INSIDEOUT - WordPress

NANCY WELCH D’AQUILAMy Pronouns, He/HimYour eyes saw the truth in a world of lies,saw your beauty over hatred,security over danger,wisdom over stupidity,and saw light over darkness.Your body became a sanctuary,Your hair an extension of your innermost self,Your soul and spirit stayed genuine,Your self esteem grew unnurtured,Your mind moved you forward.Age: 34; Pronouns: He/Him“Growing up, I did not have a support system. I was taught that myweight, hair, and basically everything about me was something to beashamed of. Self-esteem issues, loneliness, and struggles with mentalhealth were walls to happiness for most of my life. When looking inthe mirror, even as a child, my eyes were the one thing I saw that Igenuinely loved. It took a long time for me to grow up and gain theconfidence to get to know my true self. Four years ago I discovered Iwas genderfluid, and came out as a trans man earlier this year. Seeinghow many people were willing to stand by me through this has beensurprising and wonderful. Being opened a door to happiness that Ididn’t have before. It’s been a journey, and one that I’m excited tocontinue. During my time as a professional photographer, I found alove of using gels to create color in images. I use them when I can andthey help me unleash creativity and see the world differently.”16sosartcincinnati.comOut of the depths of isolationYou bring the promise of color and images,turning sorrow to joy,depression to connection,despair to hope,and hate to love.Refraction of a Prism Hanging in the WindowOne tiny segment of the prismupheld itself to you,sprayed dust on your cleanliness,found warmthin your color.INSIDEOUTNANCY WELCH D’AQUILAARI PITMANSwathed in blood-stained amniotic fluidYour encrusted head,Your newborn smell,Your flailing limbs,Survived on their own.POETARTISTARI PITMAN17

POETNANCY WELCH D’AQUILAOne mingled particleNANCY WELCH D’AQUILA18scanted your thoughtstracebytracefeeling frightened andfalse fore whenthe ati.comINSIDEOUT19

KAREN GEORGEResurrection, A Self-PortraitASHTON MICHAEL LEE20You wear vivid green, swaddledby soft moss color—fragrant juniper, sweet basil.Your skin the tint of richest earthfrom which all life swells.Your glass frames coral like the sea’s diverse reef—through these circles you see deeply.Your dark hair and light shirt, dualityyou embrace, one arm clasping the other.You are the Phoenix, fabled, fabulous bird devouredby flames. You rise, transform ashes into your whole, holy self.KAREN GEORGE “But still, like air, I’ll rise” –from Maya Angelou’s poem “Still I Rise”POETARTISTASHTON MICHAEL LEEAge: 35; Pronouns: He/Him“This painting represents resurrection. This was the first time I took apicture and saw myself. I saw who I’ve always known myself to be.”sosartcincinnati.comINSIDEOUT21

BARBARA MINNEYBarbarayou were therewhen my sister dressed me up in her clothes with caremy cheeks rouged proud as sheparaded me down the staircaseto our red-faced fatherwho quickly turned me aroundwithout a wordYou were therewhen I fell asleep on my aunt’s bedsplayed about a pile of silk brasto be awakened by her shrieks and jeersYou were there then,BarbaraBut the other nightdriving in my carstockings and garter onunder my jeansfeeling the sadness ofLana Del Rey on the radiosingingYou get ready, you get all dressed upTo go nowhere in particularyou weren’t thereAge: 67; Pronouns: She/Her“I am struggling with trying to wrap my head around the thought thatthe absolute best year of my life has been immediately followed byone of the absolute worst years of my life. Sometimes, I even wonder iflast year really happened or was it all just a dream? I know that I’m notalone, and I am fighting the depression and the anxiety so that I canemerge from the darkness and be an even bigger light.”22MARK FLANIGANARTISTBeaconPOETMARK FLANIGANBARBARA MARIE MINNEYsosartcincinnati.comyou were somewhere elseon the other sidewhere courage and truth led youa beacon of lightcutting a swathcreating a berthINSIDEOUT23

POETMARK FLANIGANMARK FLANIGAN24Barbarain the darkness of my roomI hang your self-portraitIn ityour arms float above youstars lighting the wayhands that reach outtouch mineremind onewhat matters mostis not where you werebut where you are,what matters mostis not who we were,but who we areBarbarain the darkness of my roomI hang your self-portraitnext tomy work-in-progress,and because of itmy own darkness breaksa bit.sosartcincinnati.comINSIDEOUT25

BEA WISSELHer Portrait-SelfStill, a body is a conundrum.Skin and limbs and heartbeats.To be looked at, to look out from, to live in.We are all piecemeal.Fluid, shifting, tenuously, webbedsystems, and organs, nerve endingsand electrical wiring;a glorious collection of congregating cells,muscles knit to joints;sinews and synapsesshooting sparks, sending signals—feeling, pain,movement—the whole damn thing;conducting a mechanical, 200,000-year-old orchestra,breaking, and healing;fragmented, yet still, whole;solid, and still transcendent.Age: 46; Pronouns: She/Her“My experience as a trans woman has been a challenge every day ofmy life.”26sosartcincinnati.comBEA WISSELBREE ORLOCKHer portrait-self gazes out with regal dark opulence,dripping jewel tones, Bordeaux-stained, punk-laced,the smooth curves of her expression are hardand delicate shades, an aching swirl of contrasts.Proud. Defiant. Shy. Coy.Wary. Wounded. Brave.To the world that has madeevery day of her life a challenge, her eyesseem to throw the challenge right back. See?This is who I am. This is me.Sister, Mona Lisa has nothing on you.POETARTISTBREE ORLOCKHer self-portrait is composedof make-up, applied in layers and textures,cross-stitched skulland bones embroidered,swoops and swirls, damask—woven, wavy, papered-over;INSIDEOUT27

POETBEA WISSELBEA WISSEL28even within sharp linesand the edged borders,a woman’s spirit is an impossible thingto contain.It begins before you are born—the world assigns you a frame, and a placeon the gallery wall where your canvaswill hang, where you are meant to growinto the gendered image of you, preordained.Boxes to tick. Taco Tuesdays. Church and footballon Sundays. 2.5 kids to bare.Entertainment genres, calculated by algorithmsbelieved to have us pegged.Ladies’ room on the right, gentlemen on the left.Weight to lose. Balls to bust. Bacon to bring.Screw all that.There is a space between what life givesand what we create of ourselves.It is free and blank and anyone’s to claim.May it be yours—whoever you are, whoever you want to be.Step into yourself with ease.Becoming. Being. Knowingthe light and darkness that is all your own,and worthy of all good things.You are the artist: the only onewho can say what’s true.sosartcincinnati.comINSIDEOUT29

SARAH J STEPHENSBrycelyn’s Self-PortraitAge: 23; Pronouns: He/HimYou’ve taken our command and refuse to conform,standing with your vine, allowing yourself to growbeyond the brush’s embrace, letting goall you inherit, all we impose in favor of shaping your ownmystery. Let us know you alone ownthis story, the experience of brush strokesleft visible on your skin, as time wakesyou to understanding and growth withinyourself. Celebrate living inside a bodythat doesn’t dictate who you are or what you desire,how you should feel and how you should attireperception of your humanness– or community.Hold strong dear friend, dear brave human, lovely soul,Make us take notice of you, yourself who is unique andindividual.SARAH J STEPHENSBRYCELYNWe asked you to apply paint to your skinthe way Van Gogh painted Starry Nights,Impasto– visible, with thickly textured strokesbut you were bold and found your own form.Absorbed in calibrating each identity to fit tight,we blindly offer you a perfectly constructed puzzle,the kind we laminate and hang on the wallas we would your self-portrait.Your self-portrait, a calling-card of flesh and bonescrapped with a palette knife’s precisionto leave only one hungry, impassioned eye open.We can see how pain and passion grow like a vineclimbing past conventional doctrinethat commands you to conform.POETARTISTBRYCELYN“Through growing into myself I’ve let the judgement I assumed othershad affect how I treated myself, and in turn, my battle with internalizedtransphobia and homophobia had led me to a corner of the world whereI tried to not associate with my community. It took a lot of loss and agonyto become comfortable with myself and with my brothers, sisters, andsiblings. Being as we are, not according to expectation.”30sosartcincinnati.comINSIDEOUT31

LONNA D KINGSBURYBlock PatternLONNA D KINGSBURYCARMINE BTo chip and cuteach blockstockeddirectives break awayremovetakeshadegraybright thoughts of studentsyet betrayedCarefullyinstructors brayas we carvegreat lumps - engagedpotatoapplefibrous blanksoriginally resistantmolding each - they traineachtinysetAge: 33; Pronouns: They/ThemPOETARTISTCARMINE BofhandsEach Braintout leadersWill Be Trained!32sosartcincinnati.comThe eager wards attack their slatesand chosen fewwill somehow showINSIDEOUT33

POETLONNA D KINGSBURYLONNA D KINGSBURY34some semblance of conformityInside Out - The Visionover those assailedInside outoutside ingrey on blackas poseddisposed to colorationobjectifiedunknowndeduces whofrom how and whenwhy and whatwe knowbetwixtbetweeneach renderingquartering the wholesurrendered upas offered proofunveiling who we seekby questionsdoubtsstark imagesmirroring their groupreversedinvertedjuxtaposedtoo young to know such terms existbut old enough to feel their truthand pray their shapes will formdisplayadhesion as their proofwhile inwardly the blunted soulrebuffs such pristine flawless plotsnegates each strike to preassigndistinctiveness confinedyet by rote they emulatetendered patterns charting waysstriking hard at curvaturesconfronted every daystrikingly the eyes entreat . . .are usand themnot we?sosartcincinnati.comINSIDEOUT35

KAREN ARNETTImagine: there was a time when you were held protected inReflectionsAge: 29; Pronouns: He/Him“I decided to articulate the inside of how I see myself as well as a part ofhow I really look. My journey has started but isn’t finished.”36sosartcincinnati.comTo be complete is to neednothing outside oneself. EverythingIs here within. The cells that multipliedfrom that initial one to a vast multitude,a collective whole. It was all thereat the start, in the floating potential.Out of that multitude, I am not a single monolith,nor a simple set of divisible parts,like the medieval perfection of the Trinity,nor binary, like a star and its lesser partnerheld together by strong forces,but from many, one - complete.To be whole, one, indivisibleand yet complex. A diamondvalued for its many facets, eachreflecting one aspect of truth.The gemstone guidesthe jeweler’s hand, showswhere to cut and shape. Hereis what I am. I emergesparkling with an inner light.What is being revealedwas here all along.INSIDEOUTKAREN ARNETTCHRISTOPHER NYXthe safe womb and had no gender. Bipotential, the scientistscall it. You were neither boy nor girl, and you were loved.Seven weeks of free-floating potential as your cells dividedand multiplied - tethered to the umbilical of love. The worldaround you loved the idea of you, whoever you might become.The legislators passed laws to protect you, genderless beingthat you were. The point is, you were loved, unseen andunmet. The world around you celebrated your life.POETARTISTCHRISTOPHER ANDREW NYX37

POETKAREN ARNETTSuperheroKAREN ARNETT38What was the tipping point, what urgentcall at inconvenient time broke themfree from Clark Kent’s street clothes?What strength to overcomethe krypton of self-doubt, of society’sdenial of their truth? Now, after allthe years in disguise, no onethe wiser to what lay below,the costume’s shed, the rescue:he, she, they, saving themself,their own one precious life,the life that contains multitudes,the voice that could no longerpretend. If we want to knowwhat courage looks like, here,see the body become itself anew.sosartcincinnati.comINSIDEOUT39

ELENA ESTELLA GREENSet Among the StarsELENA ESTELLA GREENEENY MEENY MONI40Your eyes focused,Your image set among the starsSomething so immortalHas to be this colorful.A never-ending rainbowA caterpillar shapes themselfInto a brokenLine of infinity.The broken peopleThe ones that grow and learn from their painTransform into undeniable beauty.They wear their heart on the outsideFor all to see.Age: 32; Pronouns: They/Them“Caterpillars don’t have genders, they simply show up lookingfabulous. And so do I!“Trans” as a verb. to transgressively resist the seduction of thebinary.“Queer” as a verb. to queer who you love. to queer how you love.to queer the ways in which you love yourself. I feel most correctbeing understood as “Queer” in all expressions.In gender, in neurology, in my very way of being. Agender.GenderFluid. AutGender Autistic & NeuroDivergent folks are farmore likely to be gender non-conforming, trans & queer.The intersection between my gender & my neurology cannot beseparated, inexorably linked within the beauty & brilliance of mybeing.To put it simply. I am an alien sent here to Love.”sosartcincinnati.comPOETARTISTEENY MEENY MINY MONIHow does it feel to rivalThe most brilliant constellation?To be out and unafraid?No longer pleading for acceptanceBut lovely for who you are.Many hide or try to passTheir stars dimmedBy fear & violence.They: the unlucky onesWe want to help.Unfurl your wingsAn archetypeFor the ages.A beacon for othersTo be fully themselves.INSIDEOUT41

POETELENA ESTELLA GREENELENA ESTELLA GREEN42Free to loveIn a worldSo oftenClosed& suspiciousOf the differencesThat make them ButterflyAnd Brave,Willing to cover hatredWith a gossamerOf Love.sosartcincinnati.comINSIDEOUT43

BARBARA MARIE MINNEYSecret SilenceELLIOT KESSEBARBARA MARIE MINNEYwhen i shut my bleary eyescolors swirl bylike a rapidly moving filmon the silver screen of my eyelidsrainbow eyebrows whirlpoolingthrough the celestial sphereliberating impregnable vaultsshrouded in the terminus of the psycheimages indecipherablepropelled across the endless wastelandvanishing in the far-off horizonof gender distinctions and limitationstrains of thoughtschugging up the precipitous inclinebelching dense smoke of uncertaintyfluttering off into murkinesshushed soliloquy running internallymind mapping likea pathfinder probing the hinterlandsseeking a new secrecy peaceAge: 40; Pronouns: They/Them“Unfinished.Secrets never did me any good. Now I share my story. Once I was ableto be myself everything changed. I’m still working on myself. And alwayswill. Constantly becoming more me.”44sosartcincinnati.comPOETARTISTELLIOT KESSEeyes wide open nowsecret silence roaring in the earslike a tumult of fervor forcingrose lips apart into an impish grinINSIDEOUT45

POETBARBARA MARIE MINNEYthe words silentBARBARA MARIE MINNEY46secrets gurgling in the throatlike hot lavawaiting to eruptfrom the volcano of the mouthbelieving and acceptingworking and strivingfearlessly proclaimingI am Mesosartcincinnati.comINSIDEOUT47

KATHLEEN WADETrans Support 101Maybe you mean well, but here is what I need:Be quiet, sit here and share with me the deep-seated loveI have for all things simple: listen to the rain with me,read a good book alongside me reading mine.Show me you love my cats. Reassure me I’m notan exhibit, a science project you feel compelledto dissect. Take however long you need to discoverthe person I really am.The Finish LineWalk a mile in my shoes, the saying goes,lace up your Nikes and run but stay in your lane,don’t cross over, someone will surely trip you,call you names, disqualify you from the race.Age: 20; Pronouns: They/Them“My brain, like many in this community, tried to sabotage me. Mydepression became a problem right as puberty did, and came handand hand with what I now recognize as dysphoria. I struggled a longtime with my body, and with a motivation to live. The experience hasleft me tired and worn, but I’ve come out of it better than I could’veever imagined. Now, I can finally express who I really am. I have avigorous love of the simple things in life: Rain drops on the roof, a goodbook, cats, and most of all, the people I love. I feel a brightness when Iexperience these things that simply can’t hold up to the darkness that’sbeen dragging me down all these years.”48sosartcincinnati.comKATHLEEN WADEEM SANNINGTell me you understand my brain’s betrayal,claim that you know the struggle forced on mewhen puberty split me in two, sabotaged myhopes and dreams and pulled me into darkness –and I will ask you politely to save your sympathy,admit your shallow labels, acknowledge the hiddenjudgments, curious stares and probing questionsyou dare not ask.POETARTISTEM SANNINGWalk a mile in those high-heeled shoes and feelfor the first time really real – but don’t let themsee you laugh or dance or touch – they’ll label younames you thought you’d never ever hear.Those heels will either cramp and constrictor click and clash in the spotlight you’ve beencraving to stand in – a searchlight that found youbefore you knew what you were searching for.INSIDEOUT49

POETKATHLEEN WADEKATHLEEN WADEWalk a mile in those Birkenstocks, but knowit isn’t the shoes that will give you away,it’s your eyes, your hips, your truthful hearttempting even sideliners to look your way.who held more than my hand: You in your clinical coatpromising healing, not betrayal. You who gave me a namebut now call me by another. You who weep for me,you who wait. And even those of you who don’t.What I’m trying to say is take off your shoes,get to the Finish Line, stand still, while wetell one another our stories, barefoot,baring our bodies, barely breathing,bearing it all together.Trans-formational mystics survive by owning the darkness,hoping to expose a body whose light we’re gradually becomingwilling and able to see. Instead of daylight we’ll takethe shadowy shades of acceptance, enough light andlove to keep us moving toward total transformation.Trans FormationMystics have written books on the dark nightof the soul, how the God they thought they lovedabandoned them, how the years in prayerful glowturned dusky, leading through tunnels of lonelinessuntil finally lovelight burned through an openingat the other end like a pinprick, body and soul emergingeventually whole. Transformation, mystics call it.But who understands the dark night of the body –the sure stark betrayal that same good god played outin me – in every mystic who knows but cannot trans-late,knows even as the saints know all is not as it seems?Mirrors and measuring tapes were the way I chronicledhow betrayal of the body told its tale – how this body –mine and not mine - worked its mysterious hold on me –with dolls and dresses I cast aside as if they were lacedwith poison. I cast off names and games, labels thattoppled me into spaces where I was not wanted, intoattractions dark as night I tried but could not escape.Call the darkness what it is: an era of

4 sosartcincinnati.com INSIDEOUT 5 TABLE OF CONTENTS INSIDE OUT - - SOS ART 8 Foreword by 32Jay DeFazio 9 Introduction by Saad Ghosn 10 self-portrait by Aimee poem by Pauletta Hansel * Self-Portrait of Aimee 12 self-portrait by Ally Cat Bachman poems by Penelope Epple * They to Them * A Collection of Stardust to a Blue Skinned Alien