By: Mpho Seleke

Everything I make bends. Curves. Slouches a little. Even when I measure, even when I plan — the line eventually sways.

I used to be ashamed of that. I thought it meant I wasn’t precise enough, that my work wasn’t clean enough to be taken seriously.

But then I realized: that’s me. That’s my body. That’s my queerness. That’s the rhythm I’ve always moved in.

I work mostly with copper wire and black ink. Materials that resist straightness. That twist back if you force them.

I’ve come to see these curves as my language. My way of making space for uncertainty, softness, contradiction.

Some people call it messy. I call it home.