Tag Archives: Leslie Feinberg

Leslie Feinberg: Art in the Teeth of All

Laurie says:

I have tremendous admiration for someone who creates art in spite of everything. And as an artist, especially if they must change their art to adapt to the confines of physical limitations. These photographs from the Screened-In Series were made by Leslie Feinberg, the transgender warrior who died last week.

We posted about Feinberg’s work and life here.

This post is about the art ze created in her serious illness. Ze wrote about it in Casualty of an Undeclared War.

She wrote about the work on the Flicker Series page.

These are the first in a series of photographs, many of which are from my vantage point from behind the screen and windows of my apartment in the Hawley-Green neighborhood of Syracuse, where I live with my spouse Minnie Bruce Pratt. [Syracuse is in New York State, northeast United States].

Illness keeps me home, much of the time in a darkened room. Dawn, dusk and dark are the least painful times for me to make photographs.

Winter Scene

I first made photos when I became more disabled. See my flickr profile for my statement about when and why I began making photo art.

I decided right away that I wasn’t going to “take” pictures, I was going to make them. When I could get outside, I would ask permission before making a photo–from loved ones and strangers–and then show them the photo and delete it if they didn’t like it for any reason.

But I have become increasingly confined by illness to home. I can’t ask permission.

So I decided not to use what photographers call “good glass” or to use a telescopic lens. I’ve only used a palm size digital camera for this series.

feinberg 3
Orange Porch

And I’ve paid conscious attention to distance, angle, composition, time of day, shadow, blur, manipulation of pixels and other techniques to protect the anonymity of my neighbors.

Alone and with help I have begun posting photos daily, or weekly, to this series. These photographs are my gifts to you for your personal use. All of my photographs are under Creative Commons copyright: attribution/source location, no derivative use, no commercial use.

–Leslie Feinberg
Aug. 26, 2011
Snow Scene

There are many ways to tell a story against the odds.

Mourning a Transgender Warrior on Transgender Day of Remembrance

Laurie and Debbie say:

Leslie Feinberg died five days ago, of complications of Lyme disease and related tick-borne illnesses. November 20 (still today on the West Coast of the U.S.) is the International Transgender Day of Remembrance. While this somber day is about remembering trans people who have been murdered for being trans, it is also a most fitting day to remember Leslie Feinberg, who died not by murder but by the medical establishment’s bigotry .

Feinberg was a tireless fighter for revolutionary justice for all people, and identified as an “anti-racist white, working-class, secular Jewish, transgender, lesbian, female, revolutionary communist.”


Hir obituary describes hir autobiographical novel, Stone Butch Blues as “a groundbreaking work about the complexities of gender,” a near-perfect description. Both of us remember reading Stone Butch Blues when it was relatively new, and being struck by … so many things. How ze was not only a good writer, but also a clear thinker. How clearly ze delineates the working-class Buffalo gay culture where ze grew up, and how class is a central part of the story. How — in a time where being gay was more dangerous than it is now, being butch was flaunting the refusal to pass, and being trans or genderqueer was rarely acknowledged and given very little space even in queer culture — ze managed to examine the complexities of being butch and trans, being working class and queer, being stone and loving.

Shauna Miller, writing at The Atlantic, talks about the importance of Stone Butch Blues, and what she learned from it.

… the depth and beauty of Stone Butch Blues comes from the way Feinberg takes the reader down the path of realizing what butch identity means—and what safety and self-acceptance inside that identity means—with her. Jess’s identity is so much more than her appearance. It’s more than her choice to work in a male-dominated factory world. It’s more than those simple and severely punished offenses against both womanhood and manhood. It’s more than the fistfights with other butches as a desperate attempt at intimacy, more than disappointing her great love, Theresa, with her emotional and intimate distance. By the end of this book, butch identity comes from letting love’s light trickle through a crack in the armor. But first the reader needs to understand where all the armor came from. “I felt as though I was rushing into a burning building to discover the ideas I needed for my own life,” Jess writes. That’s heavy gear to carry.

Feinberg believed that her death was directly attributable to “bigotry, prejudice and lack of science,” both because of the extra difficulties transgender people face in receiving good care, and the absolute failure of contemporary medicine to acknowledge and treat chronic Lyme disease and its related co-infections. Her multi-part essay, “Casualty of an Undeclared War” goes into substantial detail about this.

Feinberg was never one to let someone else have the last word. From hir obituary:

In a statement at the end of her life, she said she had “never been in search of a common umbrella identity, or even an umbrella term, that brings together people of oppressed sexes, gender expressions, and sexualities” and added that she believed in the right of self-determination of oppressed individuals, communities, groups, and nations.