"Confined" displays an anxious figure occupying almost the entire canvas with a gloomy color palette. Certainly, the figure is stuck inside a small box, but I’m not actually sure what is confining them. Are they stuck in the closet? Are they feeling COVID-induced cabin fever? Are they half-heartedly hiding from a worse fear outside the box? Whatever the case may be, the figure is also clearly attempting to break free.
After liking how the thread turned out in “Ukulele Player,” which sort of featured my husband, I wanted to try it again. “Melody” uses this same technique, and it sort of features me. The colors I used are some of my favorites; the thread I used was once again my recently passed grandmother’s; most notably, I love to sing! Who knows what stage this thread will take me to next?
In the queer community, the phrase “the apps” is an instantly recognizable group of phone applications for us to hook up with each other. Think what you will about Grindr, Scruff, and so many more, it is undeniable that they are ubiquitous in our community. “Ghosting" is a piece that was borne out of frustration at our behavior on these apps: far too often we use them to bring others within our community down under the anonymity of a phone screen and a torso pic. We, as a community, need to do better at lifting each other up and being honest about intentions.
Among the hundreds upon hundreds of mass shootings that have occurred in the United States recently over the years, the shootings at Pulse NightClub in Orlando and Club Q in Colorado Springs specifically targeted one of the most important spaces for my LGBTQ+ community. Decade upon decade, these drinking holes have been, for many, the only safe commune where they can actually be their true selves. Yes, they can include alcohol and joyful debauchery, but they are also our sanctuary, our church, our home. “Safe Space" is my attempt at capturing the love we feel for our gay bars. To do so, I used a particularly bright color palette with an ambience of heat and sex and life that practically leaps off the canvas.
Why is talking about masturbation so taboo? Everyone does it. Often daily. It’s really good for you. “Self Love” is a tribute to this ultimate form of self-care, to sex-positive queers, and to my own libido.
"Ukulele Player" represents a figure that is playfully dancing while making music. As I worked on this piece, I uncovered that this act may be a facade, with grayish blues and a hazy background belying the figure’s external joy. Allowing myself to continue creating the piece based on intuition, I wondered if this contradiction stemmed from the struggle I’ve often felt as an introverted gay man, needing to be “on” and entertaining among straight people. I created this piece using oil paint on canvas, and then sewing the “ukulele strings” (some of my recently passed grandmother’s thread) into the canvas itself.
A few years ago, I was attending a live recording of the NPR news quiz “Wait, Wait, Don’t Tell Me” at the Pritzker Pavilion in Millennium Park. Referring to the recent election of our then-President, I distinctly remember Peter Sagal speaking to the packed house and lawn, assuaging us all that we would be laughing through the evening in order to combat the “collective trauma” we were all experiencing daily. I created the piece ”Why?" in this spirit, to express the constant state of anxiety I’ve been experiencing over the last several years. While the figure is clearly under duress, it is perhaps at least a little heartening to know that they are not alone.
"Dance" is one of my particularly ambiguous oil paintings. Through directional lines and composition, I aimed to depict a joyous calamity. When I work on pieces like this, I often don’t have an idea as to whether I am sketching out many people or one in constant movement. “Dance” empowers the viewer to unveil its meaning themselves.
After finishing "Calm," I learned that my husband had misinterpreted my use of contouring and shadows on the face. While I had intended those to add texture, he did not see it that way. After being puzzled as to why I had used the title “Calm” for this piece, he confessed that he thought the figure was crying. Without realizing it, perhaps I hadn’t realized that the figure could have been, and was now raising their head to the sky to refocus their energy. Fun Fact: this piece is actually inspired by a photo I took of my husband a few years back.
Can abstract art be, you know, hot? That’s the question I explored in "Passion." To achieve this, I used straighter lines with sharper angles under my typical movement lines. I also wanted to keep both gender identities a mystery. After finishing the piece, I realized that that had not been my only motivation behind it. Indeed, I wanted to make a certain type of viewer allured, but I also wanted to make a different type of viewer uncomfortable.
We queers love our symbolism: interlocked assortments of the astronomic symbols of Mars and Venus display our proclivities; rainbows display our pride; upside-down pink triangles display our grit. Initially used to label homosexual men and transgender women in Nazi prisoner camps during the Holocaust, the queer community reclaimed it in the 1970s and 1980s, perhaps most famously by AIDS Coalition To Unleash Power (ACT UP). "Silence = Death" is an abstract, duotone homage to this plucky little pink triangle: a stark reminder to us all of our struggles, our sacrifices, and our resilience.
Living in the country’s third largest city, one of my favorite visuals has always been that of a large urban sidewalk filled to the brim with fast-paced pedestrians. “Hustle" is meant to show this hustle and bustle of life in the big city. With this piece, there was no question if this was to be many people or a single person on the canvas. They are countless, omnipresent, and all playing the same game.
"The Fall" is a digital creation that represents another juxtaposition. Yes, it depicts a figure in different states of falling, but through the use of lines, color, and composition, I have changed the tone of this work dramatically. After all, towards what is this figure falling? Hard concrete? A big comfy bed? Perhaps sometimes we need to let the fall happen in order to find out.
