This project was developed during my residency at Open Studio. It uses cyanotype to explore quantum physics as a metaphor for queerness. In this context, queerness transcends a declaration of identity or to a confined sexual experience; it emerges as a series of evolving relationships. The project delves into the parallels between the behaviour of quantum particles and the intricate web of human connections I have experienced in my life.

My initial inspiration stemmed from the tension between Quantum and Newtonian physics. On one hand, the Newtonian system adheres to well-established rules and yields predictable outcomes—a series of curves and slopes that extend into eternity. On the other hand, the quantum realm operates without a fixed system; which is characterized by rules that defy traditional logic and contradictions that form the foundation of its principles.

I view the process of learning as very emotional. I think a lot about the intense molecular activity taking place within my prints. I imagine the bombardment of photons upon them. I think too about, Werner Heisenberg's, a pioneer in quantum mechanics who conducted groundbreaking experiments by measuring reactions on photographic plates.

In the quantum world, subatomic particles become entangled in a state of superposition. Once connected, they exhibit a remarkable dual nature, with each measurement rendering them equal opposites. They can float in close proximity or exist in entirely different places, remaining inextricably linked. The revelation of entanglement is rooted in the act of measurement, emphasizing that it's not just about points A and B but also the measuring apparatus itself. My cyanotypes serve as a conduit for measuring and interpreting my entanglements, both in their physical particles and their imagery.

I think about the boundaries we draw between each other’s bodies. I think about the oneness of my body and my mom’s. We make our own language between the two of us. My mom and I don’t need to talk. We lay on the cyanotype and meditate. We feel the sun on our skin. We lay so close to the ground that we do not feel the wind. We only hear the air activity above us. I sit up and talk with Lily and Andrew, because this is what we do. We make air together. There’s us and the space held between us, which is also us.

I feel caught up in a series of rolling apertures. I examine things close up and then step back. My lens turns over and over. As soon as it focuses, it blurs again. It pulls in and out and in and in again. Bodies are cameras. They are constantly imprinting. Science is fantasy.