These photos trace a diasporic archive of transness

“Are you a doll?” a friend once asked photographer Ezekiel in the early hours of a late-night afters. “Somewhere between a doll and a dog,” they replied – a phrase that would go on to title their latest project, a diaristic and diasporic archive of transness.

Positioning transness as both personal and planetary, Somewhere between a doll and a dog traces what Ezekiel calls the “liminal, uncertain, anxious and liberating space that my gender exists within, as well as my conflicted and complicated relationship with masculinity.” The title became a perfect shorthand. “Being somewhere between a doll – slang term for a trans woman – and a dog – widely used as a term to describe an untrustworthy or disloyal man – perfectly encapsulates the foundations of this project,” they explain.

Shot over three years across locations including the UK, the Philippines, Europe, and the US, the project grew out of Ezekiel’s ongoing archive of notebooks, phone folders, and hard drives. Within these images of landscapes, post-rave shots, protests, cluttered bedrooms, and bodies, they explore transness as “a fluid state that transcends borders, binaries and Western ideologies; a spiritual experience of sorts”.

In some ways, Somewhere between a doll and a dog works to decolonise Western ideals of gender, offering a new side to a discourse that remains largely framed through a white perspective. “I was able to delve into the Indigenous mythologies of my homeland [the Philippines], where gender-nonconforming and trans spiritual figures were revered as healers and bridges of the gap between the spiritual realm and native communities,” Ezekiel explains. “Filipino mythology also recognises transgender deities such as Lakapati, the goddess of fertility and agriculture, reminding us that trans people were once not ‘othered’, and that fluid ways of being have long existed.”

Throughout the creation of the project, Ezekiel found themselves pushed into a deeper confrontation with their own identity. “I would say that my photographic practice is inherently social; it cannot exist without a dialogue between myself and another subject or community,” they reflect. That dialogue became something of a mirror: “We can’t truly understand ourselves unless we face our fears and allow ourselves to be seen, openly and vulnerably, by a world which may not necessarily accept us.”

This insistence on visibility only grew more urgent as the political climate shifted. “When you consider how modern Western politics is attempting to shun trans people from public life altogether, this idea becomes incredibly important for us right now,” Ezekiel explains. “I personally believe that self-realisation is only attainable if we step outside, live our lives authentically and without hesitation, and recognise that our identities are undoubtedly shaped by the people and places we encounter.”

Perhaps unexpectedly, cis, heterosexual men played a significant role in shaping up the project. Ezekiel approached strangers on the street, struck up conversations at raves, and followed threads of connection through friends of friends and the communities they encountered while travelling. Each encounter offered a different vantage point on masculinity.

But the project largely centres the trans individuals who orbit Ezekiel’s life – people they didn’t need to seek out so deliberately. “I am fortunate enough to be surrounded by an abundance of beautiful trans beings and to encounter so many of them throughout the years, without consciously seeking them out,” they say. Creating the project felt less like casting and more like alignment. “Some may call it a synchronicity with the world around me, as though I were meeting the right people at precisely the right moments.”

Another one of the project’s most central themes is masculinity. Over three years of shooting, Ezekiel began placing themselves in environments they once found intimidating, spaces coded as male or territorial. “From a young age, I’ve had a considerably tumultuous relationship with masculinity and men in general,” they say. So they entered rooms they would previously have avoided: from an open-air men’s prison on the Filipino island of Palawan, to the backstage area of a male strip show in East London, to a Southeast Asian men’s training group, to a sports pitch with their brother’s football team.

Rather than hostility, Ezekiel found something unexpected in these spaces. “I’ll admit that I expected some sort of rejection or feelings of animosity, but instead I was met with acceptance and openness,” they say. “These encounters softly healed old wounds, and in turn, reshaped my relationship with masculinity, providing a new appreciation for its complexities without feeling compelled to push that part of myself away so much.”

The project is one Ezekiel hopes will inspire conversation, inviting viewers to engage with transness not as a fixed identity but as a fluid, expansive experience. At the upcoming launch on November 27, they will be in conversation with writer and performer Travis Alabanza, an inspiration for both their work and this project. “I hope that being in conversation with them will illuminate the intricate and layered realities of gender identity and expression, inviting viewers to question and reimagine Western binary frameworks in ways that could one day liberate us all.”

The production of Somewhere between a doll and a dog was made possible with the support of Studio Moross, with darkroom support by Dot Imaging. The book is available to purchase here.