When I close my eyes and think “feminism,” I don’t think as a feminist; That is to say, I don’t close my eyes and think as I did before. Instead, I see color, texture, and light. I see the physical materialization of a movement, of a driving and ever-present force. The struggle to make sense of these colors and textures is one that I feel significantly shapes my definition of the summation of values held by feminists all over the world. I find that I cannot separate thoughts of past and current female oppression from the bright flashes of red gritty paint that manifest themselves in my mind’s eye. I cannot read a text about identity and womanhood without sculpting the female identity in my thoughts.