a collective blog by indigenous women photographers
"I wonder how she will remember this time – what she will take away from it. Will she remember how scared I was, or would she remember how, for the first time in years, I could spend hours upon hours with her and not have to work?"
"I came out as a transgender man at 29. For me, this felt late. I remember the first moment I ever said it out loud. I was sitting with one of the first trans men I'd ever met in the shade of a truck at our summer ceremonies in Montana."
In my mind’s eye, I see a reality in which exists an explicitly Black, Indigenous and Person Of Colour (BIPOC) owned club where everyone is truly welcome and able to explore their sexuality via accessing and providing sex work in the ways that feel safest and most uplifting to their spirits.
This is probably why I am all for selfies – I think we have spent enough time being told to bow our heads, to be silent, to not take up space. Love songs are written about how women don’t know they’re beautiful, as if realizing our beauty is the single greatest flaw we could have. As if we are only beautiful if affirmation comes from someone else. Fuck dat.
When it’s clear skies and I know the sunset will be amazing, I try to take one photo of it, and enjoy the rest of it myself. It’s the most beautiful thing I get to witness in my days.
A lot of us went in not knowing what we were doing and there was no judgement from the experienced competitors, and coaches. Instead we were given huge amounts of encouragement and tips on what would give us the most success in each event. They are what really made this event such a success.
The idea that a trans woman’s body or transitioning is a sovereign act may seem odd to people, but it’s rejecting a colonial violence against us (forcing us into Western gender systems) and reclaiming our inherent femininity inside culture. It’s about connecting our sexualities to our land-seeing our pleasure as also sovereign. Our bodies, our right to be loved, to feel good.
Since my family and I moved from Alert Bay to Victoria, all I’ve been thinking about is how much I miss laughing with my friends up island. My first week back in the city I was texting them and telling them that people weren’t laughing at my stories. I was never much of a story… Continue reading Laugh with me
But slowly, slowly, I felt like I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t feel the joy. I couldn’t feel the passion. I felt… grey. Nothing. Absent. I went through the motions and denied that anything was wrong. Or I would sigh and shake my head, because even if something was wrong, there was nothing anyone could do to “fix it.”
We like the idea of shyness and lingerie, and how these words conflict. We strive to make beautiful images and stray way from sexual depictions. Shy and Natives came together and felt right for us.
tea&bannock 