I graffiti-ed a 2x4 area of pixels in the middle of a digital photo that witnesses a colonial tree twig resting on top of a discarded used lube sachet. The twig and lube lay together in the hidden grassy margins of a suburban recreational park space frequented by pram pushers. A cluster fuck of material-discursive issues. And yet still they shine.
That particular twig is now part of a growing confederation of witch-sticks, wands utilised for their magical powers to transform the fucked-up-ness of judging, shaming and belittling queer sexualities.
The graffiti includes a knee jerk thought-feeling—gays are good—a gesture to counteract my own #gayshame; a marking that wishes to make my presence known; and a mapping of that iteration of queer walking through Te Wai Ōrea Western Springs Lake Park, drawing-moving with encounters, relations and ideas in flux.
