Insects reveal their forms like “visible energies of appearance and desire,” Georges Didi Huberman writes. They are fleeting, yet part of a carefully orchestrated dance. I witnessed this idea in glimpses when handfuls of flies were left patterning the floors of my house after a fumigation. One morning I counted 26 in my bathroom alone. They were not thrashing for help but instead crawling through air, in the liminal space between life and death.
“Flies Crawl All Over Me” is an analysis of nature’s life cycles and the balance between what is ephemeral and fundamentally solid. This contrast presents a mirror for me; a way to make sense of my own physical and mental movements. Through my transition from female to male, I find solace identifying with these natural shifts.
I travel home like a detective of my own life, connecting the puzzle pieces of my existence. I study my history to understand my relationships; my absence, presence, and actions within them. As much as I look inward, I look outward, seeing myself in the castrated chestnut tree of my childhood backyard and the exploding jasmine creeping up each wall. The communion found in the life and death of organisms is vital to me, informing my own rebirth and layers of skin shed in the process.