Experiment mit GIMP



Frankfurt Westend, Frühling 2010



Lesen: Eat Pray Love. Von Elisabeth Gilbert

6.9.2010

Auf dem Weg zur Arbeit wollte ich mir im Bahnhofszeitungsladen etwas zum Lesen kaufen. Etwas, nur für den Fall, dass auf der Arbeit nichts los sein sollte. Eat Pray Love stand zufällig (oder viel wahrscheinlicher: strategisch wohl überlegt) zwischen all den Zeitschriften, die frau am Bahnhof schnell mal für die bevorstehende Zugfahrt kauft: Vogue, Cosmopolitan, Myself, Glamour, Madame, etc. Da es bis zum Kinostart von Eat Pray Love noch gute zwei Wochen waren, nahm ich statt einer keine Konzentration erfordernden Zeitschrift, ein wenig Konzentration erfordendes Buch mit.

10.9.2010

Mag sein, dass Eat Pray Love noch ein Roman wird - was ich beim Kauf erwartet hatte -, aber noch ist es ein Reisebericht, und zwar im doppelten Sinne: Elisabeth verreist sowohl physisch als auch psychisch. Sie ist schließlich "eine Frau auf der Suche nach allem", wie es auf dem Cover meiner Ausgabe heißt. Auf der Suche nach fast allem bin ich auch, dennoch fällt es mir schwer, mich mit der Reisenden im zweiten Teil - Pray - zu identifizieren. Muss frau nicht, aber für mich persönlich wäre zumindest ein Sympathisieren mit Liz vonnöten - was sich auch schwierig gestaltet. Dabei bin ich dem Beten, dem Praktizieren von Yoga, und der Esoterik im Generellen gar nicht mal so abgeneigt. Liz jedoch gibt sich auf dem zweiten Teil ihrer Reise GANZ dem Gebet und der Meditation hin - (für mich) zu viel des Guten.

Während die Meisten höchstens mal ein "bitte, bitte lieber Gott" gen Himmel richten, geht es Liz radikal an. Bevor es aber so weit kommt, hat Liz einen Zusammenbruch, währenddessen sie erkennt, dass sie das Leben, das sie führt, nicht leiden kann. Liz kann es nicht leiden, weil es ein Leben ist, das sie gemäß den Erwartungen anderer führt, ohne zu reflektieren, wieviel von dem, was sie lebt mit ihren wahren Wünschen, ihrem wahren Ich konform ist. Der Augenblick, in dem Liz dies erkennt, ist für sie so beängstigend und treibt sie so sehr zur Verzweiflung, dass sie anfängt zu beten, und keinen anderen Ausweg sieht, als zu hoffen, dass da jemand oder etwas ist, der/das ihre Gebete tatsächlich hören kann. Dieser Verzweiflung kann Liz aber auch etwas Positives abgewinnen: Wer verzweifelt ist, glaubt nicht, noch etwas verlieren zu können und das macht mutig. In Elizabeths Fall ist es der Mut, alles für falsch Befundene (hauptsächlich ihre Ehe) hinter sich zu lassen und sich auf die Reise zu machen, ihre unmöglichen Wünsche zu erfüllen:  Ihr Streben nach weltlichem Genuss in Einklang mit der Sehnsucht nach Hingabe, nach göttlicher Transzendenz zu bringen.

Bekanntlich geht die Liebe durch den Magen, daher fängt Elizabeths Reise in Italien an, wo sie Italienisch lernt und isst, isst und isst, und selbst nach einer 11kg schweren Gewichtszunahme nicht verzweifelt. Sie weiß, es ist nur eine Phase: Sie füttert ihre Seele mit italienischen Speisen und der italienischen Sprache und danach kommt die Reinigung beim Beten und Meditieren in einem indischen Ashram.

Elizabeths Vorhaben in Italien dem Genuss zu frönen, erweist sich als ein einfacheres Vorhaben als der Wunsch der absoluten Hingabe, der Abkehr von weltlichen Sehnsüchten in Indien. Sie kann die Kontrolle nicht abgeben; die Sehnsucht nach Hingabe scheint an Elizabeths Verkopfung zu scheitern. Während andere im Ashram meditieren, kämpft Elisabeth im Geiste mit sich selbst. So langsam scheint sie zu gewinnen; die Reinigung ist im Gange...

15.9.2010

Heute habe ich endlich noch die letzten paar Seiten gelesen.

Der Indien-Abschnitt war müßig; mag ja sein, dass die spirituelle Hingabe für Liz eine umwerfende Erfahrung war - zu lesen allerdings, war sie nicht so spannend. Dafür vergingen die 36 Indonesien-Kapitel wie im Flug. Liz ist glücklich und ausgeglichen, also kann auch die Liebe nicht mehr allzu lange auf sich warten lassen.

Insgesamt ein Buch voller Höhen und Tiefen - die sich auch auf den Lesegenuss auswirken, allerdings manchmal auch reziprok.

Guillaume Reymond und die menschlichen Pixel

Gestern Abend blieb ich beim Zappen auf der 3sat Sendung Kulturzeit hängen. Da lief gerade ein Bericht über den Künstler Guillaume Reymond, der mit seinen Animationsfilmen am Animationsfilm-Festival "Fantoche" in Baden teilnimmt. Reymond spielt alte Computerspiele nach, indem er Menschen wie Pixel anordnet und sie Bild für Bild in Kinosälen von Platz zu Platz rücken lässt. Stundenlang. So entstehen zum Schluss kurze Computerspiel-Filme wie Pacman, Tetris, Pole Position - mit Menschen anstelle der Pixel. Sehenswert!

http://www.3sat.de/page/?source=/kulturzeit/tips/147552/index.html

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G0LtUX_6IXY

Carson McCuller: Das Herz ist ein einsamer Jäger

Um den taubstummen John Singer versammelt sich eine bunt gemischte Gruppe von Außenseitern: Die junge Mick Kelley, die Musik liebt; der pöbelnde Marxist und Wanderprediger Jake Blount; Benedict Copeland, der schwarze Arzt, dem die Gleichstellung der Rassen am Herzen liegt; und der Kneipenbesitzer Biff Brannon, der am liebsten beobachtet. Sie alle besuchen Singer - immer einzeln -, erzählen ihm von ihren Träumen, Ängsten und Leidenschaften. Obwohl Singer kaum einmal ein paar Worte als Antwort zu Papier bringt, sehen ihn diese 4 Menschen als einen plötzlichen Hoffnungsträger in ihren tristen Leben. Singer dagegen bleibt für sie alle ein Geheimnis. Seine Besucher erfahren nie, wie sehr Singer seinen Freund Antonapoulos vermisst, der - zuvor jahrelang Singers Mitbewohner - nun von seinem eigenen Onkel in ein Irrenhaus gesteckt wird. Was die Anderen für Singer empfinden, empfindet er für Antonapoulos: "Ich habe solches Verlangen nach Dir, dass ich diese Einsamkeit nicht mehr ertrage. Bald komme ich wieder zu Dir. [...] Ich kann einfach nicht mehr so allein sein ohne Dich, der Du mich verstehst."

Gucci vs. Versace

ich bin die Kämpferin des Ich-Weiß-Nicht-Was
der willenlose Körper einer vulgär schweigenden Macht
der Schatten einer blendenden Güte
ein Hauch von Gott, geatmet aus einer Laune heraus
zu sein ohne Spur und ohne Richtung
eine schwebende Molekülansammlung
ewig tanzend am Rande der eigenen Vernichtung

meine Welt umgibt ein rosa Nebel,
der die Trümmer der Gleichgültigkeit verbirgt
ich würde ihr gern die Luft zum Atmen nehmen,
mich in ihr ausbreiten bis sie platzt,
eine schwarze Gucci aufsetzen bis Versace verblasst

ich bin die Trägerin des Gens der blauen Augen
auch wenn alle Spiegel sich zu Braun verschworen haben

meine Erde ist weder Scheibe noch Kugel -
sie ist ein fliegender Teppich,
für den mir noch der Führerschein fehlt
mein Kopf ist eine weich gefüllte Wüste,
in der aus jeder Richtung ein schwüler Gedanke weht

ich bin die Trägerin des Gens des Lachens,
doch verstehe ich den Clown nicht, der es aktiviert

Ironie ist der letzte Halm,
der nicht hält, sondern erhält
für die Rettung des Ich-Weiß-Nicht-Was
ordne ich mich ein in die Reihe,
die gegen Windmühlen kämpft

Bitter-Sweet Madness

The day before the wedding mother sat me down and said…

“I know you’re planning to do something tomorrow. But don’t! You had time enough to prevent this from happening. I tell you, tomorrow is not the time!”

“Mum…”, I tried to interrupt her.

“Don’t ‘mum’ me! You would just make a fool of yourself! He’s not the kind of man to change his mind shortly before the wedding. He’s not the kind of man to leave his bride in front of the altar. He has a heart. That’s why you still love him.”

She paused. I felt some kind of anger growing inside me, but I was not able to speak, not able to shout it out. Wasn’t she right?

“You have to let him go.”, she said. “Maybe you shouldn’t even go to the wedding. If it’s your destiny, you’ll be together again, one day. One day, but not tomorrow!”

When I came back home, I laid myself down. I felt tired. Through the window I saw the night coming closer. Inevitably. The green leaves, trembling softly in the wind, were loosing their colour. Yes, I was planning something. My heart was planning something unknown to my mind. That heart knew something my mind couldn’t grasp, or didn’t want to. As long as it didn’t, there would be no responsibility to be taken. I was listening to two voices inside me, none sounded like my own.

“You should use me.”, said the brain.

“You should do what you feel”, said the heart.

“What is that she feels?”, asked the brain.

“Without him, it’s emptiness.”, answered the heart.

“That’s a really dissatisfactory answer.”, said the brain.

That’s a really dissatisfactory answer, I repeated. With or without him, there was always emptiness. Two weeks ago. Only two weeks ago, he was lying here in my bed, watching me, asking, what did go wrong. Everything and nothing, I had repeated, you’re here.

“She’s easier to handle, isn’t she?, I had asked then and given him a scornful look.

“One can’t handle you at all.”, he had answered. “You can’t yourself.”

That’s when I had jumped out of the bed.

“Get out! Immediately! Get out of my bed, and my life! You are the reason, Tom! You are the reason for what you just said. Why did you come here at all?”

“Why are you angry?”, he had asked, approaching slowly. “The reason is very simple. Because I missed you and wanted to see you.”

I was crying.

“Clara, I had asked you first. Long ago. Be fair, it was your choice not to forgive me.”

My choice, I thought, still lying in my bed and watching the leaves turning black. The clock said 9:58. Still more than twelve hours left. There was too much time not to make a plan. A real plan. The heart suggested it, the mind would have to follow even though all I could think of were dissatisfactory answers. But I was sure, that those dissatisfactory answers could produce a satisfactory plan. Like people did in the movies, I would enter the church when the priest says:

“Speak now, or forever hold your peace" and shout: “I want to speak!” Everybody would turn around to see who the intruder was. Only Tom would already know. And I would say:

“The groom was unfaithful!”

No, rather:

“The groom is unfaithful!”

No, no, no. That was bad. Rather:

“The groom is the only man I have ever really loved.”

Too risky. So what?, they would say.

“The groom doesn’t love the bride. He loves me.”

Awful.

“Really? Why then, is Melissa the one wearing the wedding dress today?”, they would ask.

Right, the wedding dress, maybe I should arrive there in a wedding dress. I laughed. I watched too many movies, really. As far as I knew, “Speak now, or forever hold your peace" was irrelevant in modern wedding ceremonies. But I could make it relevant.

I was definitely going crazy.

I stood up and got me a bottle of wine from the kitchen.

Red wine on the wedding dress.

I could ask to see Melissa before the wedding and then ask her to drink to her and Tom. I would ‘accidentally’ spill the red wine on her dress, and say: “Oops, I am so sorry, Melissa.”

With every gulp my imagination produced fancier fantasies. I could kidnap the priest, lock him in in his room or somehow block the door while he’s in the toilet. That would be funny. But sooner or later they would find him, sooner or later Melissa would get a new dress, so all of these plans were not effective. All of these plans were only an ironic way of fighting the reckless beast of pain raging inside me.

“This was our last night, Clara.”, he had said when he was leaving the morning two weeks ago.

“Are you sure, Tom?”, I had asked, “You’ve never been good at monogamy.”

He had just turned around and walked away.

The silence around me was now as frightening as it had been that morning. This is what you’re going to hear for the rest of your life, I thought and drank the last drops of wine. This pain would abate, but my pride, my silly pride would always revive the pain. Would I ever be able to forgive Tom? He said, he had been drunk and it had been ‘only’ a one-night-stand. It was now more then two years ago. Shouldn’t I gradually calm down? Yes, it was my choice not to forgive him, but it was his choice not to wait for me to forgive him. He’s not that kind of man, to make the same mistake twice, my mother said, not knowing that we were still sleeping together every now and then. He’s not that kind of man, you can ever forget, or even hate, I thought. Wasn’t that worse than anything else?

That night I was running towards the altar with a bottle in my hand, screaming “Don’t do it! Don’t do it!” and my mother was running after me shouting the same. The corridor seemed endless. The distance between myself and the altar increased, although I was sure that I was moving forward. When the priest suddenly said: “Excuse me, I have to go to the toilet.”, I opened my eyes realizing that it was just a dream.

This time the clock said 10:40.

But it’s not dark anymore, I mumbled. It was day. It was 10:40 a.m.

“Oh my God, the wedding! The wedding, I’ve missed the ceremony!”, I screamed and jumped up from the floor, where I had slept.

I rushed to the cupboard, tore it open, and randomly grabbed a piece of cloth. I still had my yesterday’s clothes on, so I started dressing and undressing at the same time. This wasn’t easy to manage, and unfortunately, or fortunately, I stumbled and fell down.

Slowly I sat up and then started to laugh.

“What were you trying to do?”, I asked myself. “It is too late to implement any of your ingenious plans.”

This plan had been made without me. Somebody must have realised, that waiting for my plan would have been like waiting for Godot.

When my cell phone rang twenty minutes later, I knew it was my mother.

“How was it?”, she asked.

“I haven’t been there”, I said.

“Oh, thanks God! That was a good decision, honey.”

“Decision!? I didn't decide anything. It was the wine that decided..”, I wanted to exclaim first. But then I thought that maybe that was destiny, too. So I said:

“Yes. It was a good decision.”

Not really mine by chance.

When the beast of pride, now still hungry for revenge, falls asleep one day, I will reach a state of mind that will give me back my peace.

That's the theory.

Theory is a simple thing.

I can clearly imagine the day it will happen.

I am being a little bit ironic.

Right now my live is completely beyond theory. It's because Tom used to take me far far away from it, and I'll have to walk a long way back. I know, I will miss the cosy little place of madness he showed me. I still don't want to feel the day I will not care about him, or not care about the things he did to me. All in the name of the precious theory: “He is bad, catapult him out of your mind.”

At the moment it feels like calling for help and getting the answer: “The state of mind you're calling is temporarily not available.” I guess I am dialling the wrong number, but it doesn't matter much. I generally got too used to bitter-sweet suffering – since I have met Tom, I forgot how to live without. By now, I am perfectly aware of only one thing: Until some good sounding theory becomes feeling, I will have to put up with the virus I caught when reason couldn't reach me because Tom enclosed me like a human shield. We've both been playing with that virus, but if we really quit, if it really ends here, we'll have to give up our sweet practical madness for some theoretical reason. But – maybe one could already notice – I have developed some sympathy for the virus...

alien - or "I'm so happy I had my camera with me" - moments

Das Licht (2006)

Werden wir uns einmal alles gesagt haben?
Uns genug gefragt haben?
Werden wir vielleicht zu früh aufgeben?
Uns zu schnell auf das Aus einlassen?

Mach das Licht an.

Ich will dein Gesicht sehen.
Ich will kein Grübchen vergessen,
Keine Falte und kein graues Haar verpassen.
Ich will dir die Tränen wegküssen,
Wenn dich Traurigkeit plagt.
Ich möchte dir die Erleichterung des Gesprächs schenken,
Nicht den falschen Schutz der Schweigsamkeit.

Mach das Licht aus.

Schaffst du es, uns getrennt zu denken?
Es ist vergebens, auf Unsichtbarkeit zu bestehen.
Auch wenn alles Andere in Dunkelheit versinkt,
den Glanz deiner Augen kann ich immer sehen.
Wie du fühlst und was du denkst,
möchte ich selbst dann nicht überhören,
Wenn es verletzt.

In memoriam

Der 25. Mai wurde im ehemaligen Jugoslawien als Tag der Jugend gefeiert. Für Tuzla, meine Heimatstadt, ist dies seit 15 Jahren ein Tag der Trauer.
Am 25. Mai 1995 kamen in Tuzla beim Beschuss des beliebten Treffpunkts Kapija 71 Zivilisten aller drei in Bosnien vertretenen Ethnien ums Leben.
Nahezu alle Opfer waren zwischen 15 und 25 Jahren alt: Es waren Jugendliche, die inmitten des Krieges versuchten, sich ein wenig 'Normalität' zu bewahren und sich raus wagten, um Freunde zu treffen. An die 120 weitere Personen wurden verletzt.

Hier lebt man nicht nur, um zu leben /Hier lebt man nicht nur, um zu sterben / Hier stirbt man auch, um zu leben (Mak Dizdar)

THERE ARE NO WINNERS IN WAR

Women in the 19th Century: Separate but Equal?

Cartoon from The Vote, a newspaper published by the Women's Freedom League (February, 1911)

This short summary of the texts I've read while preparing for my final exam in American Studies shows the history of masculine and feminine role models constructed almost two centuries ago. Unfortunately, they are not completely deconstructed yet.


While the 18th century America was dominated by the theological discourse, in the 19th century religion gradually lost its status as the central cultural defining power. In the theological discourse the subordination of women was viewed as ‘God-given destiny’. With the scientific progress in the 19th century this order started to lose its footing. A new - now more acceptable - reason for keeping the established gender hierarchy was found: NATURE.

The physical - biological - difference between men and women was extended by constructing men and women not only as totally different but also as binary oppositions: The male dominance was secured by codifying men and masculinity as the norm. The qualities assigned to men were connoted with strength and defined by reference to their opposite: the woman. Masculinity came to stand for humanity; the woman became “the other” - the deviation from the norm.
Not only men but also women came to understand the female sex as the passive, emotional, practical, patient, “silent and unseen” being who prefers and needs the shelter of home and the protection of a man because of her ‘natural’ weakness. For both men and women the differences between them seemed indisputable because they were justified by nature - and no one can fight nature. As a consequence of their respective attributes the physical difference between the sexes was extended to “naturally” determine their social roles.

Thus the world as a social construction was divided into two separate spheres. The masculine sphere was the public sphere, its according concept was power; the proper feminine sphere was the domestic sphere and here the according concept was moral influence. Because the separate spheres were established as “natural” and because they were accepted by both women and men, they could be claimed to be of equal value. Thus, on the surface, the subordination of women could be negated although on the economic, social and legal level women got the short end of the stick.


Ideology of Spheres

Home was regarded as the woman’s proper sphere. It provided shelter from the dangerous outside world. Outside the home, men engaged in hard work and competition.
In the 1960s Barbara Welter used the phrase “The Cult of True Womanhood”, meaning the cultivation of women’s virtues of domesticity, piety, purity and submissiveness in the 19th century. These virtues were of course working in favour of strengthening the difference between male ‘power’ and female moral ‘influence’.
A very interesting point is that the housework was never officially referred to as work. Cooking, baking, washing etc. were occupations, offices, even (the very romantic sounding) “mysteries”; they were considered pleasant duties - pleasant because in doing them, the woman could fully dedicate herself to her ‘natural’ role and function as the self-sacrificing, caring mother and wife. Her pleasant duties could not be compared to the ‘work’ or 'labour’ of men - maybe, because these were paid for. The woman presides over the sanctities of domestic life and the man is the ‘breadwinner’. Wage-earning was associated with manhood.


Working Women

But working women (such as the Lowell Mill Girls) did exist. For the white middle class women stressing the shelter of home could have been one way of distinguishing themselves from the working-class women and thus a means of maintaining class boundaries.
Jobs like those of the mill girls did not directly challenge men’s jobs because the women’s work there consisted of weaving, fulling, spinning which were famous for being pleasant ('naturally' feminine) duties. These worker's overseers were male (like it 'naturally' should be).
The problem was that this was new, paid labour. Another problem was the presence of those women in the public sphere, which was, analogous to the dominant discourse, regarded as rather ‘unnatural’. Wage earning women became symbols of the threats posed to the concept of manhood. Men’s anxieties were expressed by their complaints that women were taking jobs away from them (and thus the proper masculine role), and also through the working men’s call for ‘family wages’ – wage packets high enough to permit their wives and children to withdraw from paid work – thus identifying the husband as the proper and natural wage-earner.
Once again women’s unfitness for paid work was emphasised by calling attention to their ‘physical organization’, their ‘moral sensibilities’, ‘fragile constitution’ etc. Presumably, only man had the constitution for paid labour. To declare women unfit for work helped to justify underpaying them when they had to work.


Celebration of Motherhood

Another explanation of the discomfort with working women is the great importance tagged on women's social identity as mothers. The celebration of middle-class Motherhood was one of the main reasons of the marginalization of housewives as workers. The role of the mother was considered to be what God had in view when creating the woman.
In the working-class those women who could not or did not wish to remain in their homes and get absorbed in the maternal role, provided the excuse for a growing middle-class intrusion into the working-class households, as middle-class reformers claimed that women who could not or did not aspire to middle-class standards of domesticity, were poor mothers.


Middle-Class Reformers

Generally middle-class reformers were trying to help the urban poor, providing them with food, clothing and religious consolation. But very often their intervention was based on harsh and unsupported judgements. Facing the great crisis of poverty in the New York streets the reformers took the symptoms for causes and focused on transforming two elements of the working-class family life: the place of children and the role of women. The Children’s Aid Society (CAS) was founded. One of its programs was the so-called “placing-out” system. It sent poor children to foster homes in rural areas (where labour was scarce) – sometimes even without informing their parents. The goal was double fold: to disperse the surplus of labour but also to separate the innocent children from the tyranny of their unprotected mothers. Unprotected because many of those mothers were widows, and thus without a male protector. Unlike their middle-class contemporaries these women did not consider mothering a full time task of supervision. They expected their children to start working from an early age. By the 1850s, huckstering, scavenging and crossing-sweeping were the main means by which children could earn their keep.


Prostitution

Young girls also found another way of getting a living: prostitution. These were not professional child prostitutes; rather they turned to occasional prostitution to supplement other earnings. Prostitution was quite public in the antebellum New York. It was not yet a statutory offence, and although the police harassed streetwalkers and arrested them for vagrancy, they had little effect on the trade. The CAS members were worried about the modesty of the females of thirteen and fourteen walking the streets without a protector. During the century the attitudes surrounding prostitution changed from empathy for the prostitutes to utter rejection. Generally, today the majority of people have kept the latter Victorians’ attitudes towards prostitution.


Female Friendships & Networks

One more aspect of the female experience in the 19th century is the female friendship and women’s networks. The relationships ranged from the supportive love of sisters, through the enthusiasms of adolescent girls, to sensual avowals of love by mature women. Such intimate friendships were considered socially acceptable and fully compatible with heterosexual marriage. Many womanly bonds continued across a lifetime. Theirs was an emotional world to which men had little access. This was, as well, a female world in which hostility and criticism of other women were discouraged, and thus a milieu in which women could develop a sense of inner security. In this way women who had little status and power in the large world of male concerns, possessed status and power in the lives and worlds of other women.
One very intimate occasion that created very powerful bonds among women was childbirth. Pregnancy and childbirth carried with them the ever-present possibility of death or the prospect of permanent physical limitations. Women were looking forward for the childbirth with legitimate fear. The support of female friends, neighbours and family members helped them to manage the time of crisis.
Another aspect of fear from labour and delivery was that many women did not let it come that far. Abortion was not prohibited until ‘quickening’ (the moment when a woman for the first time felt the baby’s movements). No reliable tests for pregnancy existed, and even quickening could not confirm with absolute certainty that a woman was really pregnant. Hence, either a woman herself or a doctor could take actions designed to restore the menstrual flow after one or more missed menstrual periods on the assumption that something might be unnaturally “blocking” or “obstructing” her normal cycles. Abortion entered the mainstream of American life during the middle decades of the 19th century. It became highly visible and quite common as a means of family limitation among white middle-class women: At the turn of the 19th century American women bore an average of 7 children before their fertile years ended; at the turn of the 20th century it was 3 to 4 children.


Women’s Legal Status

To come back to the gender difference: It not only determined the division of work and the everyday spheres, but also women’s legal status in general.
Property, for example, was a masculine concept. Accordingly, subordination and dependence were feminine concepts. A woman’s legal status was tied to her marital status; once married, a woman became the property of her husband, along with any estate or wages she brought to the union. She could not sue, execute a will, or vote. In addition, she had no legal rights to her children and was excluded from higher education. Single women over 18 and widows could own property but could not vote. A married woman was thus left economically dependent on her husband and she relied on his beneficence.
Before 1848 a few laws were passed in some states in the U.S. giving women some limited property rights, but the 1848 Married Women’s Property Act was more comprehensive than its forerunners. It was amended to include even more rights in 1860; later, married women's rights to control property were extended still more.


Black Women

In the 19th century black women were either brought to America as slaves or were born in America as slaves. Their situation was particularly complicated. On the slave ships, unlike black men, black women and girls were not shackled. One of the consequences was that they were more easily accessible to the criminal whims and sexual desires of seamen.
Once in America, on the one hand their slaveholders expected them to work as hard as any male slave, on the other hand they were expected to provide their slaveholders with replenishment of their labour force. That means they were not only bought to work but also to bear children. And if the latter didn't happen voluntarily, the women were threatened and put under pressure until they finally gave in and went to live with men the slaveholder had chosen for them. Running away from the estates was also rather difficult with children and few women decided to leave their children when an opportunity appeared.
Also, after the abolition of slavery in 1865 in America, black women did not have much choice when looking for work. Usually the only jobs they could hope to get were jobs in domestic service. So the improvement of the black women's conditions went even slower, because they were not only facing gender but also racial discrimination.


The Woman’s Movement

The woman's movement in the 19th century concentrated on three main issues:
1. Service and social action along with male middle-class reformers.
2. The campaign for women’s rights, initially in the form of temperance unions and abolition, and gradually calls for suffrage.
3. Emancipation from structures, conventions, and attitudes reinforced by law and custom.

The underlying theme of the woman movement was that women were human beings too and had similar intellectual and spiritual properties as men, and, therefore, they deserved equal rights and opportunities to develop their potential as human beings. By the time of Seneca Falls Convention, women were ready for change.
In the struggle for women’s rights Elisabeth Cady Stanton was one of the leading figures. Encouraged by the passing of the Married Women’s Property Act in 1848, together with a network of other women and men who held egalitarian views, she organized the first women’s rights convention at Seneca Falls, where 100 people (68 women and 32 men) signed the so-called Declaration of Sentiments. The Declaration of Sentiments was rhetorically modelled upon the Declaration of Independence. The latter’s “We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal” was re-modelled into “that all men and women are created equal”. The main concern was to point out the overall subordination of the woman in legislation.
After the Seneca Falls convention Stanton met Susan B. Anthony and from then on they remained in contact and used to collaborate. Anthony is famous for leading a woman’s protest at the 1876 Centennial, delivering a Declaration of Rights written by Stanton and Frances Dana Barker Gage. Thereby women were asking that justice, equality, and all the civil and political rights that belong to citizens of the US, be guaranteed to them and their daughters for ever.
Other important women reformers were those associated with the Hull House – a social settlement founded in 1889 by Jane Addams and Ellen Gates Starr. Women in the Hull House were coresidents and friends. They collaborated with many other female institutions and gained much social power . They were connected to other women's organizations and they also cooperated with male reformers. The Hull House women were highly educated. Their focus was on the enforcement of antisweatshop legislation and the regulation of working hours for women as well as prohibiting work for children under 14 and regulating the labour of children aged 14-16.


Every time a woman crossed the borders of what was discursively defined as ‘proper’ for her, every time a woman showed that ‘nature’ didn’t prevent her from doing something that was thought of as ‘naturally masculine’, the power relations were at least a little bit challenged.
But the 19th century discourse cemented women as "the (subordinate) other", the deviance from the norm so firmly (because 'naturally') that the 21st century women still have to fight for equal rights and equal treatment of men and women, and they still need a thick skin and perseverance in order to prove that the separate spheres were socially constructed and not biologically given.