I was cognisant of the programming of this exhibition first, without expectation of what the art on show would look like.
On the opening night, bodies clung to every corner; I had to peer between friends, coworkers, allies and lovers to catch a glimpse of what hung on the walls. A mirrored installation was obfuscated by faces, tilted towards each other, attentive, laughing. An installation of a beaded mobile with medical documents attached to it spun gently as bodies passed back and forth.
The projection of the logo for Trans Info Van became the backdrop for the silhouetted features of a room that would not, could not stay still.
Usually, I am frustrated at private views. I want to see the art — I don’t want to smile politely, twitch sweating fingers over my lukewarm drink, say How’s Work or So Nice To See You or We Must Catch Up.
Body Clock, however, garnered an intentional crowd. A crowd all too aware of what was happening Out There, beyond the gallery walls, refused to turn away, refused to let it grind them into the floor. Refused to stay still.
This is an exhibition where community building takes precedence as art practice. Over the course of several days, the gallery will be a site of information, craft, care and connection. It will be a site of resistance: to picture trans futures, beyond survival, beyond acceptance. Trans futures that are abundant. That are joyful. That are prosperous.
It is up to every one of us to ensure that we get there.
—
Body Clock / Billie Winters / Birch Gallery and Studios, 17.03.26—22.03.26
Words, Phoebe Thomas
