want children when one is ready, on their own terms — so many of my loved ones have. One can have an abortion and still very much love the children that they already have and provide for — my grandmother did. One can have an abortion and then another and never choose to be a parent — parenthood is an option, not an expectation.

If I were with you, I would be making you an herbal foot soak. I would be listening to you and your body with you. I would be tucking you in bed, reminding you to journal. And if that would be too overwhelming, I would be tucking you in bed to watch your favorite movie. You know yourself. You know your capacity.

Your awareness of your heart and your mind is the way to healing and beauty. Ask for help, support and community, and set boundaries with your others, with your work, and sometimes even with yourself.

In awe, in love, in deep respect,
An abortion doula

— Udita Upadhyaya

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For Those Without Choice

● Installation
● Additional Images

Explore
● Curator’s Note
● Public Programs
● Partner
● Artwork List
● Interactive Exhibition Guide

Read
● Judith Brotman, A Murmur, a Cry, a Scream, & (sometimes) a Song
● Jenny Polak, In the 1990s
● D Rosen, After/Birth: trans hag in the Arctic
● Udita Upadhyaya, Dearest One from an Abortion Doula

Watch
▶︎ For Those Without Choice

Opening Reception
Fri, Jan 20, 5–8pm

Reservations required.

RSVP

Fighting Forward!
Freedom for Every Body
Thu, Feb 2, 6:30pm

For more information visit:
Planned Parenthood Illinois Action

Community Night: Reproductive Freedom Patches and Pins
Fri, Mar 3, 5–7pm
All ages welcome

Join us for an evening of art and making in support of Reproductive Freedom. Explore our current exhibition For Those Without Choice presented in partnership with Planned Parenthood of Illinois, then make your own activist patches and pins.

Weinberg/Newton Gallery Community Making Nights feature hands-on art making activities for all ages created and led by the WNG Education team. All materials will be provided, in addition to light refreshments and snacks.

This event is part of West Town First Fridays.  West Town First Fridays is a monthly initiative uniting the vibrant gallery scene throughout West Town while celebrating the artists and spaces who make our neighborhood *the* emergent gallery district.

Reservations encouraged.

RSVP

Amplify Teen Night
Sat, Apr 1, 5–7pm

Artist Conversation & Closing Party
Sat, Apr 15, 7–10pm

Join For Those Without Choice exhibiting artists as they discuss their work and then stay after to celebrate the exhibition.

Partner

Planned Parenthood of Illinois (PPIL) is uniquely positioned to meet this moment head-on, centering equitable access to care in the communities they serve and leading the fight to reclaim and advance our rights. PPIL is innovating health care delivery, advocating for legislation to protect providers and patients, and advancing a world in which reproductive freedom is a reality for all people.

When so many states have restricted access to life-saving abortion care, here in Illinois, PPIL has expanded access and provided compassionate care to patients who have traveled here from over 30 states, as well as patients from across Illinois. PPIL also provides medically-accurate,
age-appropriate, and stigma-free education to thousands of young people and students across the state each year.

Illinois is a haven state in the Midwest, and PPIL has been preparing for this moment for years—opening new health centers, expanding telehealth options and abortion navigation services, and working with other providers and abortion funds to increase capacity. PPIL will continue this critical work, utilizing innovative approaches to provide care to a rapidly growing number of patients, addressing persistent disparities and barriers to care, serving as a trusted provider that connects communities with the resources needed to access essential care, and protecting the legislation that has secured Illinois as an oasis for sexual and reproductive health care and education.

A Murmur, a Cry, a Scream, & (sometimes) a Song

As a child and adolescent growing up in the 60s & 70s, I frequently butted heads with my mother. She and her four sisters — all born during the first two decades of the 20th century — had experienced misogyny, sexual abuse, and little-to-no access to reproductive rights. The Feminine Mystique and all that followed were revelations to me from a very young age. I was disturbed and angry that my mother (and extended family) didn’t feel the same. As time passed, my mother grew stronger and more vocal about women’s rights, and we ultimately shared many of the same beliefs. Looking back, I admire the courage she found and the beliefs she embraced. But it has taken me a long time to realize JUST how substantial the steps forward were for her after a lifetime of oppression. This humbles me greatly and also makes me realize that I/we, too, must continually reassess how much work there is to be done and never ever be complacent. I was fourteen when Roe v Wade was first decided and would never have imagined all these years later that women would — shockingly — be again fighting for reproductive rights. 

My installation, A Murmur, a Cry, a Scream, & (sometimes) a Song, simultaneously reflects back on my own family history and also imagines possibilities for the future. Many of the Kleenex in the installation have one or more lipstick prints all placed by me. I vividly remember from my childhood seeing my mother blotting her lipstick on Kleenex. I would watch her do this almost daily . . . it seemed like a bit of an adult ritual at a time when I still wasn’t allowed to wear lipstick. Other times, many of these Kleenex would end up in her purse at the end of the day. These imprinted tissues tie me to my past literally as I have the same shaped mouth as my mother and other women in her family. They are also metaphorically tied, as I hope my voice is a continuation and extension of theirs. These prints are reminders to not be complacent, to fight for what matters, to remember the past, and to retain some humility throughout.

The text written on the napkins are my reflections on family history and my speculations and hopes for the future. The writing includes both my ambivalence of what I experienced in my early years and my growing admiration for what evolved. The small nearly illegible text is a nod to Hebrew micrography (and Jewish mysticism) in which text alone was used to create decorative patterns and images.

Much of my work, including the installation in this exhibition, embraces uncertainty. The title of my piece and the installation itself do not give a clear indication of what will still happen. I do believe our voices — individual and collective — matter greatly. But I know that the real work is ongoing and the outcome is uncertain. I nevertheless hold hope that our tenacity, strength and collective voices/efforts are what will prevail. 

— Judith Brotman

Scroll to menu

Dearest One from an Abortion Doula

Dearest One,

This is an offering.
This is holding space.
This is a reminder.

I love you. I don’t need to know you to love you but I do know you.
I know that you deserve the world.

You deserve care and tenderness and a gentle long safe embrace.

You deserve more than the deepest sincerest apologies, you deserve remedy, redemption.

Abortion is basic healthcare. Abortion is a human right. You deserve choice, this is a non-negotiable. You deserve unwavering choice and not a work around the choice that is your birthright. You deserve agency and power and control over your life, your body, your future.

Despite what the world wants us to believe, we are allowed to enjoy sex, we deserve to enjoy sex. We are worthy of pleasure. Our bodies are magical, and fun, and not to be feared. I hope you can feel safe in your body. Embryos do not spontaneously fertilize. It takes two. And I hope, deeply, that you have another — to witness and hold and validate your worth. 

You are worth more than your womb. You are worth your dreams. You are worth support. You are worth a witness, a witness for your life, a witness for your choice, a witness for your future.  

With or without a witness, you are not alone. And, it is okay that you feel alone.

You are not the first or only person to choose abortion and it is okay that it feels like you are the only one, or even that the scores of others don’t assuage the turmoil you are in. And it is okay to not be in turmoil at all about your choice.

You can be sorry. And you don’t have to be sorry. You can hurt and feel relief, and hold opposing truths close at once. You don’t have to apologize. Abortions are ordinary. They should remain ordinary.

If I got pregnant today, I would need to get an abortion. One can have an abortion and still want children when one is ready, on their own terms — so many of my loved ones have. One can have an abortion and still very much love the children that they already have and provide for — my grandmother did. One can have an abortion and then another and never choose to be a parent — parenthood is an option, not an expectation.

If I were with you, I would be making you an herbal foot soak. I would be listening to you and your body with you. I would be tucking you in bed, reminding you to journal. And if that would be too overwhelming, I would be tucking you in bed to watch your favorite movie. You know yourself. You know your capacity.

Your awareness of your heart and your mind is the way to healing and beauty. Ask for help, support and community, and set boundaries with your others, with your work, and sometimes even with yourself.

In awe, in love, in deep respect,
An abortion doula

— Udita Upadhyaya

Scroll to menu