Trans-sensory stories of gender-based violence: I feel, therefore I resist

Creative responses to connected stories of gender-based violence from the UK and Mexico in the Covid-19 pandemic and beyond.

Click the download button below for a PDF copy of the exhibition guide or scroll and click on the images for more about each artist.

Trans-Sensory Stories of GBV Exhibition Guide Download

The graphic of the woman in the mask who said nobody asked her to smile because they couldn’t see her face flipped it around for me: suddenly it seemed fierce, not cowardly, to hide one’s face. This led me to thinking of my Muslim grandmother who was fully fierce, and the last of her generation to wear the veil. I wanted to express that, and though I believe in the power of words, words didn’t seem enough. I needed neon. How fortunate that my partner speaks in glass and light! — Zenana by Somalia Abdulali and Tom Unger

Artwork: Blue typewriter with green sheet of paper loaded. Red ribbon spooling off the dais. — Palabras para sanar, poner el cuerpo en palabras (Healing words, putting the body into words) by Julia Antivilo

Graphic narrative (comic) representing an attack in Mexico City — Realidad punzante (Stinging reality) by Ana Barreto

Artwork: person riding a bike and projecting an image of a man. — Luz contra el olvido (Light against oblivion) by Dora Bartilotti

Text — Outsider by Rosy Carrick

Text — Trayectos (Journeys) by Alejandra Collado

Graphic representation of a girl's experience of menstruation in Mexico. Arrows shooting at her and ghosts haunting her. — Lecciones menstruales para una chica mexicana (Menstrual lessons for a Mexican girl) by Dahlia de la Cerda

Glass coffin with roses drawn on the sides, set in a corner of a green piece of land, with a hill in the background. Red flowers echo the flowers on the coffin. — La niña de las Rosas (The Rose Girl) by María Antonieta de la Rosa

A film about Gender-Based Violence by Tony Gammidge.

Artwork: branch hanging from corner wooden struts. Shadows on wall of suspended body parts. — Corpocartografías en movimiento. Tensiones, fragmentos y emociones (Corpocartographies in motion. Tensions, fragments and emotions) by Karla Helena Guzmán y Valeria Ysunza Pérez-Gil (Colectiva GeoBrujas)

Graphic of domestic violence during lockdown — Something is Happening by Ottilie Hainsworth

Drop in the Ocean by Carolina Jon Buczek

The Walk Home (La caminata a casa) by Sabba Khan

Artwork: Close up on legs in fishnet tights changing from high heel shoes to flat ballet pumps. — Mujeres desde la periferia (Women from the outskirts) by Sonia Madrigal

Artwork: Embroidered tablecloth with flowers and free flowing text and remnants of a tea party. Spilled drink, broken plate, teapot, fork in wedge of cake. Text says: As the man got closer he groped me, grabbed my bum. I couldn't see. I couldn't hear. I couldn't breathe. He actually touched my in the middle of a Global Pandemic! I even made sure to walk so that nothing would jiggle in front of them. I can rest knowing he can't get to me. I feel safe for the first time in years. — The Tea Party (La tertulia del té) by Vanessa Marr

Thin Sheet by Tanaka Mhishi

Artwork in four vertical wooden frames. Colour photograph in light box in lower frame showing the back of a caucasian person with long hair and a baseball cap. Black vest top. — Paisajes desbordados. OLLIN AMOTLAMINI (Overflowing landscapes. OLLIN AMOTLAMINI) by Barbara Munoz de Cote

Artwork: Older woman grey hair in yellow cable knit cardigan, dominating a male looking manikin tied to a chair. — Grace by Vicki Painting

Repeated windows of text with graphic drawing of eyes. The text says: 1. The first few days of lockdown were so strange. It was like waiting for the end of the world. I didn't want to stay inside all day but I didn't know if I could handle being outside. 2. But there wasn't any choice. I had to go out sometime. I had a pack of masks I'd bought the week before. I put one on and I went to the supermarket. 3. I was so conscious of my breathing. My self. it was weird not to see other people's faces. Just like they couldn't see mind. We were all hidden from each other. Hiding from the virus. 4. Everyone with their eyes down, avoiding looking at each other. Walking carefully, speaking quietly, standing far apart. 5. It was funny how quickly it became normal. We all knew what to do. Almost everyone did it. It was oddly peaceful. 6. And then one day I worked out why that was. I was walking past men, sometimes alone and sometimes in groups and nobody told me to smile. Because they couldn't see my mouth. 7. All through lockdown I was walking for longer, going further. I didn't have to brace myself every time a man saw me. My face was off limits to them. There was nothing to look at. 8. They all left me alone. I could walk for as long as I wanted. It was fine. Nobody said anything stupid to me. Sometimes I was out all morning. 9. It felt like I'd been let out of a trap. Like finally I could just be in the world, like it was mine too. Not harassed. No comments, free. 10. It was still weird of course. But at least that bit was fine for a couple of months. And then it all shifted. After Barnard Castle everyone felt like mugs. 11. It's been 17 months. Covid is still here. It's as bad as ever. But you wouldn't know it from everyone acting like it's over. 12. Now my mask makes some people upset. They don't want to wear one. They don't want to see them any more. It's a statement. They resent me for it. 13. Maskless men cut in front of me in the street, or brush past me on footpaths in the park. They make a point of standing much too close in a queue. They shout at my mask out of van windows. 14. On the train, in a near empty carriage, some man with no mask sits down right opposite me, smiling a big fat smile. I get up and choose another seat. 15. My walks are much shorter now. Nights aren't so good so I go out super early in the morning when everyone's still asleep. I try to avoid people as much as possible. 16. When I see men heading towards me I change direction or go off the pavement and walk in the road. 17. Last night I ordered another 50 masks. — Cover My Face by Woodrow Phoenix

Painting of a woman taking revenge - two fingers (nails painted pink) up. Chin raised. Dark glasses. — Sod off [Váyase al diablo], óleo sobre tela by Chris Reading

Dear Ella by Merci Roberts

Viaje sin regreso (Journey of no return) by Frederick Rodriguez

Artwork by Jemma Treweek to sum up the frustration she feels as an older woman keeping herself and other women safe at night. Graphic of mens heads on a female body. A thick plait of hair coming from above the converse boot. A crescent moon as background. And a cross of tape across her mouth. — Walking home (La caminata a casa) by Jemma Treweek

I was on my way home by Sarah Ushurhe

Reflection (Reflejo) by Elijah Vardo

Artwork: painted visual responses to emotionally disturbed/sexually abused women. Including depictions of vultures. — Landscapes of Testimony (Paisajes de testimonio)