Rubí, a 51-year-old sex worker, looks at herself in the mirror while I photograph her through another mirror, creating layers and reflections: an encounter. Rubí belongs to the Muxe community, an indigenous Zapotec community that is recognized as a third gender. Each Muxe lives their gender expression differently; some, like Rubí, modify their bodies to express greater femininity. The chest she proudly displays in the photo is part of that affirmation.
This photograph, taken in Paulina’s most intimate home, represents a profound confrontation with her reflection. She stripped herself bare, not only physically but also spiritually. Paulina suffered from severe depression that forced her to return to her home state, where her family took advantage of her vulnerability to force her to undergo surgery to remove her breast implants—implants that were not only the fruit of her hard work, but also a vital connection to her identity.
Deborah, a pioneer of trans activism on the northern border, lies on the motel bed where she now lives and works as an administrator. She was once a sex worker, part of a vibrant community that occupied the streets of Juárez. Today, only three of the ninety trans women who used to work there remain; organized crime and the “right of way” have forced them to flee. The mirror above her body, a survival tool used to watch for threats, reflects a scene of intimidating introspection. Her gaze connects past and present: the woman who resisted living in hiding, the woman who walked the streets of Juárez for the first time in broad daylight, being herself.
This image shows how devotion and spirituality can also be a form of home. Mexico has the second highest rate of murders of trans women, so commemorating death through Santa Muerte becomes an act of resistance. The photo shows the altar dedicated to this deity in the home of Scarlet, a trans woman and sex worker from Ciudad Juárez.
This project reflects on the duality of refuge: the body as home and the physical space we inhabit. In this image, I wanted to explore that intersection. Diana, a 70-year-old trans woman, looks at herself in the mirror, confronting the passage of time, holding her reflection with one hand. Her painted nails, a small but powerful gesture of femininity. In the background, the small room she can afford thanks to her work in Mexico City, a city that insists on erasing those who make it uncomfortable.
With this image, I wanted to represent one of the central themes of this project: sheets, symbols of desire, rest, and protection, but also silent witnesses to class and personal context. I chose to show the sheet I sleep on. On it, a flower given to me during the celebration of Santa Muerte, a figure that offers me refuge. The flower resembles many women I have portrayed: beautiful and fragile, yet resilient. This image speaks of home, always in process and in search.
This photo reflects desire and the forbidden. In her youth, Cecilia hid her identity while working as a sex worker to protect herself. I photographed her undressing without showing her face, as if revealing and concealing at the same time. It is a paradox: being an older trans woman, a sex worker, and a believer in a religion that condemns her.
Painting your lips in front of the camera is a subtle choreography of resistance. Take this photograph in the workplace of Julia, a trans woman in her late 50s. That beauty salon serves as her home, since paying two rents at the same time is impossible for her. The close-up acts as a space between her existence and mine: on equal terms, face to face.
In a land marked by violence and abandonment, Daniela looks at herself in a hand mirror. Her steady gaze crosses the boundaries between the intimate and the public, between the precarious shelter and the street visible through the window. Her face shows the dignity of someone who has resisted multiple erasures.
Home in Transit was born out of the need to denounce how the concept of home becomes elusive for trans women in Mexico and how we are forced to redefine it. Expelled or forced to flee our homes at an early age, we lose not only a roof over our heads but also our families, education, and the opportunity for decent work. Many of us are pushed into sex work, turning our bodies into both a refuge and a battlefield. This artistic project is developed in key locations for trans migration in search of work and home: Mexico City, the border of Ciudad Juárez, and the outskirts of the State of Mexico. The women portrayed are survivors of systematic violence in a country that ranks second in the world in trans femicides. I am a trans woman who tells this story from within, with the conviction that our perspective deserves to be seen and told.
