Word can chain you like nothing else
The triptych is not just a journey of self-exploration, but a dialogue between the individual and the collective. The concealed face, the constellation-inspired composition, and the text invite us to rethink identity as a fluid, fragmented, yet interconnected phenomenon. The work urges us to look beyond appearances, to grasp the complexity of every human being, to question what we believe we know.
A mirrored circle partially obscures the face, making tangible the struggle to be recognized for who we truly are, especially when identity challenges conventions. The mirror is not just a veil, but a question posed to the observer: how much of what we see is our own perception, and how much is the reflection of collective judgment? The tattoos become traces of a chosen identity, a mark of self-determination against the weight of imposed definitions.
In the background, darkness envelops the figure, amplifying the solitude and the need to piece together the many facets of the self. The constellations emerge as maps of fragmented identities: scattered points that, like stars, intertwine in a universe of diverse stories. Among them, Cassiopeia shines as a symbol of resilience and the beauty of imperfection. The deep, vibrant red expands as a space of connection, a night sky ready to embrace infinite possibilities.
Words can oppress or set free. They can imprison within a label or open pathways to new horizons. The text weaves together personal reflection and a universal appeal, exploring the need for belonging in a world that often reduces individuals to rigid categories. "Inventing new words" thus becomes an act of resistance and hope, a leap beyond the limits of language, a gesture that pushes toward a more inclusive future.
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The first unwelcoming place in my life was my language. It draws such a deep divide between this and that, each word carries the weight of this need for categorization and order. Words, like many other things, make order in the world. Word can chain you like nothing else.
People always want to know what words they can chain you with.
I was maybe six, the first time I wondered why. “Are you a boy or a girl?”. I still didn’t know that the answer, for me, was neither. They kept on asking. Even strangers on the streets wanted to know – people stopped me and wanted to know. I wasn’t even androgynous. It’s just that nature made me in a way that doesn’t fit with how people like to see their “male” and “female”.
They wanted to know. Maybe because their behaviour would change according to the answer.
Their behaviour would change according to the answer – isn’t it a scary thing? That you need to know what the other is, before deciding if it’s worth to treat them as human beings?
I found my place to be as I am when I was much older, after fighting with teachings, religion, spite, my body and my mind. I even found my own way to deal with my mothertongue.
Most people still can’t use the right words to refer to me. They respect rules, grammar and tradition more than another human being who clearly states their needs. I don’t find it so strange. I don’t care for those who don’t care for my wellbeing.
I stick close to my chosen community, where we create new words to describe what we really are.
Ed
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