mexican queens

Presentation of the book ROSASby Heriberto GarcíaCONARTE, may 13th, 2009

The fabric goes up and brushes past my ankles, calves, thighs, hips. I hold the loop, pass the button through and zip up, careful of not damaging my nails. My impeccable, freshly painted, red nails. With my palms, I tighten the skirt on my stomach, which I tuck. I parade in front of the mirror, sticking my bottom out. Facing the mirror, I rehearse my usual hand gestures. I raise my arms: properly shaved. I like that my blouse’s cleavage barely shows the lace that I’m wearing underneath. Necklaces. The one that Elena gave me, my favorite. A little more volume on the top, to cover my ears. Powder on my face. I love the smell of the Angel Face. Blue eyeliner, on the top and the bottom. Seductive. Coral rouge. Plenty of mascara. What lipstick? The little brush goes back and forth on my lips, making them wet and painting them with a spicy magenta. I look phenomenal today!

Seeing them so striking in Heriberto’s portraits made me want to go back in each of the models’ time to sneak into that intimate space that only fits two: one and the mirror. I was fascinated contemplating their transformation, which is a brave, mature and accurate defense of what one is. And, although it is possible to find a trace of nostalgia in their smiles, I’m more captivated by the pleasure that still surrounds them for linking all the little hooks of the corset, for making those shiny earrings dance, for the stress generated by that stocking that will end up running. The celebration for life is infectious, I confirmed. By the time you finish looking at the pages of this album, you’re not the same. Something has changed.

After facing the 54 images for the first time, I was suspended in an uncomfortable

since, by doing this in the most obscure marginality, they tend to be assaulted under the shelter of impunity. When will we have transexual doctors, nannies, architects, mayors, pilots? I hope that Rosas inspires future collective struggles that bring us closer to much fairer situations: free hormones and name change with a gender change on the birth certificate are at least two unresolved matters that, with the support of the rest, the trans community can promote and conquer.

Without ignoring that this project probably caused tension for the authorities of Conarte, I’d like to give a special mention to this public institution that vindicates, within its possibilities, the rights of the community of transexual/transgender women, so often reviled by the same state machinery. Congratulations, because the cultural and artistic space put its inclusive vocation before any other interest.

You hang your purse on your shoulder, take one last look in the mirror, and remove some lipstick that spilled through the corners of your mouth. You open the door and are surprised by the cool breeze. You skirt sways, demanding that the dancing begins. Mrs. Nina and Mrs. Marinita are, just like every day, mulling over the day on their rocking chairs. They say good afternoon to you, Mayela, and compliment the colors that light you up this afternoon, almost evening. You say goodbye filled with gratitude and go down the street stamping your heels, graceful, proud that the city walks with you.

Thank you, Heriberto, for all the possibilities that your book brings and will bring to my life.