The Queer Portrait Project is a collaboration with the queer community, pairing each participant's narrative with my portrait of them. Queer people are often seen as faceless, autologous, nameless. One queer person becomes a representative and stand-in for a monolithic whole, robbing them of their own autonomous story. The Queer Portrait Project illuminates the breadth, depth, joys, struggles, and particularities of individual members of the queer community. The paintings and writings together allow the viewer to see and identify with the personal, distinctive, and particulate examples of each project contributor.

Wednesday, March 20, 2019

Emma, Indianapolis, IN, USA -- she/her





Being transgender sucks. It’s like living in a surreal alternate reality at times where nothing really seems to make sense. I’m actually pretty lucky as far as being transgender goes.

When I came out at work everyone was supportive or neutral, and I got a similar reaction when I came out to my friends. With a bit of work--make-up, wig, the right kind of clothes--I was able to pass long before I began HRT. Since starting HRT, I’ve noticed changes far earlier than I anticipated seeing them.

These are all things that I’m extremely grateful for. What they don’t change, however, is that for years I struggled to form emotional connections with people because I felt like there was something I was holding back and keeping secret, but even I didn’t know what it was. It doesn’t change that whenever things were good and I thought I was happy, there was always a nagging feeling that something was missing. It doesn’t change that I was never happy with my appearance and I didn’t know why.

When I look in the mirror, I see my face and on it are the remaining bits of stubble trying to grow back despite several attempts to burn them away with a laser. I notice how big my nose is relative to the rest of my face. I look at my hair and know that it’s just and overgrown boy’s haircut. I feel my chin and somehow it’s become absolutely massive. I can see how broad my shoulders are. I can see what remains of the muscles I worked so hard to build up to prove how manly I was. I can see so many things that I’m terrified will indicate to people that I’m a man rather than a woman.

Except, most of the facial hair I once had is gone. My nose looks completely normal, and although still short, my hair is the longest it’s ever been in my life. There isn’t anything wrong with my chin and I’m not really all that muscular anymore. If anything, I look pretty androgynous. It’s all in my head. My gender dysphoria is distorting what I see.

Then there’s the rare time where I look in the mirror and I see me, I see Emma. In that moment, I don’t see any trace of my old self. For that brief moment, everything seems right. For once in my life I feel like I’m beautiful. It’s a rushing feeling of being giddy and elated and relieved all at once.

And in an instant, its gone. I can no longer see myself in the mirror. Reality comes crashing back down and I’m left with a longing to get that moment back, to be able to see myself every time when I look in the mirror.

Thankfully, as time has gone on, I’ve been able to get more and more glimpses of myself in the mirror. Being transgender sucks, but it doesn’t have to forever.

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