BASED ON DEMOGRAPHIC ANALYSES of the last United States presidential election, Norma McCorvey would likely have supported Donald Trump if she were alive today. McCorvey, known as the „Roe“ in Roe v. Wade (1973), was a white Christian woman from the South who did not attend college. Born in Louisiana in 1947, she spent most of her life in Texas working various jobs after dropping out of high school. She was married at 16, had her tubes tied by 23, and did not use contraception.
However, McCorvey was not easy to classify. She expressed support for Hillary Clinton before the 2016 election. McCorvey was also a lesbian, a sex worker, a survivor of sexual assault, and struggled with addiction. Raised by her abusive alcoholic mother, she faced exploitation and abuse throughout her life. Despite her belief that homosexuality was a sin, she lived with her partner, Connie Gonzalez, a working-class lesbian, for 35 years.
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McCorvey’s life highlighted the contradictions surrounding abortion and broader issues of reproduction and care. These contradictions are especially relevant as we face the division between protecting abortion access and potential federal abortion bans.
My interest in Norma McCorvey grew from my personal experience creating art related to abortion while at Yale University. My project involved a unique bodily intervention exploring reproduction and art.
While my art faced controversy, I have been encouraged by the increase in artists addressing abortion and reproductive freedom. These works reflect religious beliefs, queer solidarity, women’s labor, and cultural values present in the story of Roe v. Wade.
Art serves as a platform for complex narratives like Roe’s and our current societal challenges. Artists and curators continue to engage with abortion-related topics beyond fundraising or visibility, highlighting the importance of representation in politics and art.
It is a way to delve into narratives as intricate as McCorvey’s, along with deeper inquiries about reproduction and social structure in the world we currently inhabit and the world we aspire to create. At first, McCorvey was hostile, but perhaps she was just lonely, as she soon found herself engaged in conversation with Flip Benham, who was the national director of Operation Rescue at the time. They discussed their lives, and then moved on to talk about the Bible. A month later, she converted to Christianity and her baptism in a swimming pool was aired on national television.
In the previous year, a group of Black women including Dr. Toni M. Bond Leonard, Reverend Alma Crawford, Evelyn S. Field, Terri James, Bisola Marignay, Cassandra McConnell, Cynthia Newbille, Loretta Ross, Elizabeth Terry, Mable Thomas, Winnette P. Willis, and Kim Youngblood had critiqued the mainstream feminist movement and the idea of „choice“ for not considering women of color, poor women, disabled women, queer women, and trans people who couldn’t access abortion even where it was legal. They introduced the term „reproductive justice,“ which highlights the distinction between legality and justice. This term focuses not only on abortion access but also on other forms of reproductive care that are currently at risk.
These events from the mid-’90s were reflections on what was overlooked by Roe v. Wade and the mainstream conversation surrounding abortion. Can the art world effectively address these inequalities?
Several recent exhibitions have been tackling the topic of abortion and reproductive care, such as „Currents: Abortion“ (2018) at A.I.R. Gallery, „On Abortion: And the Repercussions of Lack of Access“ (2020) at the Museum of Sex, „Reproductive: Health, Fertility, Agency“ (2021) at the Museum of Contemporary Photography in Chicago, and „Unconditional Care“ (2023) at Lewis-Clark State College in Idaho. These exhibitions demonstrate that artwork addressing abortion is becoming increasingly important. Jasmine Wahi and Rebecca Pauline Jampol, directors of the non-profit Project for Empty Space, have been spearheading this effort with their show „Abortion Is Normal“ (2019–20) that featured over 50 artists and raised funds for reproductive rights organizations.
Their recent exhibition, „Body Freedom for Every(body),“ traveled across the country in a box truck featuring artists from various backgrounds. This project aims to highlight reproductive justice by leveraging the existing dynamics of visibility and power in the art market. Other exhibitions like „Is It Real? Contemporary Artists Address Reproductive Freedom“ in Dallas also emphasize the importance of centering Southern voices in the conversation around reproductive freedom.
One notable work from these exhibitions was Ari Brielle’s video installation titled „Screaming in the Palms of My Hands,“ which explores Texas history, medical history, music history, and personal history through a nonlinear narrative. „Die durchgehende Linie ist das Muttersein“, sagte mir Brielle, „von der ich komme, aber auch die, die dieses Land geboren hat.“
Beim Nachdenken über ihre texanische Kollegin beschrieben die Dallas-Kuratoren Norma McCorvey als „jemanden, der sein ganzes Leben lang missverstanden und übersehen wurde. Deshalb war es uns wichtig, dass die Künstler in der Ausstellung sich sehr gesehen und gehört fühlten… Einige der Künstler sagten, sie hätten das Gefühl, dass ihre Arbeit zum ersten Mal ernst genommen wurde – was ihnen geholfen hat, weiterzumachen.“ Als Beispiel „Ist es echt?“ arrangierte für Künstler in der Ausstellung, an lokalen Universitäten zu sprechen, was für die teilnehmenden Künstler nicht nur eine Möglichkeit war, gehört zu werden, sondern auch zuzuhören. Ruiz und ich haben an der Texas Christian University einen Vortrag gehalten, und es war bewegend, mit Studenten in Kontakt zu treten, die sich für reproduktive Gerechtigkeit interessierten, sowie mit Dozenten, die versuchten, einen Weg zu finden, um in der aktuellen politischen Situation darüber zu unterrichten.
Wie können wir reproduktive Gerechtigkeit nicht nur in der Kunstwelt darstellen, sondern auch reproduzieren? Das ist die Frage, die im Mittelpunkt vieler zeitgenössischer Kunstwerke und Ausstellungen zum Thema Abtreibung steht, und es ist auch eine Frage, die uns zurück zum Unterrichten bringt. Mir ist nur ein Bildende Kunst-Kurs bekannt, der sich derzeit mit diesen Themen beschäftigt; es ist ein Kurs namens „Kunst über reproduktive Gerechtigkeit“, der von der Malerin Luca Molnar an der Stetson University in Florida unterrichtet wird (andere, bitte melden Sie sich). Als private Universität hat Stetson nicht die gleichen Einschränkungen hinsichtlich des Inhalts wie staatlich finanzierte Einrichtungen; das hinderte jedoch Gouverneur DeSantis nicht daran, das Büro von Stetsons Präsident zu kontaktieren und eine Entschuldigung zu verlangen, nachdem Molnars Studenten eine Umfrage erstellt hatten, in der sie fragten, wie ihre Kommilitonen Unterstützung nach dem Abtreibungsverbot Floridas benötigten. (Die Universität lehnte ab.) Als ich mit Molnar über ihren Kurs sprach, beschrieb sie, wie inhaltsgesteuerte Kunstklassen den Studenten die Möglichkeit geben, über große Ideen zu sprechen. Es ließ mich nachdenken: Kann die Reproduktion selbst – weit gefasst – ein Medium sein? Stellen Sie sich vor, welche Kunstwelt wir hätten, wenn das möglich wäre.