Tuck and Roll (v.); The technique, almost always done while running, involves diving forward in such a way that your shoulder lands on the ground first, and you roll into a little ball. As you come out of the ball, immediately spring back up into a running stance, or move into a kneeling position.
I hate the feeling of a damp swimsuit between my legs, sticky with sweat, melted chapstick, fruit juice. The imprint of grass on calf muscle, sunburn on only the left ear. Blisters that sting in the shower and sneakers with the bottoms peeling off. Now, we sit quietly while we watch TV, walls so thick we only hear the fridge humming under the voices. Do we wait for homeplace or do we create it?
Tuck and Roll builds a queer community situated in the Midwest, examining what a utopia could look like in domestic and private landscapes through the lens of magical realism. I center collected objects, hair, quiet performance, and unfetishized body, and sitting somewhere between reaction and fantasy, I pull materials integral to queer nightlife into the daylight. Shot on medium and large-format film, the images were made in areas around Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania and across Michigan, including friends, family, partners, interiors, and landscapes that repurpose the different layers of erasure experienced in this region.