<p>In the words of Scott Treleaven, “Lady Jaye Breyer P-Orridge passed away in October 2007. I'd known Jaye for as long as I'd known Gen. I was living in Paris at the time, and Gen came here during a Throbbing Gristle tour in 2008. I hadn't been able to make a trip to New York, so I hadn't seen Gen in person since shortly before Jaye's death. I was at Gen's hotel early in the morning, we'd planned to go out for the day, and Gen was getting ready. I wasn't sure how we'd address Jaye's absence; if we'd talk a lot about Jaye, about Gen's grief. I'd bought my little super8 camera with me – I used to take it everywhere – but I wasn't really planning on filming anything. Then there was this moment: Gen started blowdrying her hair, it looked so ethereal and amazing, we kind of looked at each other and I started filming. I only ended up with a tiny bit of footage and I'd thought "ah fuck I lost the moment". Months later I got the film transferred to video and slowed it down. The camera breaking down had made these bursts of white light. I just happened to be listening to my friend Terence Hannum's band Locrian, and the track seemed to fit the image perfectly. It kind of said everything about that morning, about my fondness for Genesis and, for me at least, about Jaye's presence rather than her absence. The title came from an F. Holland Day photograph I'd been looking at recently – a self-portrait of the photographer as Christ suffering, framed more or less identically to how Gen was framed by my camera. NOT drawing a parallel between Gen and Jesus, obviously, so much as the outcast queer person experiencing suffering and some kind of transcendence simultaneously.”</p> <ul> <li>Francesca Gavin</li> </ul>