I am a transfeminine artist. I have the privileges of whiteness. As I move through space, I sometimes feel awkward or afraid because of how my body presents itself.
Sometimes I love my queer body, so strange and free, and sometimes I find it hard to look at photos of me. I have queer sex. I am constantly learning and relearning the ways that my body can give and receive pleasure.
I live in an imperial centre, though I am a non-citizen and have limited rights there. From a class perspective, I generally have the ability to buy the things I want, and have invisible others construct them for me in workshops far far away that I will never see.
I watch wars that I am implicated in and I shudder. I watch migrant ships drown and I feel anger and disgust. Yet I do so from a position of safety and comfort, and so I also feel shame.
I am the grandchild of a Jewish refugee who lost half his family. Stories of people like me being hunted to their deaths shaped an insecurity that may well be irrational but nonetheless haunts my bones. For this reason I support the sovereignty of Palestinians.
I dove into music and performance because it was the only thing that I felt that I did well; that came intuitively to me. I try to connect the deep waters with the surface.
I wish to be a better writer and to be more dedicated than I am, because music’s abstraction has its limits, and there are other stories my body wants to tell.
So much of my learning and growth as an artist has taken place in HYENAZ, a long term collaboration with and commitment to the artist Kathryn Fischer aka Mad Kate, with whom I have an ongoing sexual relationship and deep kinship.
I make art because I don’t know what else to do. I take the stage not because I feel that I have a right to but because I feel at home there. This is neither necessarily a good thing or a bad thing. Sometimes work allows me to hide from myself. And sometimes the things I create helps me see myself more clearly than I have ever been seen.