Our Bodies As They Could Be

“/our bodies as they could be” | acrylic on 16” x 24” canvas

A few months ago, my depression flared up. Which means once again, I lost focus and motivation. There were a lot of slow days which I moved through on autopilot. I had a lot on my mind, but simultaneously no thoughts I could really stick with. Not the best state for creating anything. But one particular day over the summer, I was feeling anxious and dysregulated about a change in my plans for the day, and had a meltdown. Usually, I can talk myself out of the immense anxiety of unexpected change, but in that moment I was overwhelmed by irrational anxious thoughts and intense self-hatred.

I needed a distraction quickly. I looked around the room for something of comfort, and my eyes landed on another one of my empty, black canvases. I wasn’t particularly inspired by anything, but I forced myself to sit in front of the canvas.

I didn’t know what I was going to paint, but I knew I had to put my emotions somewhere outside of my thoughts. I was sad, so I picked the color blue. Revolutionary. I squeezed blue paint on the canvas and just started making a mess, guessing where lines and shadows could go. Eventually, I picked a photo of me for reference that felt easy to do, and got to painting.

As I stared at my body for hours on end, I began to feel more and more dysphoric. It was a photo that felt “masculine” to me, and that lit a tiny spark of inspiration that encouraged me. But the longer I looked at my chest, the worse I felt. It looked like it didn’t belong there. Like I was wearing a costume, and I looked foolish. This body was not meant for me.

In the swell of overwhelming emotions, I felt a heavy weight on my chest; like the air in my lungs was replaced with water.

I ended up painting for seven hours straight; moved by my rough day, and the familiar feelings of discomfort towards my body as it is. So I wanted to try something different. I had already painted much of my chest, but I decided to paint over my boobs. I used the original photo as a guide for shadows, but otherwise restitched my chest flat.

As a genderfluid, commitment-phobe, I go back & forth with my interest in top surgery. Some days, I like my body as is; other days, I want to cut my chest off myself. Dysphoria is fun like that.

But when I finished, I stared at at the painting for a long time, recognizing it as my body, just modified.

I looked back at our bodies as we are & realized I had unintentionally painted the two figures looking at each other. It made sense, actually. I could see how both were me & how there was beauty in each.

This is important for my perspective. For seeing the way art is magic. For seeing the beauty in my own trans body.