Jamnesia is the art of being present in chaos, of accepting failure in pursuit of a perfection that can never be reached.
Why roller derby? Why wet plate collodion?
I could say nostalgia or curiosity, but that wouldn’t do either devotion justice. The real answer is in the absurdity of both subcultures—the madness it takes to belong. Each demands time, financial sacrifice, and physical labor. In a culture of instant gratification, few keep showing up without a guaranteed reward.
There’s a red thread of masochism woven through those drawn to these worlds. To love derby or wet plate, you have to be willing to suffer, to fail, and to find joy in the struggle. Derby players and alt process photographers are some of the most stubborn humans alive—but we’re bound by more than pain. We find kinship through it.
Roller derby has long been a haven for queer and gender-expansive people like me. In a moment where trans athleticism is politically questioned, this sport celebrates athletes of every gender, sexuality, and body. Wet plate, by contrast, is a historically exclusive medium. This project bridges those realities. It invites derby’s radical welcome into a space that often resists change.
In San Diego, a skater I barely knew—Sure Shot—took me in like family. When my chemistry shipment failed to arrive, she urged me to cold-call another wet plate artist. Hours later, I stood in Conrad Young’s driveway, clutching collodion and developer—and a profound sense of being understood.
That’s what Jamnesia is about: the beautiful madness of those who keep showing up—for the art, for the hit, for each other. I stand at the intersection of these two worlds—as player and plater—held together by a stubborn, shimmering thread.
