Nozomi
Acrylic and oil on linen
72.7 × 91 cm

A peregrine falcon, the fastest animal on Earth, nearly disappeared in the twentieth century after pesticide poisoning pushed the species to the brink. Against expectation, it recovered. Perched on a supermarket tray of flying fish, it is surrounded by lilies, a butterfly, a rubber duck, and a bottle of tea. In some Spanish regional variations, both mariposa (butterfly) and pato (duck) have long been used as slurs for gay men, turning two seemingly innocent companions into quiet reminders of the coded languages queer communities have inherited and reclaimed.

For centuries, peregrines have hunted alongside people, their speed and precision harnessed through a relationship built on trust. The bird always retains the possibility of flight.

Named after Japan’s fastest Shinkansen, Nozomi means “hope.” The flying fish, both the falcon’s natural prey and a creature that escapes one element by entering another, belongs fully neither to sea nor sky. It has evolved to cross boundaries, yet here its journey ends beneath a layer of plastic.

The peregrine reached the lowest point in its modern history just as the AIDS crisis was beginning. As the species slowly recovered through conservation, queer communities were being devastated and rebuilt through grief, care, activism, and survival. I was born into the aftermath of both. By the time I came of age, many of those who might have been my mentors, my friends, my history, were already gone.

Nozomi is about resilience that remembers what it has lost, and hope that continues anyway. It also reflects on our impatience with time itself, on a world where everything is expected to be faster, closer, and immediately available.