Living Out Loud
"Strong and Silent" Has Its Place, But It's Not the Only Way
By Cat Saunders
A reader e-mailed me to comment about something I wrote in "The
Secret Value of Silent Days." In that column, I mentioned using
a calculator to estimate how much time I'd spent in silence in the last
20 years since I started doing regular silent days.
To support her criticism, the reader offered a quotation
by Sam Keen that was published elsewhere in the same issue:
I find the public revelation of intimate sexual and spiritual experiences
increasingly distasteful. I suspect that true saints and great lovers
don't advertise their prowess, parade their tenderness or exhibit their
compassion to be seen by all.
There is something I admire about the nearly obsolete virtues of shyness
and modesty. Strong and silent go together more often than not. It is
not seemly to speak too much about sacred things in public. Words of endearment,
like prayer, are best spoken in a whisper.
The humor was not lost on me that someone wrote to complain that I'd said
too much about being silent. Irony aside, I responded by agreeing that
Sam Keen was right, and that I certainly was no saint in any case.
Later I noticed something was still bugging me about that e-mail exchange.
It wasn't that a reader had criticized me. After all, criticism comes
with the territory of being a writer. Rather, I realized how much I believe
in the power of truth-telling, even if it's about sexual or spiritual
subjects–and even if it includes numerical calculations. In short,
I realized that I questioned the sentiments expressed by Keen.
First let me say that I've respected Sam Keen's work for about 30 years
now. Regarding the above quotation, I understand and sometimes share Keen's
objections. Even so, I rebel against the idea that it's "distasteful"
to disclose intimate details of a sexual or sacred nature. Despite my
personal penchant for silence, I reject the idea that "strong and
silent" is necessarily good for everyone. I also refuse to believe
that it's necessarily best to whisper prayers.
There are countless ways to pray. Aside from contrasting styles in different
religions, I can attest to the fact that some forms of prayer are plenty
boisterous and loud. In a cosmos as wild as ours, I can't imagine that
everyone should act like John Wayne when they pray.
As for publicly exposing intimate sexual or sacred information, I hear
what Sam Keen is saying, but I personally feel uncomfortable when I find
myself judging the "humility quotient" of other people's self-disclosures.
How do I know where they're coming from, why they said what they said,
or how much it cost them to expose the soft underbelly of their flesh?
What may seem like exhibitionism to me may have constituted a profound
act of courage for someone else. Who am I to say what kind or how many
details other people are allowed to share before their self-disclosures
become "distasteful"? Who am I to say that others should be
strong and silent? I mean, whose comfort does that serve, and who says
comfort is the goal?
When I started writing this column, I kept seeing the image of a black-and-white
photograph that became famous many years ago (see end of article for information).
It shows the torso of a naked woman whose right breast is missing from
a mastectomy. Her arms are outstretched to the sky in an expression of
innocent and exuberant celebration.
While researching the Net in an attempt to find that photograph, I came
across other photographs of women with missing breasts, including one
by model and photographer Joanne Matuschka. Matuschka's photograph shows
a full-frontal shot of her wearing a white dress with its right side cut
away, exposing her mastectomy scars. When it was first published on the
cover of The New York Times on August 15, 1993, it generated more
mail than any other cover in the magazine's history.
Now you tell me, was that photograph distasteful? Was it exhibitionism?
It appeared before a circulation of two million people when it debuted.
Was Matuschka parading the intimate wounds of her sexual and sacred
body when she revealed the detailed contours of her missing breast?
I don't know your answer, but I'll tell you mine. I think Matuschka's
photograph is awesome and earth-shaking and deeply important. I'm grateful
that she had the guts to show what others hide in fear or shame. In Matuschka's
case, she later described in explicit detail exactly why she did what
she did–because only she knew the truth behind her actions.
Move over, all you strong and silent types. There are lots of us who know
the strength of living out loud.
This article was originally published by
Evergreen Monthly (October 2004).
To learn more about Joanne Matuschka's work,
please visit www.matuschka.net.
Special thanks to Sonya Lea and Wendy Zieve
(who contacted me after this column was published) to let me know that
Deena Metzger is the woman in the photograph I remembered from years ago
(photograph by Hella Hammid).
The photograph of Deena Metzger is available
in a poster designed by Sheila Levrant de Bretteville (see "Tree Poster"
at www.deenametzger.com). For
those who prefer to order by phone or fax, the poster is available through
Donnelly/Colt (860-455-9621, or fax at 800-553-0006, or online at www.donnellycolt.com).
For more information about Deena Metzger and her work, please visit www.deenametzger.com).
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