I stood there, in London’s Tate Modern, looking at Wolfgang Tillmans’s photograph 17 Years’ Supply, feeling a shared intimacy with a man I’ve never met. The piece depicts a container filled with HIV-medication bottles. I thought I would start to cry.
I am a 48-year-old, HIV-positive, polyamory-oriented gay man. And while none of these words actually describe who I am, each is a construct used to limit me and define me.