MUAs Deconstructed
05/08/20
by Ariel Zetina
Tonight at 8pm on twitch.tv/lumpenradio sound artist and DJ Ariel Zetina offers a live ambient set of recent EP MUA's at the End of the World articulating the comfort and complexity of being separated from public life and the application of make-up as armor, barrier, stealth, and as a mode of passing for transwomen. Nightclub Cocoon, a companion text piece, reimagines the ambient set for the page pulling from themes and lyrics found on the EP.
* * * *
Nightclub Cocoon
Rehearsing through the steps
of my makeup routine with no product.
Rub my face across the surface area.
Run my finger where the light creates
a shadow. Accentuate that shadow
on the chin, on the nose. Blot the face
with three fingers across the surface area,
blot the apples of the cheeks
with three fingers, pink from the blood
rushing from the former blot.
Blot the eyelids. Run the finger down
the lash line, over the brows.
Push up where they change direction.
Move the first third of the finger
lightly across the lashes. Slap the face
with imaginary powder repeatedly.
This is the application of my makeup
without the product, without the tools.
A moth builds a cocoon from dead leaves.
It isn’t part of her, but according to the world,
she is the cocoon, inside of herself.
The world thinks the cocoon is stagnant
but what is more forward moving than a cocoon?
Rest activated.
It is a pleasure to not leave the house.
To execute these actions of application
on myself forms an invisible cocoon
but the thing about invisibility
is that you can’t see it.
So I put on makeup real and alive
with martini hands while streaming a deejay set.
In moments where the internet is a forest,
all eyes on me, the invisible cocoon
provides armor but not stealth.
I have worked hard to weave my cocoon
of liquid foundation and twigs
plus the daily meditation, the sixteen
yoga postures of makeup application,
each connected to breath.
The outside world is talons.
I ride my artificial fur wings toward the moon
but there are other moons: lampposts and sunlamps
and fluorescence. When I’m entranced
a child harpy pierces the cocoon
with his talons, or perhaps it’s the child
forgetting that the cocoon is A Her, alive,
that she is made of leaves and twigs,
but the thing is plants move and travel
even though they appear stationary.
Rest activated.
I moth towards the light, knowing I’ll get hurt.
Cocoon fur coat, unfurl in the club,
wings in the club, heels in the nightclub,
what I’m dreaming about in my exclusive nightclub cocoon.
Ariel Zetina worked on this piece with Christy LeMaster, the Quarantine Times Friday editor. Each week, Christy selects a Chicagoan to share a commissioned creative response to the pandemic.