I met a boy once.
He was the loneliest boy I’d ever met. I don’t remember exactly when we first met. Sometime in the 80’s. What I do remember of our first encounter was the look of pure fear in his eyes. The fear of being judged. The fear of being outcast. The fear of being hurt.
We grew up together, this boy and I. He didn’t talk much. He’d prefer to hide away, living one of the thousand stories he’d created in his mind. One day I saw him sitting in the dirt playing with toy soldiers. There laid out amongst the beach and the trenches, was the Battle of Gallipoli. He was so engrossed in his creativity he didn’t even know I was there.
As we grew older, I would see him staring at himself in the mirror. The look of sadness reflected in his eyes hit me like a physical thing. It took my breath away. The only time I ever truly saw him unburdened was when he played with animals. I wondered if this was because animals see us for our personality, and not for what we are. The fear of judgement erased.
He once trusted me enough to tell me he was afraid of dying. He was convinced he had AIDS. All because he would hear people say ‘that’s what the fags die of’ .Yet in a strange paradox, he’d fall asleep every night wishing he would never wake. For if he died, he might be re-born a normal boy.
One day we were at the gym together. He was gazing at himself in the mirror. His eyes were so absent they looked like glass. He’d stopped eating by this point. He’d withered away to skin and bones. Yet every day he’d step on those scales, fearful the slightest weight gain would give him curves. This repeated day after day, until one day, he stopped showing up. I noticed his absence, but shamefully I never stopped to wonder what happened to him. I just continued on with the endless reel known as life.
When I started carving Iphis and Ianthe, this boys presence returned. He was older now. Arm covered in scars from where he’d tried to cut himself free. It was during this carving that I’d been actively avoiding, I came to realise, the boy never left. He is a part of me. I had forced a scared child into a vault. Out of fear and denial, I’d locked away the loneliest part of my psyche for the comfort of those who don’t understand. This sculpture kicked that vault door down.
These are just a few examples of what a youth with gender dysphoria may experience. However, not one person’s experiences are the exact same.
These experiences though, they were all mine.
This sculpture depicts the Greek myth of Iphis and Ianthe, as seen in Ovid’s Metamorphoses book IX.
Iphis’s mother, Telethuse, was charged by her husband to kill their child by exposure if their child was born female. At midnight on the eve of labour, Telethuse was approached by the goddess Isis who spoke ‘My servant Telethusa, cease this care and break the charge. Bring up the same, whate’er it be.’ (book IX, line 822).
The following day, Telethuse gave birth to a girl child. Both Telesthuse and her handmaid set to raise this child a boy named Iphis. As Iphis grew, he was tutored alongside another youth named Ianthe. The two fell in love and became betrothed. Ianthe however, did not know Iphis was female. This tortured Iphis so, that she cried to the heavens ‘If that the gods did favour me, they should destroy me quite’ (book IX, line 856). But this did not occur.
The day before the wedding, Telethuse and Iphis attended the altar of Isis. Fearing they would both be discovered, Telethuse called out to Isis ‘and mindfully I marked the commandment thou did’st give. Have mercy now on twain and help us’ (book IX, line 915). Isis was sympathetic to her servant and with walls shaking, Iphis transformed, shorter of hair and features sharper to sight. Iphis became a man.
The following morning, Hera, Aphrodite, and Hymenaios all descended from Mount Olympos to bless the marriage of Iphis and Ianthe.
Now I have shared a brief version of the myth, what do you see in this sculpture?
If I didn’t include Iphis and Ianthe’s story, how would you have interpreted the sculpture?
One of the most interesting aspects of art is that our interpretations will be influenced by our lived experiences. You may see a man and a woman coming together in an embrace. The emotions emanating may be love, happiness, contentment. Or you may see two lovers who can never be, joining for one final goodbye. Sadness, loneliness, heartbreak. Our ability to interpret art through our experiences, then share that story with another is one of the more beautiful aspects of humanity.
When I started this sculpture, I envisioned was Iphis embracing Ianthe on their wedding day. Feelings of relief and love shared between the two. However, during this journey, my interpretation of this sculpture changed. It metamorphosed. What I became to see was my younger self, mourning the person I could have been.
There are no right or wrong interpretations. There is only exploration and understanding. I questioned whether to release this write up. My own internal biases gnawed at me. What will people think? Will I be judged? Will I lose friends? But I discovered sharing these interpretations leads to growth and connection. It leads to the realisation that we are not alone. That in relation to our experiences, we all make sense. That realisation makes this risk worth it.
Now, I implore you to look at my sculpture and ask yourself, what is it that you see?
Notes: When I carve a sculpture, I usually listen to re-telling’s of the myth that I am carving. However, there are few re-telling’s of Iphis and Ianthe’s story. During this piece I instead chose to listen books written by some great authors of Sapphic fiction. The first book I listened to influenced the design of this sculpture. I was going to carve two women embracing, as I didn’t want the sculpture to be seen as a man embracing a woman. However, whilst listening to Backwards to Oregon by Jae, I realised that two women embracing is not Iphis and Ianthe’s story. Backwards to Oregon is a wonderfully told historical novel. Set on the Oregon trail, the book is about Luke, AFAB, living as a man. Luke marries a woman named Nora, who in a similar situation to Ianthe, Nora was unaware of Luke’s gender.
Other authors I listened to while sculpting Iphis and Ianthe were;
Lee Winter (brilliant Aussie author)
KJ (another brilliant Aussie author)
And to keep it Greek – The Other Sappho by Ellen Frye.
I am sharing this info because of the importance of representation in art, media, and literature. Growing up not seeing anyone like you in tv, books or art, can be quite lonely and make you feel like unseen or even wrong. Representation of minority groups is vital for connection and validation. Thanks for reading 😊
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