| Four years ago I started making prints in response to the murder of a transgendered woman, Gwen Arajo, as well as the murders of other transgenders historically. At the time, I was thinking a lot about body fragmentation—the way gender and sex are constructed, and how body parts and certain behaviors can “give away” transgenders, often resulting in unfortunate violent responses. |  |
Embodiment Series – Emmett Ramstad
Four years ago I started making prints in response to the murder of a transgendered woman, Gwen Arajo, as well as the murders of other transgenders historically. At the time, I was thinking a lot about body fragmentation—the way gender and sex are constructed, and how body parts and certain behaviors can “give away” transgenders, often resulting in unfortunate violent responses.
This contemplation eventually evolved into art that explored skin and scarring, as I became interested in the way scars mark a body in transition and tell the story of a person’s life. In a broad sense, I am fascinated with all kinds of scars—like the potato-peel scar on my forefinger that reminds me of my father’s kitchen—but also specific scars from transgendered-related surgeries and scars that are not visible. All of these scars say something about where one comes from, who one is, and who one is becoming.
In the “Embodiment Series,” I constructed paper with a gauze infrastructure, and then printed and stained the material, so that the medium ultimately appeared as skin and medical remains. Stitching created both image and puckered scars in this five-print series in which phalloplasty was examined. During a phalloplasty procedure, skin is removed from the recipient’s forearm or back to form a phallus, leaving a sizable scar in the place of the removed flesh. I am deeply moved by this scar, its visibility and how it marks the pain and longing involved with transgendered-related surgeries.
Phalloplasty scars led me to perceive scars as not only a way to heal a wound, but also as a way to see the body “becoming.” Furthermore, as someone who does not wish to undergo such surgery, these prints were also in response to my own desire to feel satisfied with silicone penises and counter-institutional expectations for transgendered “sex change” surgeries.
As a visual artist, I often try to rectify the desires I feel within my community with my own personal desires. Before I made these prints, I had created a series of personal ads soliciting gay men with pictures of my back and other androgynous areas of my body. Because there were so many responses, part of the boldness of the work Fagoplasty is that it states, “See, I have a penis” when, if I had in fact responded to solicitors, my penis would not suffice.
Currently, my work is less figurative. Though still using handmade paper and stitching, I am constructing amorphous forms that are suspended from the ceiling, acting as testament to personal transformation and change. As I watch my scars change from bloodied red to shades of pink and white, I can also acknowledge my body as one in perpetual transition.
