As of late I have been doing some mean, mean painting. Meaning, that the application is thicker, rougher, and blatant. The poetry has moved from dimension to an incredibly honest surface. This latest work I have completed has a quite warm, approachable palette and yet the paintings are still unsettling. I need viewers of these works to gravitate towards the canvas, to capture their gaze with the unrelenting anger projecting from the surface. These paintings are undeniably rooted in rage and eroticism. People look away from trans suffering and are filled with disgust but they will not look away from the flesh of my canvas. I paint the real and unreal, the here and the never present, reality that I exist between.

Most people understand sex as two distinct, immutable types of bodies that never waver and touch only to fuck. Male and female are understood in terms of what is present and what is absent from the other. Bodies that fall outside of this binary evoke a series of automatic responses including revulsion, arousal, as well as confusion. There is a need to classify those who remain unknowable to cis-people while ignoring the shared basis of our bodies. Our bodies are capable of reading the same scripts, actualizing fantasies thought to be only that. 

Fear manifests from not only the realization of the control you possess over your body but also the threat to patriarchal gender roles. However, the much less discussed fear is of the see-through fascia barring each of us from seeing the other entirely. We are as similar as muscles are close, fibers roving over each other to produce movement. The sameness is what drives our desire to see the differences.