Artistic Statement
Nelle Tankus | Artistic Statement
Trans people deserve the world. We are multitudes, we are beautiful, we are powerful. And some of us are freaks.
My work explores queerness, the absurd, and metamorphosis. Queer in the sense that my work centers the experiences of queer & trans people who are fat/femme/working class - and also queer as in complex & contradictory, at odds with itself and the world but strangely beautiful. Absurd because it lives uncomfortably in the representational and plays with space, time, logic, and structure prismatically. Metamorphosis as it changes in composition & structure; in outward form & appearance, in character & condition; borne from filth, sex, viscera, blood, and desire.
My worlds celebrate fantasy, debauchery, and a yearning to transform fucked up conditions, even if nothing comes of it - failure is relatable. I am not interested in virtuous narratives since no one is inherently so. I seek deeper questions, ambiguous answers, socially just ethics but questionable morals. Partially to make meaning, but more to inspire curiosity… and because I like to push consensual buttons. My plays are brutal, playful, Camp, celebratory, and also embody softness. The kind you learn from growing up with punks, so it’s loud and in your face and messy. My plays flirt with pop culture, but create their own mythos. They embody speculative fiction, but are never too far flung. They dance with existential threat, but never fall into nihilism.
I write for the girl who isn’t weird as a quirky personality trait, but who doesn’t understand how she can even talk to the grocery store clerk without saying something embarrassing. I write because trauma porn isn’t for me no matter how much Neoliberal Theatre™ wants good white trans girl tears. I write for my anti-Zionist Jewish trancestors and grieving my inheritance of genocide as both benefactor and survivor. For the butches in the 80s who fucked gay men and seroconverted. For my lovers, my ex-lovers, the trans femmes who sent me hormones from Puerto Rico and San Francisco when I ran out. For the fisting tops on an off day. For the fat trans girl who had to chase some chaser out of her place again, smokes too many cigarettes, did shitty hurtful things to their friends. For the queer who just wants to be left alone with their thoughts and a stupid TV show. For the fatties who eat pizza off each other’s bellies. For the chaotic bisexual who’s been the cook and the server and the keyholder and the manager. I write for my friends, my community, for me. I do it for the queerdos. I do it for the disrespectful transsexuals.
Trans people deserve the world. We are multitudes, we are beautiful, we are powerful. And some of us are freaks.
My work explores queerness, the absurd, and metamorphosis. Queer in the sense that my work centers the experiences of queer & trans people who are fat/femme/working class - and also queer as in complex & contradictory, at odds with itself and the world but strangely beautiful. Absurd because it lives uncomfortably in the representational and plays with space, time, logic, and structure prismatically. Metamorphosis as it changes in composition & structure; in outward form & appearance, in character & condition; borne from filth, sex, viscera, blood, and desire.
My worlds celebrate fantasy, debauchery, and a yearning to transform fucked up conditions, even if nothing comes of it - failure is relatable. I am not interested in virtuous narratives since no one is inherently so. I seek deeper questions, ambiguous answers, socially just ethics but questionable morals. Partially to make meaning, but more to inspire curiosity… and because I like to push consensual buttons. My plays are brutal, playful, Camp, celebratory, and also embody softness. The kind you learn from growing up with punks, so it’s loud and in your face and messy. My plays flirt with pop culture, but create their own mythos. They embody speculative fiction, but are never too far flung. They dance with existential threat, but never fall into nihilism.
I write for the girl who isn’t weird as a quirky personality trait, but who doesn’t understand how she can even talk to the grocery store clerk without saying something embarrassing. I write because trauma porn isn’t for me no matter how much Neoliberal Theatre™ wants good white trans girl tears. I write for my anti-Zionist Jewish trancestors and grieving my inheritance of genocide as both benefactor and survivor. For the butches in the 80s who fucked gay men and seroconverted. For my lovers, my ex-lovers, the trans femmes who sent me hormones from Puerto Rico and San Francisco when I ran out. For the fisting tops on an off day. For the fat trans girl who had to chase some chaser out of her place again, smokes too many cigarettes, did shitty hurtful things to their friends. For the queer who just wants to be left alone with their thoughts and a stupid TV show. For the fatties who eat pizza off each other’s bellies. For the chaotic bisexual who’s been the cook and the server and the keyholder and the manager. I write for my friends, my community, for me. I do it for the queerdos. I do it for the disrespectful transsexuals.
←
Nelle Tankus
Artistic Statement
Nelle Tankus | Artistic Statement
Trans people deserve the world. We are multitudes, we are beautiful, we are powerful. And some of us are freaks.
My work explores queerness, the absurd, and metamorphosis. Queer in the sense that my work centers the experiences of queer & trans people who are fat/femme/working class - and also queer as in complex & contradictory, at odds with itself and the world but strangely beautiful. Absurd because it lives uncomfortably in the representational and plays with space, time, logic, and structure prismatically. Metamorphosis as it changes in composition & structure; in outward form & appearance, in character & condition; borne from filth, sex, viscera, blood, and desire.
My worlds celebrate fantasy, debauchery, and a yearning to transform fucked up conditions, even if nothing comes of it - failure is relatable. I am not interested in virtuous narratives since no one is inherently so. I seek deeper questions, ambiguous answers, socially just ethics but questionable morals. Partially to make meaning, but more to inspire curiosity… and because I like to push consensual buttons. My plays are brutal, playful, Camp, celebratory, and also embody softness. The kind you learn from growing up with punks, so it’s loud and in your face and messy. My plays flirt with pop culture, but create their own mythos. They embody speculative fiction, but are never too far flung. They dance with existential threat, but never fall into nihilism.
I write for the girl who isn’t weird as a quirky personality trait, but who doesn’t understand how she can even talk to the grocery store clerk without saying something embarrassing. I write because trauma porn isn’t for me no matter how much Neoliberal Theatre™ wants good white trans girl tears. I write for my anti-Zionist Jewish trancestors and grieving my inheritance of genocide as both benefactor and survivor. For the butches in the 80s who fucked gay men and seroconverted. For my lovers, my ex-lovers, the trans femmes who sent me hormones from Puerto Rico and San Francisco when I ran out. For the fisting tops on an off day. For the fat trans girl who had to chase some chaser out of her place again, smokes too many cigarettes, did shitty hurtful things to their friends. For the queer who just wants to be left alone with their thoughts and a stupid TV show. For the fatties who eat pizza off each other’s bellies. For the chaotic bisexual who’s been the cook and the server and the keyholder and the manager. I write for my friends, my community, for me. I do it for the queerdos. I do it for the disrespectful transsexuals.
Trans people deserve the world. We are multitudes, we are beautiful, we are powerful. And some of us are freaks.
My work explores queerness, the absurd, and metamorphosis. Queer in the sense that my work centers the experiences of queer & trans people who are fat/femme/working class - and also queer as in complex & contradictory, at odds with itself and the world but strangely beautiful. Absurd because it lives uncomfortably in the representational and plays with space, time, logic, and structure prismatically. Metamorphosis as it changes in composition & structure; in outward form & appearance, in character & condition; borne from filth, sex, viscera, blood, and desire.
My worlds celebrate fantasy, debauchery, and a yearning to transform fucked up conditions, even if nothing comes of it - failure is relatable. I am not interested in virtuous narratives since no one is inherently so. I seek deeper questions, ambiguous answers, socially just ethics but questionable morals. Partially to make meaning, but more to inspire curiosity… and because I like to push consensual buttons. My plays are brutal, playful, Camp, celebratory, and also embody softness. The kind you learn from growing up with punks, so it’s loud and in your face and messy. My plays flirt with pop culture, but create their own mythos. They embody speculative fiction, but are never too far flung. They dance with existential threat, but never fall into nihilism.
I write for the girl who isn’t weird as a quirky personality trait, but who doesn’t understand how she can even talk to the grocery store clerk without saying something embarrassing. I write because trauma porn isn’t for me no matter how much Neoliberal Theatre™ wants good white trans girl tears. I write for my anti-Zionist Jewish trancestors and grieving my inheritance of genocide as both benefactor and survivor. For the butches in the 80s who fucked gay men and seroconverted. For my lovers, my ex-lovers, the trans femmes who sent me hormones from Puerto Rico and San Francisco when I ran out. For the fisting tops on an off day. For the fat trans girl who had to chase some chaser out of her place again, smokes too many cigarettes, did shitty hurtful things to their friends. For the queer who just wants to be left alone with their thoughts and a stupid TV show. For the fatties who eat pizza off each other’s bellies. For the chaotic bisexual who’s been the cook and the server and the keyholder and the manager. I write for my friends, my community, for me. I do it for the queerdos. I do it for the disrespectful transsexuals.