Visual storytelling as a form of survival | Lindsay Perryman

Uh hello everyone. My name is Lindseay Perryman. Uh so growing up in Canari, Brooklyn, a neighborhood grounded in Caribbean culture. Um being a lesbian or queer, questioning your gender wasn't something you could do openly. It was something internalized, defined, and refined in secrecy. As someone who has struggled with identity and grown into identifying as trans and non-binary, my art became a place of refuge, a medium through which I could explore and affirm parts of myself that were denied space in my upbringing. Through this lens, I began to understand the importance of storytelling as survival. At a young age, I noticed the presence of photography

looming around my childhood home. from the importance of photo albums in the black household. It was allotted for a way to reflect on the past and present as a tool to archive the existence of us. As a photo album was still crucial in my upbringing with constant visits to my grandmother's house, I started to understand the importance of a photograph and its placement and arrangement of images on the wall. Since my transition, I started to understand how telling our stories can be vital to our historical context. Uh, I modeled for a long time before I knew what I wanted to do, which was photography. Modeling had introduced me into a creative realm that I could see myself pursuing. I was introduced to analog photography during this time, and the care and thought put into an image was more extent to digital than digital. And I was drawn to this because it involves thinking before shooting. Fashion has always been something I've been interested in since college. I pursued a fashion degree and that's where I learned to cultivate projects using mooboards and styling. This background helped me create a clear vision for projects. In 2020, I created uh a zen called The Colors We Don't See at the End of the Rainbow about African-American masculine women in the LGBT community. Uh that featured masculine women of color in the purest form imaginable. On the left is Dorian in Atlanta. I sought out people through Instagram and open calls to photograph while I was traveling. And the image on the right is of Ammani from Brooklyn at a studio. I shot a bunch of people all day for the zen. I ended up hiring an artist called Anz Pereira to create drawings based on the images and how it relates to stud culture. Seen here are the sports bras which is known in the community as something studs wear for comfortability and confidence. I thought being able to showcase this in an intimate way would allow for many studs throughout the book to feel empowered. When I first uh came to Parsons, I had an urge to create something more deeply personal to who I was. I was making a lot of images that were kind of the same. Singular, tight, close-up portraits of the face, like the ones we saw in the colors we don't see at the end of the rainbow. But I wanted to see what my work would do or would look like if I started photographing myself in relation to how my career began as a model. I was introduced to self-portraiture through one of my professors at Parsons and as it spiraled into a story of identity and my relationship with femininity and masculinity. I began my self-portraiture journey in hopes to understand my body and how it evolved into wanting to see how I perform in a space with others that are alike to me and what is the relationship I have with my community which was different from what I had been doing in my previous scene. I was only taking pictures of people in a similar way and only mostly only one person was present in the image. Uh and then once I kind of got bored with that, I began photographing objects, still life and pursuit to create self-portraiture through items I owned and identified with. I wanted to be able to show people who I am through this these specific items. as someone on the as seen on the left is a collection of medicine, hair products, pads, and mouthwash. All items I Sorry, I don't think that's there anymore. On the right, I photographed to display a memorial for my past self. When zoomed into the image, I placed a Polaroid of myself after top surgery. Um, when I saw my chest for the first time, that was my mourning, my past life, and also celebrating growing into the person I've always wanted to be and hope to be. TOPS uh was created from the desire to display transmasculine vulnerability. My experience with Topps surgery with its many stages of tenderness holds the urgency, trauma, and grief it took to become myself. To tops is a short film

expanding into a photography book of images captured before, during, and after. Sier says, "I wouldn't have been able to get this surgery without community. The aftermath illuminated a gift community as well as the potential dangers for those who do not have it. Although everyone's experiences are not alike, romanticizing the healing process was a part of my recovery. The reoccurring presence of scarring holds the weight of not just physical change but emotional and communal healing. Many of those featured in TOPS referred to the commitment of the caregivers devoting time for their well-being. And now I like to show the film. I had two surgery dates. The original was August 22nd, 2021. — 2021. — Without community, I wouldn't have been able to get that surgery. I was referred the insurance to have and what procedure to do by another trans person. — I went on to like community crowd fun for the things I needed. So each day moving forward felt like I was breathing in a bit more and like a weight was being lifted off of my shoulders and honestly was the best decision I've ever made. A lot of us are neglected by family and have no choice but to build a new one. — Uh, which takes me into the book. Uh, Topps began as a short film, a meditation on top surgery, vulnerability, and black masculine healing. Transforming into a book allows the work to live beyond the screen, becoming an archive that can be held and revisited. The book gathers uh photographs and writing into a nonlinear secrets sequence that [clears throat] mirrors the rhythm of recovery, moments of rupture, tenderness, solitude, and renewal. Each page is both document and reflection, expanding on the film's themes while inviting the reader into an intimate space of care and transformation.

When thinking about the placement of images on the page, I didn't want the book to feel like a regular photo book with images placed center of the page. I felt by adding images offcentered and uniquely placed around will be unique to the storytelling of tops, having images off-centered, also mirroring the fluid flow of identity and similarities to my own collages which weren't able to make the final draft. I was able to incorporate it with this idea in mind. I want to thank Jamie and Lola for seeing this vision through. And these are some more images that were featured in the book. Uh on the left, um another self-portrait that I took that didn't involve my actual being in the photograph. Uh this image here was inspired by a linken Hughes poem wanted to show a to sort of taboo relationship of two masculine trans people together allowing for a diverse archive of LGBTQ history. When I wrote Joe about this idea of two trans boyfriends, I was thinking of relationships of queer people that hadn't been documented before. And having uh this Len Hughes poem in my mind, I'm stating that these relationships are here and have always been here. Overall, TOPS as a book continues the project's mission to carve out space for stories for trans healing within the broader cannon of art while honoring the personal and collective journey of self-relamation. Thank you.