Taken by Andre Bianic at my 18th birthday party at Dockweiler State Beach in California, where I am from. It was two days after the first r*pe, two days before the second one, and two years before the third. This image was incredibly important for me to include in the project because, although I look very similar to the 18 year old Em as a now 21 year old Em, a lot has changed and happened in my life since that night.
I felt this truck resembled a lot of my feelings now at 21. I am not powerless, but I am less powerful. I am not fully broken, but part of me has definitely bent.
This photograph was taken in connection to the previous: “Em, 18” and the truck. It is meant to depict self-evolution. This image has the number “21” in it, which is the age I am now. The boat in frame is docked to the boardwalk with that number, as an example of being stuck, even when floating free. I put this image above the trunk/chest with survey responses, as well as above a monitor playing footage of performances and videos that I had made at the age I am now. These performances and videos were again about what I experienced twice when I was 18, and once when I was 20. This photo is attempting to portray the idea of getting caught up in past trauma - being tied to who you were because of what happened when you were that version of yourself. I also wanted this image to also symbolize hope and faith in the journey to progress that is to come.
This photograph is in the Head because I found myself getting caught up in my memories, and only making art about my bad experiences, up until now, at age 21, when I am making half painful half hopeful work that is not just sad, but powerful. Taken in Port Chester, NY.
Many times when walking through my life, I come across things that have different meanings to me than they normally would to other people. I was in New York City when I came across this driveway that said “pull ahead, pull ahead, pull ahead.” I was very much wrapped up with intrusive thoughts and memories when I saw this. I felt that these were signs calling to keep going, keep being strong, keep surviving. Including this photo in the Head seemed justified because many times if one part of my brain is telling me to give up, another is fighting back.
A clock with a colon (:) but no time displayed. This photo is meant to replicate the feeling of innocence and blissful, time-stopping naivety, and ties in with the second image on the right titled “Hayes.”
Hayes, four years old at the time, portrays her “angry face” to me. I wanted Hayes to appear strong and defiant, in hopes that she would carry that fire with her as she got older. These images were taken in North Carolina, in an attempt to capture childhood before the world gets more adult and scary. They were included in the Head as part of memory, and the blissful naivety that children have before bad things happen.
This image is of my third r*pist. I was in an abusive relationship with this person for one month, but his toxic, manipulative, and stalker-like behavior lasted for an entire year. Sometimes, he still finds ways to insert himself into my life. This photo was taken in California when I attempted to document our complicated dynamic. The assault happened later that night the day this photograph was taken. This individual has scars on his arms that read “stop” and “listen,” which I later found uncomfortably ironic because he didn’t do either. I put this image on the wall above symptoms of PTSD and RTS, and directly across from the torn up blue dress that represented trust, peace, and stability. I felt juxtaposing this image with the blue dress was fitting because this individual was someone I had confided in about my previous experiences, trusted to keep me safe, and ultimately, a person who broke all that trust and stability I had built with him.
Survivor Portraits - Jihan. (she/her)
Survivor Portraits - Fumi. (she/they)
Survivor Portraits - Kars. (they/them)
Survivor Portraits - Sean. (he/him.)
Survivor Portraits - Sumayra. (she/her)
Survivor Portraits - Matt.. (he/him)
Survivor Portraits - Jihan. (she/her)
Survivor Portraits - Kaché. (she/her)
Survivor Portraits - Sean. (he/him)
Survivor Portraits - Kars. (they/them)
Survivor Portraits - Sumayra. (she/her)
Survivor Portraits - A & S. (she/her, she/they)
Survivor Portraits - Kars. (they/them)
Survivor Portraits - A & S. (she/her, she/they)
Survivor Portraits - Fumi. (she/they)
Survivor Portraits - Kaché. (she/her)
Survivor Portraits - Matt. (he/him)
In this photograph, as well as in “I was wearing these,” I was playing around with the idea of hiding vs. showing, and revealing vs. concealing. In both, you as the viewer are not entirely sure if I am posing seductively, or tucking myself away. I wanted to explore this dynamic especially because at both times these images were taken, I was experiencing the over-sexualization of my feminine body and the harmful conversation surrounding victim-blaming.
I took this photo at Purchase after reaching out to a kind of creepy male who followed my Instagram account. I asked if he knew any “sports bros” who would be interested in modeling for a project on gender identity. He responded and said he was captain of the volleyball club, and that if I wanted, I could come to the gym and shoot him and his friends right then. I did so very spontaneously. I was incredibly nervous, but they were all very easy to work with and seemed to understand what I was going for.
Many of the photos I took during this shoot were utilized in various ways in the exhibition. I put a lot of images on a podium under cellophane, that a dancer would then lie on, tied up.
I wanted the dancer to be resting on standards of masculinity and femininity, while performing the piece where they would be challenging that and representing dissociation and detachment from those standards.
This photograph was on a wall in between/separating the images titled “revealing/concealing,” and “i was wearing these.”
I took this image in 2016, during my second semester at Purchase. This second semester was essential to my understanding of what had happened to me right before college. I went through my clothes, found the underwear I was wearing during one of my assaults, snapped this photograph, and threw them out. I didn’t understand why I was holding onto them. When I disposed of the underwear, it felt very freeing. These images were in the Body due to their relation to sexualization of femme bodies, and my lack of association with the body I have.
If I was going to document “masculinity”, I knew I also needed to photographically represent “femininity”. I contacted Sophia, whom I view as extremely beautiful, and who I also figured could help me recreate poses and construct images that depicted stereotypical feminine behavior. We used “Instagram modeling poses” to properly convey and make fun of “what a woman should look like.” Sophia expressed great interest in the project and also modeled for the “survivor portraits” of the Heart. I didn’t end up using her portrait for the final room, but the ones we made together in this cold river after a snowstorm were present in the Body.
Part of the “masculinity” series.
Part of the "femininity” series.
Part of the “masculinity” series.
Part of the “masculinity” series.
Part of the “masculinity” series.
Part of the “masculinity” series.
Part of the “femininity” series.
Part of the “masculinity” series.
I took this photo at Purchase during my Junior year. I was performing a solo piece called “heart” in which I ran around this open field that I consider to be one of my “safe spaces” on campus. I set the self timer on my camera and just allowed myself to be free. I was documenting the fight or flight response; I always pick flight. I wanted to represent the beating heart whose pulse could only sometimes be identified. I chose to portray this by wearing only red and surrounding myself with greenery (life.) The field I was in was hidden just enough, but still visible to the public because I wanted to examine the space between voyeurism and free will.
This image was in the water bottle room under the words “I gave him vodka in a water bottle. I didn’t know he put it in my drink.” The room represented my action of collecting pieces of my trauma, and not being able to see that I was.
I felt this image connected with the space it was in because the room was both hidden, and accessible, the way your trauma and the behavior occurring because of that trauma often manifests. It isn’t always visible, but once it is observed, it can be unlearned.