I throw myself at men.
The basis of the project is simple. I go to bars and approach men I don’t know. I ask if I can literally throw myself at them. Then I ask if I can take a picture of that moment. The men are picked based on their size; on the possibility that they can handle having 135 pounds come hurtling through the air. In other words, I pick men who I think can take a hit.
The resulting pictures show me in mid-air with my arms stretched towards the person who might catch me. I am, at that moment, part projectile and part foolish romantic. These images are documents of a hopeful and violent gesture, a demand for the possibility of a connection. The men often look terrified or at least slightly surprised. My role as an aggressor is clear and I think of my leaps as feminist acts that acknowledge a basic desire for contact. To date, there have been no major injuries.