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shot across atlanta, macon, los angeles, new york city, fairfield, and davis. 2021 through 2024
“grapefruit juice” is my first on-going monograph that intimately exposes the raw emotions and realities that queer men of color inevitably endure in our lonesome. In my own experience over the past couple years, I’ve never felt so alone yet so not at the same time. I have friends across the world and family alike, community in more ways than one. But what’s been missing all this time is pure romantic love. I’ve gone on endless dates, crushed on boys in my youth and loved many men in my adulthood. I’ve hurt men and been hurt by them too, but also had some fun from time to time. Ive seen the wrong things in people, made something out of nothing, and have even bit my tongue on things I still have yet to say to this day. But even with all that in me, I still choose to have faith that one day mutual love will come.
foreword
When you’re cutting grapefruit and cut your finger it hurts, but the sting of it eventually goes away. You rinse it off and new skin grows back. You cut the fruit another time and you get cut again. This time it hurts it more, reminding you of how bad it hurt the first time it happened. But what if you get cut again? And one more time after that. And again. And another time. This time it stings so badly from its juice that you wince, immediately sucking your finger to relieve the pain. But it only does so much to help. You know your skin will grow back, but you can’t help but focus on how bad it stings. It’s in that moment you remember just how much you enjoy grapefruit, despite its bitter taste and acidity. So much so that it almost tastes sweet, making you seemingly forget that it stung in the first place. As you simmer on this you oddly begin to feel relieved, wondering just how many more times you’ll cut yourself again cutting grapefruit. But then you remember - the sweetness of a grapefruit only comes after tasting bitterness of it.