Exploration of the complicated experience of being seen, unseen, watched, and becoming the seer of what others fail to notice.
To be seen can feel like tenderness. Staring into the eyes of my lovers can make me feel safe, desired, excited, and joyful. Their gaze can become a form of intimacy, a way of saying, I see you, and I am here with you. Yet being seen can also feel threatening. The stare of a strange man on the street can make my body tense, alert, and unsafe.
This series explores the fragile balance between wanting to be visible and wanting to disappear. As a queer, diasporic person, I move through a world where visibility is never neutral. I am watched and surveilled by police, by the state, and through the male gaze. At times, it feels as though my body is constantly being monitored, interpreted, and controlled. At other times, I ache to be witnessed, recognized, and truly known.
Who gets to look? Who is allowed to be seen? Who is rendered invisible? And what happens when we turn our gaze toward the things that are deliberately left unseen?
What does it mean to reclaim the gaze, to look back, and to become a witness to the worlds and experiences that dominant ways of seeing refuse to acknowledge?
