These were my first works of self-portraiture as an undergraduate photography student. With each photo, I aimed to use symbolism to capture a different core element of my identity.

The first in this series is a clear depiction of my artistry. I sit in front of my audio workstation with a microphone obscuring my mouth. I deliver a deadpan stare directly into the lens of the camera. There’s a certain blank aggression in my eyes—almost emotionless and dissociative, as the weight of an exhausting and pained existence is directed straight into the audience.

It’s a depiction of the dichotomy of my art. I love being an artist more than anything else on this earth. There’s so much excitement and pride that comes from every new song, photograph, video, or other project that I create. I am truly on top of the world when I release something new to my audience or clients. Yet the content of my work is anything but fun or exciting. I’ve lived a life of trauma and oppression. I’ve been forced to make decisions nobody should have to make, and I’ve had to grow resilient and indignant as I continuously fight for my survival. My trauma has made me jaded and cynical about the world. That’s the artist you get to see. Every one of my works is a reflection on some form of unjust pain and suffering that other oppressed peoples or I have been forced to endure. The microphone replaces my mouth. The voice you hear is a version of me that only knows the worst that life has to offer. I love doing this. But love is very rarely the strongest feeling in my work. The bright pastel colors on the screen can’t distract you from the piercing stare in front of it.

A great deal of my life is dictated by appearances. As a trans woman, I feel a societal obligation to put immense effort into how I present myself in order to meet a certain standard of femininity. To many, I’m only valid if I’ve put in the time and money to make myself “feminine enough” to fit in, and that intense scrutiny bleeds into my sense of self.

This photo serves as a literal and figurative reflection on my appearance as it shapes my identity. I sit on the floor, staring into a mirror, the room bathed in orange and red light. My reflection stares back at me. The moment is quiet, contemplative, and deeply personal. I feel beautiful, but it’s not the simple joy I wish it could be.

Feeling beautiful is a relatively new experience for me. I was assigned the wrong gender at birth, and thus forced to follow societal rules that broke my sense of individuality. Much of my early life was hallmarked by insecurity, self-hatred, and dissociation. Only after transitioning and working through my anxiety could I realize what it was like to feel pretty. Now, it’s a feeling I chase each time I look in the mirror, and it’s one that I have to fight hard for. I fight everyday battles and lifelong wars. Over time, I’ve gotten used to the danger and the anxiety, but that doesn’t make my existence any safer. As I look in the mirror, I feel the weight of everything I’ve been through to reach this moment. I feel beautiful, but I mourn the woman I could have been in a kinder world.

I love this photograph. I think it’s a beautiful composition with so much room for thought and personal interpretation. There are certain changes I’d make now in terms of coloring and background composition, but the overarching idea still feels incredibly solid to me. Given the constraints of this project, taking place entirely in my college dorm room with limited equipment, I had to work hard to build a world with limited imperfections or distractions. Camera placement was extremely sensitive. A tiny shift could make the camera show up in the mirror reflection or ruin the framing of the image. And even after controlling the background as much as I could, there were still several elements that I had to remove with the Photoshop clone stamp tool. The final product manages to appear seamless despite the challenges. Even as an early photography project, I knew these photos had the power to represent me for years to come, and I gave everything I had to make them truly special.

The third and final photo in this set is perhaps my favorite. It serves as a reflection on my identity as a transgender woman and the way I navigate the transgender experience. The scene is dark. I sit alone, enveloped on all sides by shadow. As I stare outwardly, I’m illuminated by a colorful light, scattering vibrant sparkles across my face. In this moment, I have a calm, contemplative determination, looking towards the light when everything around me feels dim. In the darkness, the transgender flag stands firmly behind me.

There’s a certain magic about this photo that makes it one of my favorites I’ve ever taken. The vibrant lighting contrasted with the deep contours of darkness feels like such an apt representation of my life and artistic vision. It’s a sign of self-determination and the increasingly difficult decision to be colorful, energetic, and authentic as modern life loses its saturation. The photo feels especially poignant when considering the time period in which it was created. This was the first time in my life I felt truly confident in who I was. Socially transitioning had filled me with anxiety and doubt for over a year, but I had now made it out the other side, triumphant and ever stronger for the struggles I endured. At the same time, a shadow of dread bore over me as the 2024 election neared and the second Trump administration was soon to take power. This image is a symbol of hope and resilience. It’s the love and beauty that hold firm in every queer identity, no matter how hard hate tries to erase it.

This photo isn’t perfect. None of them are. Looking back at these after a while, I immediately asked myself, “Why am I facing left in this photo?” I’ve adopted the mindset that everything means something in photo composition. In Western cultures, a person looking left is perceived to be reflecting on the past, while a person looking right is facing the future. I tried for a while to justify a way that I might be staring down the past before I take the future head-on, but truthfully, facing left was just the only way I could get this shot without rearranging my room. My understanding of subtext and thoughtful composition has grown so much since this initial series of self-portraits. Still, I have nothing but love for these three images. I put my heart and soul into them, and each is beautiful in a way that is uniquely me.

Self-Portrait Series I

Shadows of Horror

The Trash Stalker