For the Black Queer Bodies in Motion.
We who are Young, African, Gifted and Queer.
In between familiar yet estranged places, seeking strange homes in other faces. I encountered the portraiture of myself and the people who I met while hopping couches, homes, places, a means to cope with the anxieties and growing pains amidst the isolation, disorientation(s), queer explorations, and coming of age of my early twenties.
Here is a story of a community built in motion – fluid. Here is the story of seeking care, gentility, intimacy. Here is the journey to enunciate Black/Queer/Diaspora through portraiure as a space to lay bare our desire to be held and to hold, to play and to heal.
HOLD - for healing.
HOLD - for the ways friends, strangers and I grew to hold each other close, well, carefully. For our creative energy to make joy, catharsis, and intimacy & to be well and be loved.
Here lies a story of hands: uttering softly, gently, beautifully; to capture their vitality, yield to their intimacy, their poetry, their poetics (always) of relation: a story of a community’s emergent strategies of care in beatific light, solemn shadow, petal and thread.
Written by Jephtha
Written by Jephtha
My masculinity died in September of 2019 – and its convincing life culminated (and dissipated) in a single eye shadow palette. With every shade, I shed a skin from molting aimed at molding me into the man my mother thought her son would one day become. With every glitter, a glaring, glimmering plot hole in the script of machismo was revealed to me, until I understood the futility of the entire act. In front of the mirror, I saw a new future wherein I could move on without my guard. Or did i guard him? I used him for safety, but I also shielded him from being ravaged, picked apart by my own heart. Who knew a heart could have teeth. COR DENTATUM. Well, my core was dented by the weight of expectation – glory be, but now I grieve.