cathartic
revelers
Mother and father Monét, the day I joined their house and began my journey through their world. As the sun set, they struck poses on the street corner to the beat of “So Precious” by Moon Boots playing from their car's speakers, and I rejoiced in the experience we shared that would become the precious memory this image preserves.
Walking together with a house sibling, sharing a joint and some Sour Mambas, about to embark on an aimless adventure through the city.
Zende, father of The Monéts. The sun appearing through the clouds behind him mirrors his uplifting energy. At a house meeting, I recall him saying, "I want to see everybody reach their dreams…. I want to be able to foster greatness." Those who become part of The Monét house he sincerely loves and supports as his family, and in doing so, lives out his own dream to be a father.
Tiana, mother of The Monéts, my first muse. This portrait reveals a tenderness often obscured in ordinary interactions, that surfaces during her more soulful performances. I feel fondness for it similar to a child looking at a photo of their mother in her prime. It brings to mind buried memories of my own mother, how I saw her when I was small; how I wished she could be.
A matching duo performing during Taking B(l)ack Pride at Jimi Hendrix Park. These partners live and dance as separate halves of a single entity, mysteriously interconnected.
A “007” facing a large audience at the Taking B(l)ack Pride Ball. Here you can see the vulnerability of those who bare themselves to the crowd and judges, alone on the stage. Her posture shows the unwavering courage and self-confidence required not just to walk in a ball, but to be yourself in the world.
She’s giving “femme fatale.”
On the street outside Langston Hughes Performing Arts Institute where the first ball I documented took place. One of the highlights of the event was the dramatic entrance of a mermaid carried onto the stage by assistants. Everyone surged towards her, swept by a wave of exhilaration, like trick-or-treaters who see on someone's doorstep a bulk bag of candy with a note that says “Help yourself.” She was candy for our eyes. Any reserve or restraint I might've had evaporated as I rushed ahead and leaned over the edge of the stage to capture the moment I’d been waiting for.
Combatants clashing in a fierce battle at the Royal Youth Ball. A basic prerequisite of doing battle is the will to fight and the composure to stand your ground while your opponent does all that they can to outshine you. Weaponize your confidence in whatever manner suits you, and with your entire body, unleash yourself against them. Hold nothing back.
On the rooftop where we initially gathered for house meetings, against the panoramic backdrop of downtown’s cityscape. Framed by a vibrant array of plants in the light of the setting sun, this scene seemed to me almost like a renaissance painting of a forest nymph.
Shaded by tree leaves rustling in the gentle spring breeze, a flower boy blooms in Japantown’s community garden.
Aries, a passionate nail artist who rarely went anywhere without her service dog, Paco the chihuahua. Her role in the house was sort of like a godmother. House meetings and practice sessions were usually held at her condo. She was one of the first people besides Tiana and Zende who I felt at ease with when I was new to ballroom. I think it was her musical voice and sense of humor that comforted me.
Dominic, outside a gas station on Broadway in Capitol Hill, flipping off the cop car parked behind him. It was rare that I met others who expressed themselves both purposefully and creatively with fashion, so I was always pleased to see him in a new look. He’d removed his gangster fedora to reveal a head of scarlet-dyed waves that practically glowed like neon lights in contrast with his all black ensemble. He made me smile with his modeling prowess, and I made him smile with my praise.
Luci, an aspiring tattoo artist who gives soft hugs. As a child, they had two pet birds. One day on a whim, their dad brought home a large dog. It barged inside, broke the bird cage, and devoured one of the birds. The other barely escaped alive. It hid in the closet on the verge of death, bloody and battered. Luci nursed the traumatized bird back to health; The dog was soon returned. Months later, they opened the cage and the bird got out, perhaps craving the freedom of flight. Immediately, it was swatted to the ground and eaten by their pet cat…. Such is life.
The flailing tendrils of her hair shows the animation of her performance.
Across the street from the bar where we both happened to be, Cesar was casually modeling for me, putting on a little show for my camera, and I was snapping shots in anticipation when he did some subtle, idiosyncratic thing that instantly seized my attention. “Do that again,” I said. The only direction I gave him. He obliged, and I captured this.
Face. They know they’ve got it.
Two best friends dabbling in go-go dancing for fun one night at Supernova. Together, they were emboldened to try something they might not have dared alone, and by sharing a new experience, they gained a fond memory and a deeper bond. With a friend beside you, the world becomes a playground.
A go-go dancer on break outside a nightclub in SoDo, flaunting the burly physique that earned his dollars.
Cooling off with the fan of a hair dryer backstage at Neumos after a sultry performance, Tiana reacted to something Zende said with a piercing look that only he can translate.
In the lull after a mini ball, a group of us were gathered outside the venue to smoke and ki. The way Mustafa and Aisha looked, backlit by the window display of a lighting store, standing with the bearing of celebrities, the pavement might as well have been the red carpet.
After the Masquerade Ball at the Embassy Suites, while Sonya was setting up their ring light to take selfies with everyone in The Monéts’ hotel room, I caught their candid smile.
A demonstration of “All American Runway,” a category where you emulate the strut of male runway models. Out of all ballroom categories, this was the one for me. The focus is your fashion. Essentially, all I had to do was dress my best and walk with purpose. I do this wherever I go. It seemed like a chance to be appreciated just for being myself.
As the intro to “meta angel” by FKA twigs progressed, Rowan Ruthless stood before me, overlaid by trippy visuals. The moment an angelic voice filled the space and she began lip-syncing, I got chills. She had a mesmerizing way of embodying the music that reminded me of the day I first witnessed Tiana perform.
Rita La Rue, backstage at a drag competition where contestants were getting ready between performances. Although she sat silently at the back of the dressing room, her bizarre costume was loud in its demand to be photographed.
Issa and Kylie, charismatic hosts of the monthly drag show Kickback, held in the basement of Kremwerk, where some of the city’s most prominent drag performers appear onstage.
If I could travel back in time to capture the soul of a classic jazz singer crooning the final note of a love song, this is what it would look like. Timeless.
Drag and stand up comedy, two things I never imagined put together that surprisingly pair well, creating an interesting fusion of entertainment forms that elevate each other.
Coy, after the last session of a dance class, applying the Popping skills they learned to “Old Way” Vogue, the root of contemporary Vogue dance. It emphasizes grace and precision, using the hands and arms like swords in balletic and martial arts inspired movements to accentuate your body or “attack” your opponent. They’re one of the few people of our generation keeping this dance style alive.
In the sunlight filtered through the trees, Juju's natural beauty is radiant.
Xian, chilling on the field at Cal Anderson Park after their band’s show. In moments like these they were able to laugh with friends, despite the afflictions they endured. As if foretelling future well-being, their smile seems to say, “I’ll be okay….”
I was taken aback by the raw power of Issa's voice when I first heard her sing. Her zest as a performer negated temporarily the depressing effect of gray October skies.
I had the privilege of being on stage at the Awards Ball to capture from the perfect angle the climax of Tini's performance, which resulted in this once-in-a-lifetime shot that showcases the erotic art of kinbaku (Japanese rope bondage) incorporated into their BDSM-themed outfit. No one there could rival such an alluring display of sensual self-expression. It’s no wonder they won the award that night for “Sex Siren of the Year”.
Behind the scenes at the Tacoma Urban Performing Arts Center (T.U.P.A.C.) preparing to represent The Monéts during the Christmas Showdown Ball. As expected of my ballroom muse, adorned in a way that evoked opulence, she was a marvel to behold.
Two people of trans experience doing what humans in love do.
While we were conversing backstage at the Awards Ball, Viper made me feel seen and appreciated as an artist for the first time. Usually, when I comb through my camera's contents, deleting countless unsatisfactory images, in my head I hear my ruthless inner critic’s voice: “Not ideal," "Not interesting," "Not what I wanted," etc. Yet one image I'd previously dismissed this person told me was "the most beautiful photo" they'd ever seen…! These words affected me deeply. I had been working hard all on my own to make something meaningful. Whether their praise was hyperbole or heartfelt, regardless, it was incredibly affirming to hear. Through their eyes, I saw my work differently.
Winners of the List Ball at a small art gallery in Capitol Hill, holding their trophies for the categories of “European Runway,” “Gender Nonconforming Ovahness,” “Sex Siren,” and “Black Panther Realness.” To win a trophy is more than a recognition of one’s outstanding presentation. It’s a symbol of honor and a measure of one’s rank in the community.
During a Vogue Fem performance, there’s something so satisfying about watching someone lower themselves into a dip precisely on the beat. If well executed, the crowd motions in unison with it, as shown. For those who have never experienced a ball, this scene is the essence of it.
Late night after-party at Supernova, following my final ball. Amidst the joie de vivre, I was captivated by the sight of this aerialist’s stunts. Faced with what I’d never seen before, I remembered how much more there is beyond one's immediate surroundings to discover and experience. I made sure to savor those moments, knowing they’d be the last I spent with the people I’d acquainted with through my camera. Disenchanted, I quietly left the ballroom world, letting go of a dear fantasy I couldn’t make real, accepting that it wasn’t meant to be.
I was an orphan prince who wandered into a world of rivalrous “femme-” and “butch-queens.”
From the dark, desolate realm where I'd come of age in isolation, I emerged. Driven by an imperative inner force, I staked my future on the completion of a spiritual quest and went forth on my path towards self-realization, defying the accursed fate I inherited at birth with the resolve to free myself from the invisible chains that restrained me and become master of myself, author of my destiny. Immediately behind me is death; Beyond me is life. I can only move forward. Each step tests the power of my will to transcend my limits and overcome all obstacles in my way. Empowered by the divine instrument of a camera to express my creative voice, I've dedicated myself to this lifelong journey into the unknown, exploring worlds and undergoing experiences simply to discover what there is to learn about human existence. I left my own world to travel through those of others, proceeding where my inner compass led me in the direction of what I couldn't see, and before long I chanced upon my first muse in the Seattle Kiki (ballroom) scene.
A ball is a glamorous tournament consisting of a series of battles between members of queer cliques called “houses”, led by a Mother and/or Father. One’s chosen house is their chosen family. The primary criterion of this underground sport is confidence. You demonstrate this with how you present yourself to the judges in categories related to fashion, dance, beauty, and sex appeal. Essentially, whoever characterizes the category theme best and exudes the most confidence wins prizes and prestige. To participate, it's necessary to cultivate a persona, the mental mask and costume you wear to the ball, made from everything you love about yourself and all that you aspire to be. In this enchanted space evocative of a masquerade, fantasy equals reality.
As I attempt to navigate life in an anti-Black capitalist dystopia built on slavery, racial terrorism, and genocide, I have to contend with the difficulties inherent to my ascribed status at the very bottom of a white supremacist racial hierarchy, compounded by the tribulations of being trans in an uncomprehending and increasingly fascist world. There is no path paved for me. I make my own way. When everywhere is fundamentally hostile towards my existence... where can I go? Ballroom was where I first searched for my people, my place, a home and family, something to be a valued part of.
I came to know of ballroom when I first watched "Paris Is Burning" and "Pose" and was then presented with something unprecedented——a world where I could see myself. Underlying the flamboyant imagery was an enticing narrative: rare beings, incompatible with mainstream society and united by their queerness, created their own shelter where fellow dispossessed spirits could find respite from mutual hardship and openly be themselves. With the newfound knowledge that such a thing exists, it was like a starry beacon materialized beyond, orienting me, as though the universe were signaling, "Go there." Where I have a void, the “legendary children” of ballroom have light, and by some visceral magnetism I was drawn to it. The irrational conviction that everything I was missing would be found wherever that light originated gave me the impetus to break out of the ethereal tomb I decayed in, and finally start making new memories.
...So much for that. My stream of consciousness pulled me into a doomed place of mind where I was adrift in an abyss, no shore to swim to, nothing to cling to, no one to call to, floating precariously on a watery deathbed as night tinted the sky black and darkness deeper than any ocean engulfed me. From this position, in my condition, what I needed and wanted most was impossible to reach. Convinced that I couldn’t have a future, nor overcome the obstacle that is myself, I was ready to abandon life. That’s when serendipity smiled at me. Right as I was emptied of hope, like a passing ship on the horizon, so they appeared, the Mother and Father of the House of Monét. I knew it was gonna kill me to remain alone in my head any longer. Instinct moved me towards what I recognized was my only chance of survival: human connection.
I accompanied The Monéts, whisked away on a trip far elsewhere, a timely diversion from my private despair. Those first few hours we shared, conversation flowed like improvised music with surprising harmony. The combined effects of a missed night’s sleep and a potent blunt imbued everything with the surreal quality of a waking dream. Feeling safe and loved, a crack broke through my stony façade, allowing those on the outside to glimpse my inner self. I spoke of sobering things deep within me, not seeking sympathy or solace, just being real. I revealed my Shadow’s essence, and still they accepted me. One gesture, a hug I didn’t know I needed, gave me in tangible form what no exchange of words could. While enveloped in the embrace of new friends, it was impossible to feel alone. This nourishing experience was a taste of what joining a house might offer me: kinship, communion, belonging——what my soul was starving for. The Monéts never explicitly invited me into their family. It went without saying. I was their son.
That day, I’d been certain my life's story would end unfinished. I couldn't see a way forward. But with this twist, what looked like The End from my first-person perspective turned out to be a cliffhanger. In fact, my story was just beginning. So many chapters remained to be lived, if I chose to continue. I was curious of their contents, so I persevered, motivated solely by the thought, “I want to see where this leads me.”
Before I began this journey, I was a detached observer estranged from humanity, moving through the world as would a disembodied spirit lost in a liminal space between being and non-being, neither living nor dead, without a past or a future. From my place on this parallel plane of existence, I could only watch life unfold like projections on an intangible screen, impossible for me to integrate with.
Now I assumed the role of a participant observer in a Dionysian and extroverted subculture that is to my Byronic and introverted personality as Yang is to Yin. Entering this unfamiliar world, like an alien anthropologist I had to somehow assimilate, geared with nothing but my camera and my purpose. My subjects were a crowd of fellow queer and trans people of color who converse through a shared language of dance. Partly because I was unversed in this language, there remained a barrier between us that I couldn't penetrate, a level of connection I couldn't feel. Outwardly, I appeared to be one of them; Intrinsically, I am an outsider even among outsiders, alone in my experience.
I was in the process of an excruciatingly difficult transition from one way of being to another. I understood that it's precisely a fundamental challenge that is necessary for fundamental transformation. That’s why I stayed involved with ballroom, despite the nagging feeling of alienation and the struggle to function outside my comfort zone. It was all part of a life-or-death battle against my present self to become someone who can fully participate in life.
I imagine that when you exhibit yourself at a ball or on the stage, carried away in cathartic revelry, you’re possessed by something inside you, surrendering yourself to this subconscious force summoned from the depths of your being, letting it animate you, the body a medium of its expression. Through my camera I attuned myself to this spectacle in the same way a dancer moves to music. While immersed in the flow of moments, I was no longer self-conscious, but a consciousness without self responding spontaneously to the dynamic scene that surrounded me. The noise of my thoughts muted; my whole body became an extension of the camera. Depending on how my subjects moved, I would adapt automatically, maneuvering in any way necessary to compose life’s drama fittingly in a frame. Not knowing when or how it would manifest, I watched intently for that elusive je ne sais quoi I sought to capture, a climactic and nuanced configuration that appears for an instant, then vanishes forever.
Ballroom provided the ideal setting to play with my camera——a training ground where I could fully exercise my creative powers, hone my skills, and overcome my psychological resistances, growing as an artist in the process. I was spoiled with inspiration by an entire community of photogenic people who flirted with cameras for fun and each displayed their own distinct style. But the more I photographed them, the more restive I felt. I wasn't content to just document. I wanted to be on the other side of the lens, inside of the experience I admired. What I saw modeled at the balls and drag shows by those who stood out most in the scene was a version of the release and recognition I yearned for. They were butterflies personified, whereas I was a humanoid cocoon, my true form unrealized. Witnessing their performances was a catalyst that urged my innermost self to blossom from my stifling armor. As I studied my muses through my camera, I began to picture what a glorious image of myself might look like among the ones I made of them. Who could I be?...
Early one summer evening, hours into the Taking B(l)ack Pride ball, Jimi Hendrix Park was thronged with spectators. From one of the best vantages in the audience, I was poised to capture highlights of the ensuing performances when the MC announced the next category: trans male realness. My house sibling gleefully encouraged me to walk. I was reluctant. On such an occasion, if I were to present myself, I wanted to be a complete work of art. I was still a work in progress. But as a photographer my reflex is to seize opportunity right when it appears. Here was my chance. I was being called forth. This category was made for me. The empty stage was now a potential place for me. On the spur of the moment, I chose to step out of the shadows of anonymity. A few steps more and I would be in the same position as the people I’d observed through my camera moments before. Mother and father Monét were there to support me while I waited with apprehension for my turn to enter the spotlight. "Just exist," mother Monét advised. Apparently, all I had to do was what I already did effortlessly.
On display under dazzling lights and in the eyes of hundreds of strangers, I felt naked. Thundering bass beats rumbled through me, making my bones vibrate and my skin tingle with adrenaline. A row of deadpan judges watched the surprise approach of a statuesque figure dressed in afropunk style; Nonchalantly, I strode towards them and met their cold gazes with my own. “I am who I am,” my body said. My authenticity was self-evident. Without ostentation, I passed the introductory round by a unanimous vote and won my first battle.
In the final round, I did something I’d never allowed myself to until then. Sharing the stage with my last opponent, I unbuttoned my shirt and with a sudden flourish spread it open like wings, exposing my top surgery scars. For years, my transness was a burdensome secret I felt I had to keep from society in order to be affirmed as a man. I considered my body a mistake made in permanent ink that I covered up so no one could see. My chest scars were stigmata to me. Yet there I stood, boldly unveiling myself to a cheering crowd. It was everything I avoided, being seen and known. Vulnerable. Judged. I acted in spite of the self-preservation instinct underlying my desire to stay invisible. I wasn’t thinking about winning a trophy. Ego had nothing to do with my motives in that instance. I did it for its own sake as a gesture of self-acceptance, an attempt to embrace what I rejected about myself in the one environment where it’s celebrated. Liberation was my reward.
When the ball was over, people lingered for a while, like a gathering of extended family dancing together until the music stopped. Included in their camaraderie, I felt for the first time like part of a community. My future among them was uncertain, yet seemed so promising in the afterglow of that experience. It didn’t occur to me at the time, but walking was a rite of initiation. I wasn’t just a random person in the crowd anymore. Having crossed the threshold from observer to participant, I was regarded differently after that. I became one of the people who the crowd gathers to see.
🦋
I notice a change in the way I inhabit my body when I face my reflection in the mirror or walk down the street. I've found my balance, and with it comes natural confidence. I can look my reality directly in the eye and appreciate what is. This life is all I have... a blank canvas as vast as the sky upon which, by my own hands, I must bring to fruition my potential and reify the meaning of my existence. It's a Herculean task to take charge of your destiny. I can commit wholeheartedly to my life’s journey, or fade into oblivion like the memory of a dream. But what a waste it would be to never manifest the beauty latent in me that only through me can be given form. So long as I have this to give, I won’t squander my one life afraid to live, ashamed to be, basking in the light of others while blind to my own. At long last, I recognize myself.
This project is, at its core, my attempt at connection, to my body; to the world; to people. These photos are precious mementos of a pivotal time during my metamorphosis, when I strived to radically change the course of my life and become who I’m meant to be, by any means necessary.
With this collection of images, ultimately all I want to say is...