ANTHOLOGY
Body of Work
CO UR T E S Y OF LE X IE BE A N
questions, and the answers were converted to a visual language designed by Vogl. Installed at the Soldiers and Sailors Monument on Boston Common and commissioned by the Jewish Arts Collaborative, Pathways was inspired by universal themes embedded in Passover, the Jewish holiday that celebrates liberation from slavery. To learn more, visit juliavogl.com. OBERLIN ALUMNI MAGAZINE 2018-19 / WINTER
what would you say to one of your own body parts if you could send it a letter? That’s the unusual premise behind Written on the Body: Letters from Trans and NonBinary Survivors of Sexual Assault and Domestic Violence, an anthology released by Lexie Bean ’13 last March. The book features letters that Bean and others have written to their feet, ears, smiles, nipples, hair, hands, squishy belly, “boy parts,” and more. Instead of turning out a quirky, bookstore checkout line impulse buy, Bean and their collaborators created a thoughtful book that explores the world well beyond the flesh and bone. One letter, “Dear Rib,” considers the bone’s appearance in the Biblical story that casts Eve as a subset creation drawn from Adam’s rib. The writer praises their own rib for the armor it provides for their organs. “During every panic attack, during every depressive episode, as my lungs and then my heart took turns shriveling, you protected them.” The letter writer says that, rather than be Eve, they would prefer being Lilith, the “feminist demon.” Bean was inspired to write love letters to their body parts during a hospital stay while studying abroad in Budapest in 2012 and during the emotional healing that followed. Bean’s anthology embraces vulnerability while empowering trans and nonbinary people by affirming their experiences, an approach that has earned the collection praise from activists. “Coming out can be so alienating, and I wanted to hold space for others who are navigating certain questions or needing space to navigate other things,” says Bean, a nonbinary trans writer whose work has been featured in Teen Vogue, among other outlets. “I was assigned female at birth, and the reality is that almost all of my rape and sexual assault experiences have happened with men. It has brought up a lot in terms of what I am transitioning toward, and that’s been horribly traumatic. There have definitely been days that I’ve thought I’d rather die than be a man who can do these things.” The letters brim with blunt honesty. In a letter to “the folds and flaps between my legs,” a contributor writes, “I sometimes wonder if I want to erase you because we were assaulted. That is to say, what if I’m not really trans, but merely a cis female survivor of sexual assault?
What if I only want to get rid of my vagina because of the vulnerability it represents?” Tapping into the personal and making it universal is nothing new for Bean. Their second anthology, Portable Homes, derived its inspiration from the concept of home and displacement. As Bean neared graduation at Oberlin, a complicated relationship with home forced them to reconsider how to define the term. “I didn’t feel at home in any place, so I thought, ‘How can I find that within my body? If I can’t find it in a place, is it possible to find it in my own body?’ Sometimes, is the answer,” says Bean. “Being able to navigate that feeling with a group is really special. As someone who has gotten out of my abusive situation for the most part, I feel it’s my responsibility to create space for people to process what they need to process. I’ve been privileged and blessed to have a second chance in a way.” Written on the Body has been featured in Teen Vogue, Huffington Post, Ms. Magazine, Bust Magazine, The Establishment, FTM Magazine, Logo’s New Now Next, and Bitch Magazine (the magazine and nonprofit media organization cofounded by Lisa Jervis ’94). Bean lives in New York City and is working on a children’s book with Dial and PenguinRandom House, due in 2020, and their first screenplay, a collaboration with Ally Sheedy. “I write this to my future,” Bean writes in the book’s closing. “To my voice, I know you’re never gone.” —Tyler Sloan ’17 and Jeff Hagan ’86 11