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    Woman Pissing

    Elizabeth Cooperman (Author)

    9781496231444

    Paperback / softback, published 1 September 2022

    192 pages, 9 illustrations, 1 appendix
    22.9 x 15.2 x 1.5 cm, 0.666 kg

    “This is a fiercely feminist book in the best sense, carving out a space for a female intelligence and decimating certain kinds of male productivity/surety. Cooperman has found her own form and managed to create a remarkable book-howlingly sad, oddly joyous, and persuasively devoted to a wayward/outsider/termite definition of art.”-David Shields
    “An engaging and distinctive read, Woman Pissing challenges, provokes, and inspires. . . . Woman Pissing refuses to give way to conventional narrative, charts its own path, and evidences the instinctual effort and devotion of a writer keenly aware of just how thin the membrane between art and life can truly be.”-Jericho Parms, author of Lost Wax
    “A book about the effort to write it, Woman Pissing is a living thing. Cooperman makes art of the effort to make art and manages, in that process, to make art-of art itself. The product is not final but a record of the process-pure pleasure for the reader.”-Kary Wayson, author of The Slip

    When we think of prototypical artists, we think of, say, Picasso, who made work quickly, easily, effervescently. On the contrary, in Woman Pissing, a literary collage that takes its title from a raunchy Picasso painting, Elizabeth Cooperman celebrates artists-particularly twentieth-century women artists-who have struggled with debilitating self-doubt and uncertainty. At the same time, Cooperman grapples with her own questions of creativity, womanhood, and motherhood, considering her decade-long struggle to finish writing her own book and realizing that she has failed to perform one of the most fundamental creative acts-bearing a child.

    Woman Pissing is composed of roughly one hundred short prose “paintings” that converge around questions of creativity and fecundity. As the book unfolds it builds a larger metaphor about creativity, and the concerns of artistry and motherhood begin to entwine. The author comes to terms with self-doubt, inefficiency, frustration, and a nonlinear, circuitous process and proposes that these methods might be antidotes to the aggressive bravura and Picassian overconfidence of ego-driven art.
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