Ren Breach

RS: In what ways have you experienced touch, or how has touch changed for you through the pandemic?
RB: At the beginning of the pandemic I didn't experience any form of physical touch. At the time, I was two months into my first semester of college and had just moved into a studio apartment on UT Campus. I was on my own for the first time in my life. As someone whose love language is touch, this was very challenging for me. I ended up going back to my parents for the summer because of how mentally draining it was to be all alone trying to process all the craziness happening in the world. When I came home I was finally able to hug my parents. Having these moments with my parents helped me to cope with the uncertainty and the anxiety I experienced about the "unknowns" of the pandemic. In August, when classes started, I insisted on going back to my apartment. Again, I was all alone and felt more isolated than ever. Because I had just started school at UT, I didn't have an established friend group. The Fall 2020 semester was the worst semester of my life. During this time, the only touch I experienced was from my physical therapist at monthly PT appointments and when my dad and I hugged when he came by to drop off groceries (my parents didn't want me to take the bus to the grocery store because they worried I'd catch COVID). This Spring I started hanging out with a few friends from high school and my student org in person. Having started college right before the pandemic I never truly got to grow up and experience the traditional "college experience". I felt trapped in this weird in-between space, I didn't feel like I had a clear identity or place I belonged. It wasn't until I was fully vaccinated that I finally started to make a place for myself at UT and for the first time in almost a year was able to hug my friends. Experiencing the pandemic taught me to value touch and community in a new way. Now that things are safer I've started to go out again. I attended a small party at my friend's house a few weeks ago and saw my friend perform with his band at a Co-op show last night. It's so weird but also so freeing to attend these events, to hug my friends, to pile into the backseat of my friend's car, to dance and joke around at shows without worrying I might get sick afterwards. Now more than ever, I recognize touch as an essential part of connection and the human experience.


RS: How do you define and or understand resilience as it relates to owning an identity that is marginalized?
RB: Resilience has been key to my survival in this world. From a young age I was bullied for my identity. This led me to turn inward and to deny aspects of myself, particularly my queerness, masculinity and the "quirks" that come with ADHD. I spent a lot of time growing up trying to be someone I was not and to fit into this socially constructed idea of "normal". I thought changing myself and putting forward a more palatable version of myself and my struggles would allow me to escape a constant need to be resilient. A combination of self-reflection brought on by the pandemic, gender studies courses, therapy, and meeting new people at UT allowed me to finally learn to stop trying to be someone else. Being my authentic self has forced my to confront a lot more visible struggles head-on and as result be more resilient. That said, it's hard to say if I was more resilient then or now. Hiding who I was required a different kind of resilience. For me, today, being resilient is something I am far less conscious of although I practice it more often. I think much of this is because I feel more secure in myself. While I still have to deal with hard things, I spend far less time than I once did dissecting and obsessing over challenges I've faced. Instead, I appreciate who I am and use my energy to surround myself with people who support me, doing things that make me feel alive.


RS: How does Austin play a role in your experience of touch and or resiliency?
RB: I've lived in Austin for 16 years, pretty much all of my life. For me that means Austin is a huge part of who I am and has heavily shaped me into the person I am today. Austin has been both a source of and reason for my resilience. As a whole, I am grateful to live in Austin, to be somewhere my identity is far more understood and accepted. That's not to say Austin doesn't have it's issues. Austin has allowed me to find community. Building community and meeting others from different backgrounds has allowed me to be resilient. I've been able to push through hard times by learning from and leaning on others who've experienced their own hardship.


RS: What was your experience in creating your skin prints?
RB: I created my skin prints in my apartment while listening to the rain and the sound of my dishwasher. It was a very calm and peaceful experience. Taking a second to consider what spots I wanted to choose pushed me to reflect and consider all the things my body has allowed me to carry myself through: this pandemic, periods of depression, friendships ending, school, etc. It was nice to take a moment to appreciate how far I've come because I'm someone who's always looking 5 steps ahead. Oftentimes this doesn't leave space to enjoy being present in the moment and to practice gratitude.


RS: Where on your body did you choose to create your prints from? Why were/are these spots important to you? 
RB: I chose to create prints of my right ankle and upper thigh. I selected these areas because growing up my legs were always a source of insecurity. In my teens the "thigh gap" was a largely desired thing that I obsessed over and was unable to attain. For this reason, I've had a complicated relationship with my legs since I hit puberty and became more aware of my body. Later in my teens, I learned to accept I'd never have a "thigh gap" and dedicated my energy to becoming stronger as a means to quell issues I had with my body. In high school I started running and joined my school's cross country team. Although initially I joined the team to achieve aesthetic goals, running taught me to appreciate my legs for their strength and the function they serve. I stopped running at the end of high school when I started having hip pain. As a result, I've spent the last two years paying extra attention to my legs in a different way. Not being able to exercise has pushed me to re-explore my relationship with my body and to view it neutrally. I no longer view my legs as simply a means to an end. This has been a crucial lesson and marked a big shift in my thinking that has occurred during the pandemic. I've started to be gentler with myself and to step beyond needing everything in my life to have a specific purpose and to be a certain way.