June is the shortest month of the year is a contemporary modern trio I choreographed in the summer of 2019 alongside my dear friends and fellow performers Haley Barker and Madeline Kreps. This work explores undertold stories of adversity, xenophobia, and violence experienced by queer people throughout history, and throughout today's history in the making. It frames the overwhelming amount of love, homesickness, grief, fear, confusion, frustration, passion, and perseverance shaping queer lives within a portrait of one person's experiences; it observes and demonstrates the gruesome reality of danger to these minorities and asks audiences an intimidating question: "What are you going to do about this?"

 

This work begins with a trio approaching some distant yet internalized problem and quickly unravels into the a much more interpersonal story. Throughout the work, several small snippets of LGBTQ+ advocates and allies can be heard within the accompaniment speaking their struggles, their prides, and their thoughts about existing in an uncertain world. The final section of the work includes several snippets of media coverage addressing queer issues; some are news reportings on hate crimes against LGBTQ+ individuals and groups, others are TedTalks calling for action to protect against these crimes, and in one chilling clip, a pastor can be heard preaching his belief that homosexuals deserve to be executed.

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While these are not my personal stories, they are stories that belong to people like me, and stories that exist as an incredible personal influence on my life as a queer person. I find alarming connections between these stories and my own lived realities. I admit, I am fearful. I am fearful in the wake of this prevalent, continued violence. I am fearful because of the harsh reality that even as a queer person fighting adversity and recovering from hate-related trauma, many of these outlandish crimes and stories went by without my proper attention, or even completely unbeknownst to me until seeking them out.

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While I am fearful for my safety and for the safety of others in the present, I am hopeful for the future. I am hopeful because of the queer youth rising into power and protest. I am hopeful because of the audience and colleagues that have seen my work and shared their support, their empathy, and their anger at this world on behalf of myself and so many like me. I am hopeful because as I am healing, I have found my voice in art as so many others have. It is my belief that representation and conversation can and will lead to progress. I am here, I am alive, I am empowered, and I am proud to be talking via this work. 

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Here, I invite you to peruse some of the media that informed this work and to become a part of the conversation.

 

Thank you for listening.

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-Kristen