So I am turned inside out. No, I am flipped. I have ditched the static and predictable interstate for the ziggy way- the path that bends. If only it were as easy as merely running the spectrum of gender unconscientiously with my skateboard shoes and my boy undershirts. But the road… the road is paved with broken glass, and I am in a constant state of self-examination and perception. It’s wonderful and maybe even necessary; but you know something is lost when the boy who used to stare into a camera lens blankly and in awe now makes a face- a face that smiles recklessly to strive for the daring, the glam, the queer.
And here is where the rocks come in, that mass of a mountain I battled against for a week over winter break with only a snowboard as a shield. My body, a colored speck on white without identity or explanation, only movement and instinct. The snow trail reflecting not a boi but only the winter sun.
And so here I am attempting to replicate that feeling in a concrete city where a façade is forced on all of us- whether it is a façade within the social constraints of binaries, or one that goes radically against the grain. Here I am repaving the ziggy way, to move on it without even the notion of becoming gendered or non-gendered- a movement that is instinctual, free, and fast flowing.
Als das Kind Kind war, es machte kein Gesicht beim fotografieren.
When the child was a child, it did not make a face when photographed.