We become swans because we transform what we have into something more meaningful and powerful. That actually might be pretty universal, but when we zoom in on specific uses of building queer utopias, how could our swans not appear? Queer experiences offer a multitude of stories of rebuilding, reclaiming, and rewiring the structures of the world we exist in to better meet our needs. When you are nurtured in a world that might not even notice the silence being placed upon your queerness, your normal becomes the unknown, mysterious, and invented. You have to create a solution to feelings of alienation.

The Swan is a manifestation of an invisible queer rage that follows me wherever I go. I appear covered in fake blood wearing a tutu and pointe-shoes shaking with heavy panicked breaths. Throughout the performance I ask people to attach feathers to my body as offerings for queer spirits. There is a BDSM tenderness to the act of being pinched and having people pinch me: the clothes-pins hurt, but at least I have pain to experience. My gestures are simple, fey, and repetitive. I wander through the space observing and flirting with the participants. When I am covered in feathers, I become possessed by the queer spirits. I dance and flutter, while ranting queer stories, fears, and desires.