ARTIST STATEMENT

My paintings are inspired by my experience growing up as a queer, transgender child in the extremely homogeneous state of Arizona. I struggled to connect with those around me and felt isolated and ostracized due to my transgender identity. It felt like there was no place for people like me, in country music, rodeo, or otherwise. Though it has been hidden from mainstream media, the history of cowboys is, at its heart, queer history. After all, where else but out on the plains (and on the fringes of society) could we find the freedom to love and live true?

I am inspired by roadkill as an analogy for the hardships transgender individuals face in staying true to our identities. Just as our act of living as transgender is often treated with fear, revulsion, and violence, I find solace in the immutable truth that we all come to rest in the cradle of the earth’s crust. For me, it is important to look upon the death and decay from which others would turn away, and instead lovingly say “I see you, and to me, you are beautiful.” I find kinship in the beauty and the horror of rotting animals. After all, death is one of the most natural parts of life. We all turn to rot. And we all are immeasurably more beautiful for it. 

Challenging myself to find beauty where at first I might not see it has become essential for me, not only in my artistic practice, but also my daily life. My work often feels as if it’s balanced on a knife’s edge–to view violence and death as beautiful can feel uncomfortable, but I believe it is important to be cognizant of our emotional states, both good and bad. My work is a reminder to not look away from the brutality brought upon our community. See the pain, see the beauty–feel how uncomfortable it is to have the line be blurred between the two, and whatever happens; please don’t look away.

My paintings serve to uplift the voices of my community, and many of my roadkill pieces are dedicated to the memory of transgender people who have been murdered. I donate a portion of the sales from many of these to various LGBTQ+ organizations working to support our community across the United States. At the end of 2024, there were no less than 672 anti-trans bills variously seeking to block trans people from receiving healthcare, education, legal recognition, and the right to publicly exist. As of May 28th, 2025, there are already an additional 910 more. 

However, it is essential to depict not only the pain and hurt my community bears, but also the moments of joyful resistance. I attended my first ever Annual Gay Rodeo in Laveen, Arizona in February 2024; and watched with wonder as “Miss Nancy” twirled in a beautiful gold fringed dress–right before hopping on the back of a bull! Currently, I am ecstatic to dance with and to help organize Boston’s lovely queer and inter-generational line dancing, two-stepping, and swing communities, 617 Country and Gays For Patsy. As a younger LGBTQ+ individual from a conservative place, it has been so special and healing to find this vibrant and loving community here in Boston, practicing the dances I've been dancing since elementary school. To meet with and listen to the wisdom of our queer elders is a gift many of my generation have never had the opportunity to enjoy due to the AIDS epidemic and more.

It is a scary time to be queer in our country right now. Many choose anger, violence and fear (and I cannot blame them), but I refuse to be cowed. I love my transgender body and life, and I treasure every second I get with my queer family. I count my lucky stars to be here, and I will continue to commit myself to uplifting the voices of my community, voices that many would rather leave steamrolled on the side of the highway, like the roadkill I choose to paint. My work acts as a brutal reminder of the harshness of reality, a way to mourn my family, as well as a celebration of life.