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Barbara passed away this weekend from endometrioid ovarian cancer, which she approached with the same experimental and fearless spirit that she did everything in her life, and through which she ultimately found peace, acceptance, and new purpose.
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Julia Rothman for BuzzFeed News. So I decide to wake the place up a little. The second dinner session has just let out, and the Rendezvous Lounge which is as tacky as it sounds is overflowing with lesbians. No Sheryl Crow, no Michelle Branch. Sure, I say, why not, thinking all the while: If any other year-old lesbians could use a self-esteem boost, all they need to do, clearly, is get themselves on an Olivia cruise.
I had only a vague idea of what to expect when I boarded the Celebrity Summit in April for a weeklong excursion to the Caribbean. When I boarded the cruise at the end of April, my partner of nearly five years and I had been experimenting with nonmonogamy.
Then somehow, all of a sudden, years passed. We became two professionals in our late twenties, living in our dream apartment on the top floor of a Brooklyn brownstone. We were busy, stable. Happy enough.
I assumed, at best, that all passions cool somewhat over the years; at worst, I thought something might be wrong with me. My partner was patient and kind. But as time went on, they got frustrated — understandably — and they suggested, as a reparative measure, that we open up our relationship.
I was hesitant for a couple reasons. In the end, I decided to give it a shot. I was starting to get nervous, nearly five years in, about what our future had in store for us.
I wanted kids; they were less sure. I wanted to spend our shared time and money on building a true home together; they were happy to live indefinitely out of milk crates. So I decided to believe in the potential of openness to enrich a relationship, rather than to unravel it. Before I went on the cruise, not much had actually happened in the nonmonogamy department. Nonmonogamy is hardly scandalous or even really notable these days. In some of my queer circles, in fact, monogamy is the rarer beast.
The night before I left on the cruise, two of my best friends got married. I know this. And I get it. Was that so bad, really, to want? My first day on the cruise, Saturday, I was hungover and exhausted. After deplaning and bumbling my way through the cruise check-in, I crashed in my quarters for a two-hour hangover nap. When I woke to the gorgeous sight of water and sun outside my personal patio, I felt a little sad and a little lonely.
I wished I could have scooped up the entire wedding party and taken them with me to San Juan. The staff thought that since she and I had similar backgrounds, it would make sense for Dana to take me under her wing this trip. So I felt grateful to Dana, who accompanied me to my first Solos dinner that night. I knew I was supposed to be becoming pals with fellow cruisers, not the staffer who was basically being paid to be my friend.
But I figured I still had time. Other elements of lesbian culture have been steadily dying ; why should Olivia be any different? As I walked around the ship, which holds over 2, passengers, it was already clear that the average woman here was a couple decades older than me.
We all formed one big circle, and the staffers got the ball rolling. First things first: How had we all heard about Olivia? Now Jamie was back for her second Olivia cruise with her partner Matie, who runs Self Serve , a sexuality resource center and sex shop in Albuquerque, New Mexico; their other partner was stuck at home, studying for exams.
To see all these older pairs of hands holding each other — it was so beautiful and safe. After everyone had doled out sufficient praise for the company, the conversation quickly turned, in perhaps inevitable millennial fashion, to everything Olivia could be doing a better job of when it comes to attracting a younger generation of queers.
Some people suggested that Olivia offer scholarships or student discounts, since cruising is so expensive. Someone mentioned that they were surprised there were no sex toys available for sale on board. Later in the week, Tisha Floratos, the vice president of travel for Olivia, told me that she and her staff think about this a lot. Maybe Olivia could do a specific queer-plus trip for trans people and gay men?
The room exploded. Judy had to come up with all the money up front — she convinced women from around the country to put down deposits a full year ahead of time, with no real guarantee that the ship would ever sail — but it sold out nearly immediately.
Judy and Rachel chartered a second boat, and Olivia Travel was born. Nor did we want to dismiss the radical potential of dyke spaces. I actively choose to identify as a lesbian and a dyke, as well as a queer. Meanwhile, lesbian activist groups like the Lesbian Avengers have been pro-trans for decades. The woman who bought me a drink after I sang Kelly Clarkson at karaoke — a petite therapist from California with a prim gray bob — ended up being one of them.
Throughout the trip, Matie and Jamie would have a number of tearful conversations about trans inclusion with some older passengers who refused to accept trans women as their fellow sisters. A couple days later — after getting my serious lesbian conversations out of the way — I was about 14 rum punches deep and drunk-dancing on a catamaran. Whenever we docked at port, we were offered a bunch of different excursions vetted by Celebrity and Olivia, and Dana had generously offered to book one for me.
Kitts to the island of Nevis instead. Ugh, fine , if I must. At first, sitting alone on the catamaran heading out for my snorkeling excursion, I felt shy again, and wished I had Dana or Jamie and Matie at my side. One of the guys running the boat, a youngish dude with dreads, took pity on me and brought me a glass of water. He asked me if I was staff on the cruise, noting my friendlessness, and I told him I was a reporter.
But he did occasionally seem to forget about the realities of the situation. For the last stretch of our afternoon, we were dropped on a secluded beach at Nevis, where a few of us ferried beers and our new favorite drink, the very college-esque Panty Ripper coconut rum and pineapple juice , from shore to the rest of the women waiting in the water.
One woman stuffed a bunch of beers into her bathing suit and we cheered whenever anybody pulled one out. A couple women had GoPro cameras, with which we took a lot of increasingly drunken group shots while we swam.
One of them was attached to a floating handle that looked very much like a big yellow dildo, which, once somebody pointed it out, kept sending us into hysterics. Bonding is built into an Olivia trip, which, I realized soon enough, is basically like grown-up lesbian camp. On this floating gay island and its satellite getaways, time works differently than it does back home.
You can skip the normal-life process of slowly getting to know somebody on the shallowest of levels and get right to the good stuff. Back on the catamaran for our return to port, we got into some deep and very lesbian-y talk about relationships.
In the spirit of lesbian camp bonding, I told my new crew about my situation — nonmonogamous, not sure how to feel about it — which seemed to pique the interest of beer bathing suit girl, because she would soon afterward follow me into the impossibly tiny bathroom, bursting in on me mid-pee. By this point, I was — somewhat unintentionally — quite drunk.
But there was another part of me that was very much not into it, especially when the makeout gave way to other things and people started banging on the bathroom door. I was also, literally, developing a pretty bad sunburn. I made my way up the tiny laddered chute to the deck, bouncing against the walls like a pinball, and immediately moved as far away from the bathroom as possible.
The consent element there was indeterminate; I had willingly gone along with the hookup, at least for a little while, though I remain uncertain about how much I really could have consented while drunk-peeing in a bathroom the size of a broom closet.
Bad sex happens. Even with lesbians! I was going to move on, get over it, and go back to enjoying myself. Before I left, I talked to a few of my reporter friends about it, just in case a hookup opportunity should present itself and I decided to partake for, um, research purposes.
We decided that my Olivia story fell in some sort of weird journalistic in-between, just like my own job does. And the thing a lot of women on the cruise were looking to experience was, yes, getting laid.
On Grindr, you can just ask someone to skip right to the sex. That is, in fact, the norm. One of my friends was in a hot tub, in the middle of the day, when she noticed that the women across from her were having sex in the same hot tub she got out immediately.
My friends Jamie and Matie, for their part, were determined to make things happen. At our evening activities, Jamie was frequently flagging , via colored handkerchiefs placed in her back pocket.
She and Matie also hung up a white board outside their door and encouraged their neighbors to invite them to their play parties. They had a very sweet exchange with a curious anonymous neighbor who wrote them a note, inquiring what a play party is.
Olivia had run sexuality and intimacy workshops before, and at the lunch, the staffers floated the definite possibility that they will again. Tisha, the cruise director and VP, met her wife on an Olivia cruise. When my partner jokingly warned me, before I left for the cruise, not to fall in love with a hot older butch — seriously, we joked about this — I thought, Fat chance. Not only because I had no intention of falling in love with anyone else, but because I thought hooking up with hot older butches would remain the stuff of my fantasies.
I even reported out an entire article about intergenerational lesbian relationships a few years ago. I have a lot to share. The lesbian bars and events I frequent in New York — the gay capital of the world! The older women I did meet tended to be coupled up. It was Monday night, at the Deck 11 elevators. The only thing Lynette said to me, in the brief window after introductions and before we went our separate ways, was that my accent made me sound like an American newscaster.
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Barbara Hammer: Experimental Filmmaker, Experimental Lesbian, and a Mentor to All — QUEER | ART
Barbara Hammer, the American artist celebrated as a pioneer of lesbian experimental filmmaking — with a formidable career spanning several decades — has passed away at the age of Hammer was born in in Hollywood, California. She first attended the University of California, Los Angeles, graduating with a degree in psychology in She later studied film at San Francisco State University during the s — around the time that she first came out as a lesbian, leaving her marriage, and taking off on a motorcycle with a Super-8 camera.
I find it fascinating as an artist and as a writer. Your ability to talk in the world is changing. I try to take notes on it. It is harder to write now. I mean, what am I? An investigator, an archeologist. It was difficult. And I want this grant to make it easier for lesbians of today.
Skip to main content. Twitter Facebook Email To Pinterest. By Frieze News Desk. The prolific artist championed filmmaking through the lens of feminist theory and queer politics.
Barbara Hammer, Courtesy: Getty Images; photograph: Nicholas Hunt. Frieze News Desk. Barbara Hammer. Hilton Als on the Films of Kara Walker.
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