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I was so good at masking that I didn’t even realize myself that I was living under a mask. Well, the mask itself was quite incoherent, I had created it as a child, it was mostly constructed as a counter-reaction to bullying. But when I look back I see that in all those boymask years there were also concessions from my inner guardian angel. For example, as a twenty-something I could dance exuberantly with Babs in the Effenaar or the Dance Salon. I remember often being careful not to dance too femininely, but also often letting it go completely. And I remember from another time how secretly happy I was when my academy friends put me in a velvet skirt to go with them to a goth party in Utrecht.
In the years before my discovery, I began to search more and more for who I actually was. Something was wrong, but I didn’t know what. Saying “I love you” to the mirror felt close — but not fully true. I wanted to believe it, but it didn’t sink in. That was also the time I went beachcombing. I searched the beaches for trash that I used to make works of art and little sound mechanisms. I decided I could grow old as a kind of Sil the Beachcomber (it’s a Dutch thing). I grew a beard; I hated the endless shaving anyway. And in time I even went to live near the sea, to be closer to my search work. I also started wearing floral blouses at that time, I guess I wanted something in return, for creating that new masculine look, something to brighten myself up.
Read on in Unmasked (and Serenity)
The weave Boymask cloth two consisted of 21*6 frames, photographed only from the front of the fabric. Handwoven on 8 shafts with 8/2 cotton. Number of frames 126.
