WP1: Life in the World as an Artist, a Trans Man, and a Transgender Artist

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Writing 150

6 min readFeb 14, 2022

I’ve felt strange about my art since the pandemic. I have made things, but I’ve spent the last year and a half feeling like I haven’t made anything. The first few months were okay- I finished a guitar I had started building. That was the same month I came out as transgender.

I’ve worried that coming out has killed my creativity, but I have an alternative theory. Before, all my energy went into crafting things, and lately much of that energy has been devoted towards crafting my gender, and overall, my self. Not to mention, the pandemic has called into question, for many of us, the value of productivity.

Perhaps, instead of worrying about producing as much art as possible, caring for my gender has taught me how to care for myself as a whole. Yet. Making art is one of the most joyful things in the world for me. Producing art produces joy. So productivity is good?

I’m reminded of a quote in Hank Green’s book A Beautifully Foolish Endeavor, “You will always struggle with not feeling productive until you accept that your own joy can be something you produce. It is not the only thing you will make, nor should it be, but it is something valuable and beautiful.”

So maybe, though I have, within the last year and a half, neither produced any highly elaborate costumes nor my best work yet, I have made a few things here and there, but perhaps more importantly, I’ve created my own joy. And I’ve customized my very own gender. How many people get to do that? That joy I’ve created has come from common sources, like connecting with friends I’d lost touch with during the early months of the pandemic, and the absolutely indescribable joys of gender euphoria and trans joy.

On the difference between trans joy and gender euphoria. Gender euphoria is the opposite of gender dysphoria. Gender dysphoria is a discomfort within one’s gender, and euphoria is a feeling of comfort or rightness in one’s gender. Euphoria is being called the right pronouns or name, shaving for the first time, feeling a shirt flat against my chest. Trans joy, a far less common term, is being happy in this world as a transgender person. The world wanted me to be cis. I fought for the peace that I now feel. My happiness is radical and trans.

In titling this, I was unsure whether I consider myself an artist who is trans, or a transgender artist. While I don’t consider much of my art to be particularly related to my gender, the very fact that it is produced by my trans body and inspired by my transgender life makes something about it transgender art.

My favorite things to make are costumes. I’ve always worn the costumes I’ve made. Therefore, a great part of my portfolio are photos of a young girl wearing my work. Can I show people the photos of the works I’m proudest of? Will they see them and see my transness? Will they assume the model is not me? Will they think I just had feminine features in the past?

I don’t remember whether or not I ever thought I was less than for being trans, but I definitely used to think being trans was a bad thing in some part of me. I would see other trans people’s joy in transitioning and think “well that’s good for them, and I’m happy for them, but that would never be me.” I didn’t always love being trans. But seeing others love their transness, meeting trans adults living normal, joyful lives, and seeing trans art swayed that.

https://www.instagram.com/p/CW6HL2IPiyN/?utm_medium=copy_link

I spent the first sixteen years of my life walking through the world as a boy who everyone (myself included) thought was a girl. I now walk through the world as a transgender person who many assume to be cisgender.

From the time I came out until I moved to college, I wanted desperately to “pass as male.” After I started testosterone, I did, but at home, everyone knew I was trans. I came to college, and people started assuming I was cisgender. When people assume I’m cis, there’s a small hit of gender euphoria. That euphoria comes from a place of assuming cis-masculinity is somehow the goal, or that cis men are manlier than trans men. But euphoria is accompanied by a funny feeling: those people assume I’m something I’m not. My gender isn’t just man, it’s transgender man. (I don’t identify as non-binary, but I believe there’s something inherently, beautifully non-binary about being trans. While I conform to masculinity in many ways, I will never conform in every traditional way. My body isn’t capable of it. My past is not reflective of it.) They’re not seeing one of my favorite parts of myself. Yet I still feel this obligation to be stealth (living with few people knowing that I am trans). Maybe that feeling of obligation comes from the cis-normative society we live in.

So thus, I’m always faced with the dilemma — do I tell that story from Girl Scouts? Do I laugh at that period joke? Should I show that old photo of myself dressed up in one of those costumes that I’m proudest of?

And then there is the art that is truly trans art. Not only am I proud of those pieces as an artist, but I am also proud of them as in Gay Pride. But still, showing off those works requires a vulnerability not all art requires.

My last assignment for my high school art class was a project based on the concept of “freedom.” I chose to paint my own personal freedom. I painted my body not as it was, but as it would be. I painted the body that would be liberated from the pain of dysphoria, of chest binding. I painted the body I now inhabit.

The joy I have found in the trans community has been immense. Seeing others’ trans art has made me feel beautiful in my body, and I’ve had the opportunity to share my trans art, and make others feel that same homeliness. There has been a post floating around the internet, communicating the idea that Tom Holland’s Peter Parker follows a number of transmasculine stereotypes, so I did a photoshoot of “What if Spiderman was trans?”

I’ve also been able to be a part of other peoples’ celebration of trans bodies. Even though the art is not mine, there’s something to be said for being a model. Trans people I look up to have posed the idea that a trans body is a work of art, and I subscribe to that.