Xandra Ibarra/La Chica Boom On Lesbionic Men, Boob Juice & Cockroaches

When you watch Xandra Ibarra/La Chica Boom perform you know that you are witnessing a spectacle (or as she would call it, a “spictacle”) unprecedented in terms of its grandiosity, brilliance, and perversity. Chica Boom will be reading at the Banned Book Book Club: Sex Edition at the Center for Sex & Culture on December 12 at 8pm. We asked Chica Boom some questions about her influences, fantasy date and advice for artists. Here’s what she said:

Who influences your work? 

I am influenced by everything. Maybe I am gullible; maybe I let in too much. Don’t care. I am influenced by my mom’s humor, the mushroom jazz in my panties, the interactions between animals, ‘Nordic track’ behavior, the catholic doctrine of transubstantiation and the rigor of cockroaches. Ugly things, color, sound, movement and lots and lots of feelings influence me. My zodiac sign is cancer; yup I feel, I feel you, but mostly I feel me. I am also influenced by my own obsessions whether they make sense or not. I perform them, photograph them, act them out or seek to experience them in some way or another. Fortunately or unfortunately my obsessions are always about sex and race and the multitude of ways that these two things work. I imagine the ways they work together in an alternate universe. I make boob juice or agua calientes, have you heard?

You get to have an epic dream date with anyone dead or alive: who are they and where do you go on your date?  

I would meet a 35-year-old Lacan in Mexico City at a dirty strip club called “Wawis” in the 1920s in the early afternoon. We would tip the dancers too much and get drunk. Then we would go drunk shopping for plants and street food to put in our new apartment. You see, he would become a lesbionic man and want to u-haul into my life. I would like it. He would love it.

One piece of advice you want to share with artists – about life, bills, process, editing, brainstorming, anything.

Being broke sucks. Learn to do lots of things porque nunca sabes cuando lo vas a necesitar.

Xandra Ibarra/La Chica Boom is an Oakland-based performance and video artist from the El Paso/Juarez border who performs and works under the alias of La Chica Boom. La Chica Boom is a performance art project that uses hyper-raciality/sexuality/gender as an expericne based mode of inquiry into her relationship with coloniality, compulsory whiteness and Mexicanidad. Ibarra uses video, objects, photography and sex acts to evoke comedy and melancholic racial and sexual expectation. Her aim is to amplify gendered and racialized iconography and make such problematic constructions via spectacle more transparent to the spectator‚—what she calls spictacles—spectacles of degeneracy and power that are both against and engaged in the colonial gaze.

James Tracy on Octavia Butler, SF Displacement & Being an Urbanist Not a Luddite

We chatted with James Tracy, author of  “Dispatches Against Displacement: Field Notes From San Francisco’s Housing Wars,” a bunch of personal questions and here’s what he said. He will be reading at the San Francisco Public Library (100 Larkin Street) on Tuesday, November 4 for the Radar Reading Series. Click here for the Facebook event page.  

Who influences you & your work? 
 Even though I don’t write Science Fiction, writers like Ray Bradbury and Octavia Butler really helped shape my moral compass and concern for what is going to happen in the future. I also love the 1970s school of blue-collar tough-as nails newspaper columnists such as Jimmy Breslin and Mike Royko. For Dispatches Against Displacement, I turned to the school of radical and progressive urbanism, Mike Davis, Saskia Sassen and Andy Merrifeld to name a few. Rebecca Solnit’s masterpiece A Paradise Built in Hell was really inspirational in the way that it showed how everyday people faced down disaster. The everyday disaster of displacement can bring out some similar strengths.
Many of the authors who most influenced me were the ones running around San Francisco in the 1990s, who were part of the open-mic scenes at the Paradise Lounge and Chameleon. To name just a few: Michelle Tea, Ananda Esteva, Bucky Sinister, Bruce Jackson, Daphne Gottlieb, and Leroy Moore. Most of these people wouldn’t be able to get a start in San Francisco today thanks to the high rents.
Is the internet ruining the world? Why or why not. 
The way we use the internet is ruining the world. Today, you can use it to learn a new language for free, communicate with people across the globe, and publicize your revolution. But we chose to use it to stay in tightly knit thought bubbles. Comments without analysis and actions without strategy. We let ourselves think that online petitions are a substitute for face to face mobilization with our neighbors.
Yes, the tech industry with its massive income inequality,selfish ideology, and ties to the surveillance state are a massive part of the problem with the world. But like any industry, the trick is to try to seize the means of production, democratize it and place it in the service of everyday people.
I’m an urbanist, not a luddite.
What’s one piece of advice you want to share with artists – about life, bills, process, editing, brainstorming, anything?
You’re never too good a writer that you don’t need an editor.

Jandy Nelson & Ebin Lee On Pizza at Eddies, Writing Like Yourself &Taking the Peanut Butter Out of the Fridge

We chatted with Jandy Nelson, author of I’ll Give You the Sun, and Ebin Lee, illustrator/poster artist, a bunch of personal questions and here’s what they said. They will be reading at the San Francisco Public Library (100 Larkin Street) on Tuesday, November 4 for the Radar Reading Series. Click here for the Facebook event page.  

 

 

 

 

JANDY NELSON

Tell us something that challenged you in your last project.

The structure of I’LL GIVE YOU THE SUN really challenged me, sending me off a cliff many times. It’s the story of these twins who’ve always been inseparable until tragedy strikes and rips them apart. And it’s also a tapestry of all these interweaving love stories: romantic ones: both gay and straight, complicated familial ones between mothers and daughters, fathers and sons, the dead and the living, artists and their art. The story is full of secrets and lies and betrayals and it’s also kind of a mystery. All the different webbing narrative elements and intricacies of the story really overwhelmed me at first–I felt like it was way way bigger than my ability. I knew I wanted it to be braid, knew I wanted to tell the story in the dueling points of view of the twins, from Noah’s perspective when the twins are 13, and Jude’s when they’re sixteen after the events that divide them. I finally realized the only way for me to write the novel was to write three novels so I wrote Noah’s story start to finish, then Jude’s story start to finish (which took over 2 1/2 years!) then spent a year weaving their stories together which was like writing a whole new novel. It was intense–the whole process took almost 4 years.

Describe your perfect meal.

My perfect meal is a picnic by a river in the hot sun with all my closest friends/family, both living and dead: crusty bread, this life-changing cheese I just discovered called Bonne Bouche, tons of finger foods prepared by Thomas Keller and then dark chocolate  truffles, all of it served with tons of Chateauneuf du pape and champagne.

Do you have a piece of killer advice for artists?

Don’t put peanut butter in the refrigerator. I just learned this and it’s been such a revelation!. Also, in terms of writing the best advice I ever got by far was this totally simple and obvious idea: Be yourself in your writing–get your personality on the page. Own your myths, monsters, and miracles. It doesn’t mean you need to write about yourself, just write like yourself. Like Oscar Wilde says, “Be yourself: everyone else is already taken.” This advice absolutely changed writing-life.

 






 


EBIN LEE

Besides “artist,” talk about another identity that matters to you. 

My identity as Black kind of encompasses everything about me.

You get to have an epic dream date with anyone dead or alive: who are they and where do you go on your date? 

My dream date would be with Neicy Nash. If i didn’t pass out from sheer excitement/nerves at the news that Queen Neicy accepted my date request, I’d take her for pizza at Eddies on Killingsworth (In Portland) and then after we would sip wine sprtizers and watch re-runs of Clean House.

What advice do you have for other artists?

Make tons of embarrassing drawings.

 

Mimi Nguyen On Epic Dream Dates with Keanu Reeves, Tenure & Obscurantist Labor

Mimi will be reading at the November 4 Radar Reading Series at the San Francisco Public Library. We asked her some questions about dating, writing and advice for artists. 

 

Tell us about something that challenged you during your last (or a current) project. 

The worst thing about writing the first book (The Gift of Freedom) was that I had to finish it according to an external deadline – tenure. At some point I found I wasn’t writing to answer a question about liberal empire, or to close the circle of the argument, but to meet an institutional metric for a “productive” scholar. And even though I was writing with friends confronting the same metric –we would literally sit in a room together and write for hours, next to one another, chatting about a sentence one minute and leading each other through some stretches another—it was still an incredibly isolating experience.

The moment I remembered that I had an intensely satisfying creative and intellectual life long before I came to the academy was transformative. A feminist literary scholar named Janice Radway came to my campus and in a lecture discussed my work as a zinester (with particular reference to the Race Riot compilations, and feminist critical theory in my zines) and its relationship to my scholarship now. I had been feeling so under seige on the tenure track that I cried for a few days afterward, because I understood so acutely what I had been missing for the last few years – which was writing to the question, for the argument, and of course, for myself.

 

You get to have an epic dream date with anyone dead or alive: who are they and where do you go on your date? 

My friends reading this would know it’s a lie if I chose anyone but Keanu Reeves. That said, I have no idea what an “epic dream date” would be, and having only been on a few “proper” dates, and it seems like it would be awkward to go on a grown-up, straight-person date with Keanu Reeves.

But pretending as if this isn’t the most awkward question, we could just go to a punk show on his motorcycle (or if he still has access to that time-traveling telephone booth, we could take the booth to the Hong Kong Café to see The Bags or The Go-Go’s in 1979), and then spend a few hours going through the boxes of zines and records in my living room I haven’t made time to read or listen to yet. After that, we could choreograph a mash-up of a movie-fu fight with Kate Bush’s “Wuthering Heights” dance and put it on YouTube as a performance piece. I hope he kept his sleeveless denim jacket from River’s Edge, because I would wear the crap out of it in the video. (Also I would be wearing Madonna’s boots from Desperately Seeking Susan, since those are the most epic shoes.) And then we could make a 24-hour zine about making art and getting older, and I could impress him with my carefully hoarded Letraset collection.

I should note that I am answering these questions with a cold fogging my brain. The other night, while otherwise wiped out on Advil, I randomly started a site to archive all the responses to Kara Walker’s “A Subtlety, or The Marvelous Sugar Baby.” I am totally a good time, Keanu.

 

Give us one piece of advice you want to share with artists – about life, bills, process, editing, brainstorming, anything.

I don’t have advice as much as I have “random questions about the nature of work.” How do we reproduce troubling measures of civic and capitalist productivity through binaries of activity/passivity in our cultural work? How do we evaluate an artistic process or object or experience? Through what measures of value, accountability – and to whom? As a scholar, I hear from both administrators and activists that the intellectual labor I do “should” yield concrete outcomes – whether in publications or grants, or in something measurable as “social change.” I worry about what these utilitarian (and sometimes authoritarian) demands mean for us, especially because I want to hold out a place for creative and intellectual labors that are slow to unfurl, or otherwise appear to the efficacious eye as useless, obscurantist, impractical, marginal, or wholly unproductive.

 

Trending: Thomas Page McBee’s MAN ALIVE

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When you get the pleasure of hearing Thomas McBee share from his history, you’re kind of immediately.. smitten. Though based out of New York, you Bay Area babes are in luck because he’s going to be in town in a big way in October.

Oh.. yeah.. and Radar totally snagged him for the 2015 Sister Spit Tour (lots and lots of details on that forthcoming, but mark your calendars for Mar-April 2015 in spots like Chicago, Arcata, New York, LA and lotslots more and we’re still booking).

We’re STOKED! THRILLED! And filled with the kind of joy that is typically only inspired by having a thousand tiny kittens crawling all over us that Thomas’ new book MAN ALIVE: A True Story of Violence, Forgiveness and Becoming A Man is out in the world, available in print and exploding on the interwebs as we speak. Out from the City Lights/Sister Spit imprint, this book has already been described as “exquisitely written” by Jack Halberstam and a “sweet, tender hurt of a memoir” by Roxane Gay.

We want you to know all there is to know about this book and about Thomas and make the discussion around masculinity and identity accessible to EVERYone on the internets (just in case you happen to miss him while he’s on tour with the book) so we curated a blog tour for MAN ALIVE.

Blog Tour Details:

Throughout October, Thomas and Man Alive will be featured on the following sites:

Click for details on the San Francisco and New York book release parties for Man Alive.

Some of the blog tour dates are still tentative. We’ll post updates and links on the Radar Facebook page as well as Twitter. Follow us for updates about Radar events, the Sister Spit tour, and our favorite artists! Support the book by adding the hashtag #ManAliveMonth to your social media updates.

 

RADAR Helps You Out: More Ways To Procrastinate/Enjoy Beautiful Art From Home

How’s that homework/stuff you’re supposed to be doing for your job looking? You should really stop all that productivity and come watch RADAR’s August reading series because it’s now on YouTube! Don’t worry, you’ve got the rest of the night to do work/school related things. This will only take about an hour, plus you get to feel some things that aren’t task related panic.

 

Here’s the thing about Jamie: she’s amazing. Make yourself a cup of tea, bust out that old foot bath thing you never use and have yourself some bliss listening to her words.

 

Finish that tea before you commence this video, because Kate is so funny you will definitely pee it out.  Also includes sporadic feels.

 

 

Do you have any idea what a tintype portrait is? Neither did I. But they’re fascinating and so is Kari’s creative process in general, check it out.

 

Go hide your credit card. Do it. Do it now, because there is some possibility that you are like me and will use your designated taco money to purchase Ariel’s book somewhere on the internet immediately after seeing her perform.

 

Now go out into the world a creatively stimulated human and do those things you’ve been needing to do/maybe go to sleep and just do it in the morning.

Lenelle Moïse’s & Haiti Glass Come to SF Sept 16!

RADAR & City Lights Books present a most excellent book party for Lenelle Moïse’s Haiti Glass on September 16, 2014 at City Lights Books (261 Columbus Ave, San Francisco) at 7pm. This book is part of the City Lights Sister Spit imprint! Now you have one more book you should most definitely read before summer officially ends. The time is now! Start reading it.

Here are some reasons why:

Haiti Glass, the debut book from award-winning playwright Lenelle Moïse offers an unflinching look at Haitian-American identity, disaster, desire, and death-defying love. In her debut collection of verse and prose, Moïse moves deftly between memories of growing up as a Haitian immigrant in the suburbs of Boston, to bearing witness to brutality and catastrophe, to intellectual, playful explorations of pop culture enigmas like Michael Jackson and Jean-Michel Basquiat. Whether it is the presence of a skinhead on the subway, a newspaper account of unthinkable atrocity, or the “noose loosened to necklace” of desire, the cut of Haiti Glass lays bare a world of resistance and survival, mourning and lust, need and process, triumph and prayer.

“Lenelle Moïse brings fierce passion.”—New York Times

“Piercing, covering territory both intimate & political . . . vivid & powerful.” —Curve Magazine

“See Moïse push stories from her mouth like it might save your life.”—The Root

Haiti Glass Book Trailer from Lenelle Moise on Vimeo.

Lenelle Moïse is an award-winning poet, playwright, essayist, and internationally touring performance artist who creates jazz-infused, hip-hop bred, politicized texts about identity, memory, and magic. Her poems and essays are featured in several anthologies, including: Word Warriors: 35 Women Leaders in the Spoken Word Revolution and We Don’t Need Another Wave: Dispatches from the Next Generation of Feminists. Her writing has also been published in the Utne Reader, Make/Shift, Left Turn, and numerous other magazines and journals. A current Huntington Theatre Company Playwriting Fellow, her plays Womb-Words, Thirsting, Ache What Make, Expatriate, Matermorphosis, Purple, and Cornered in the Dark have been produced across the country. She lives in Northampton, MA where she was the 2010-2012 Poet Laureate. This is her long-awaited first book, and she is available for interview.

Myriam’s One-I’d Arts and Literature Column: LGB(iennial)TQIAETC PART 2

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In last week’s review of LA-area biennials, I proposed the hashtag notallstraightpeople.

Let’s resurrect it.

Don’t get all #notallstraightpeople on me when my review of the Hammer’s 2014 biennial, MADE IN LA, begins and ends not in the main galleries, but with its AIDsy show-within-a-show: AMID VOLUPTUOUS CALM. This petite mise-en-abîme, which feels segregated since its tucked into the diverticulitis of gallery 5, contains ghosts.

Walls painted a dark, necrotizing fasciitis green warn you that you’re entering haunted territory. The late Tony Greene’s baroque pin-ups intermittently materialize along the hue. Meanwhile, a fabulous Cousin ITT hunkers down in the corner. 

Meet Millie Wilson’s DAYTONA DEATH ANGEL. Confession: Hair art mesmerizes me, especially when I know that the hair belongs to someone dead. Wilson’s piece makes us want to give it offerings, bottles of high-end hair conditioner, promises of Brazilian blowouts. We put our ears to it to see if we can hear the ticking of a bomb because it looks so much like the wig Debbie Harry’s HAIRSPRAY character, Velma Von Tussle, uses to smuggle explosives into the pageant. I want the similarity to be intentional.

This gargantuan hairpiece honors every drag queen ever stomped by jackboots, every drag queen who’s had to steal her makeup, every drag queen with thick shoulders and thicker stubble, every drag queen who’s been murdered and a murderer. Ever hear of Dorian Corey? His is a real A ROSE FOR EMILY kind of story but picture it with queer people of color, sequins, and set in the closets of New York.

Next to the blonde hangs Monica Majoli’s UNTITLED (Bathtub OrGY).

Sticky shadows are at play here, and the recipient of so many fluids basks in such ecstasy that he might be dead. His face wears that died-of-ecstasy look, the feeling, not the drug, and UNTITLED’s lone penis makes eye contact with me. Only its tip is visible. The figure whose johnson locks eyes with mine wears a black mask, which begs the question: am I seeing his real face? Which face is which? Who’s really doing the talking here?

Okay, despite Tony Greene’s sumptuousness and Majoli’s Rembrandtian tones and Wilson’s follicular decadence, its a flippin’ fish that slays me.

This fish gives me theoretical flashbacks, and I know why: Jack Halberstam’s THE QUEER ART OF FAILURE. This scaly loser is kin to the QUEER ART OF FAILURE’S coverbird.

The fish and bird belong to a series of paintings of seemingly dead or lonely objects that achieve nothing. YOU SHOULDN’T DO THAT, YOUR FACE WILL STATY THAT WAY posits a raw oyster against a serengeti of dumb space. WELL IT DIDN’T JUST GET UP AND WALK AWAY depicts a rogue ben wah ball against scarlet. The dead bird painting has an awesome name that reminds me of childhood: I’LL GIVE YOU SOMETHING TO CRY ABOUT.

About Bamber, Halberstam writes: “[Her] horizons remind us that possibility and disappointment often live side by side.” That’s so the case with this would-be fish stick. It leapt to its dry death in reverse of a Kate Chopin novel.

Shots of Ron Athey’s performances, Bob Flanagan stuff, and copies of INFECTED FAGGOT PERSPECTIVES, a zine, haunt the space, too, but the thing I pause in front of for a super long while, having a quasi-religious experience with, is SLEEPING BEAUTY #1.

Resin paper-weight bolo ties holding globs of HIV-positive blood sleep in a log terrarium atop sand and wood. While I’ve admitted to my interest in hair art, blood art tends to seem a bit gauche to me. However, I see nothing gauche about HIV-positive blood art. SLEEPING BEAUTY #1 taps into a Victorian scientific vein, it evokes that era when white people went wild with taxonomies, shoving bones and bodies in museums. Nowadays, we deride such aesthetics as “steam punk.” Anyhow, this log, where a perverse squirrel hoards oddities, forces me to think about my cousin, the first homosexual I knew. The pretty red in that resin did him in, not a cold.

Jennifer Moon, Harry Dodge, the Frimkesses, Kim Fisher, and AL. Steiner’s work don’t haunt AMID VOLUPTUOUS CALM but they are must-sees if you’re into geoligical feminism, bastardized ceramics, occult sausagery, parties in eggs, and inanity. The show is up till September 7th.

Reasons To Stay At Home on Your Couch: RADAR’s June Reading Series Is Now On Youtube!

Or maybe you live somewhere not in the bay and weren’t able to attend, either way, you can stay home in your PJ’s (or maybe slack off at work if you’re sort of productive) and watch some radicle people share their art with RADAR and others.

Achy Obejas‘s video may include feelings, be warned.

 

Martin Sorrondeguy‘s video is so funny you may actually start to feel stomach muscles doing things.

 

Julian Talamantez Brolaski gives a short list of banned poetry words such as aperture. Warning: you may start to consider your own usage of such words.

Have fun spending the next hour on your couch and remember, stretching is also good.

Myriam’s One-I’d Arts and Literature Column: LGB(iennial)TQIAETC PART I

If it wasn’t for queers, this planet would be a total hole. And before anybody gets all #notallstraightpeople on me, save it. Queers are responsible for nuance, elegance, and prophetic ingenuity. We are the Thomas Alva Edidaughters of creativity’s ecosystem. That said, let’s look at what kind of spaghetti squash queers are bringing to the sur la tables of LA’s two current biennials. (Get it? Two biennials? I twotally went to two on porpoise)

Okay, so the first biennial I checked out was not the bigger of LA’s two, the one down in Westwood, at the Hammer Museum. I began, instead, by heading to a place where you can get shot in the eye for giving birth to your own sister: CHINATOWN.

BTW: Roman Polanski, you’re still gross. 

Chinatown’s Coagula Curatorial, an exhibitchion space which has hosted solo shows by the likes of Karen Finley and Gronk, is putting on what will hopefully become a local and transnational tradition: QUEER BIENNIAL. Conceptual pop artist Rubén Esparza curated QUEER BIENNIAL I and it’ll be running till July 26 at 974 Chung King Road, 90012, not 90210.

If you’re not full of contradictions, you’re full of shit.”
– Rubén Esparza

Before really interacting with the art body composing QUEER BIENNIAL I, I ran to Coagula’s bathroom to excrete. As I baptized, a pink light bulb turned the restroom vulvular. I took the omnipresent warm color as a private omen. QUEER BIENNIAL I would celebrate our private parts.

Backtracking into the exhibit, I shared a private moment with Mel Odom’s AL PARKER JESUS.

This work comes as a triptych. Middle Al Parker Jesus evokes the Shroud of Turin while Al Parker Jesuses split in halves flank their central divinity, hanging like butterfly wings plucked off a bug by some fay bully. Odom used Al Parker as his muse for Ecce Homo and if you’re unfamiliar with gay porn, Parker worked as a performer in the genre and eventually got eaten by AIDS. Since Parker lived to forty, he outlived the Ultimate Hebrew Homo by about seven years.

TJ, my similarly sexed life partner, got kind of caught up in the racial and sexual drama of Rick Castro’s WHITE CHOLO, while I got caught up in the ambiguous eros of Castro’s BODY ART.

Yeah, BODY ART depicts a hot naked guy come hithering while exposing his junk but he’s got those fun stripes. Are they meant to make him seem imprisoned or zebraesque, just a member of the herd? Is there a racial metaphor wedged into one of those cracks? I don’t know, but whatever the stripes are meant to do, they overtly and sexily otherize him. Also, there’s something Keith Haringish about BODY ART. I kept thinking yeah, basically this is a Keith Haring painting turned into an organic wet dream in the reverse of what happens in a-ha’s TAKE ON ME video.

ALSO, fun fact about Rick Castro: Joel Peter-Witkin bought him his first automatic camera.

Usually, I shy away from crochet, but Ben Cuevas’ knit work slurped me closer.

CUNT ENVY belongs to Cuevas’ series #Tweetables which will be (they’re still being made) composed of text-panels of 140 characters or less created by a knitting machine (that doesn’t even sound real. It sounds like when you’re like SHE’S A MACHINE! A CLEANING MACHINE! Or THAT KID, HE’S AN EATING MACHINE! Or, OH, WHO, MY DYKE GRANDPA? ZE’S A QUEER KNITTING MACHINE!) The series merges the infinite field of internet memeology with the soft arts, and if there was ever any phrase that needed to be rendered in white yarn contrasted against fuchsia, its this one. Go ahead, envy the clam. If a clam could tweet, it would tweet with a knitted feel. CUNT ENVY tempts with its softness, you want to feel it, finger it, I want to curl up under CUNT ENVY, use it as my afghan while I’m on my couch watching romance films, Charlize Theron’s MONSTER. I can’t. Also, I don’t even have cunt envy. I already have one. So there. But I totally appreciate the sentiment.

Against the wall perpendicular to BODY ART, some of Esparza’s conceptual pop art pieces were hanging out. One, a mock political sign with, I guess, my sexual orientation on it, bore a footprint, which pretty much sums up that orientation when you’re in high school in the 90s.

Also, the footprint appeared to have been made by someone wearing comfortable shoes, so, perhaps, the footprint came from my own kind, making this poster a meta-reflective piece on self-esteem. Jk. I don’t think that was the point but I take private joy in imagining Esparza crafting a piece with an epidemic of lesbian low self-esteem in mind.

The work of Mexican-born Alonso Tapia-Benitez drew me in with its pink.

Pinks do that to me, maybe because of my…CUNT APPRECIATION? Tapia-Benitez’s multimedia stitched collage, UNTITLED, of two faceless beauties (how can you make somebody faceless a beauty? Through genius) made me ask were these boys, were these girls, who cares? They were beautiful and peculiar, which is usually all that matters. Also, their laps grew gardens. Sustainable laps for a greener tomorrow.

In the corner, by the DYKE sign, an installation piece, STICKS AND STONES, by Lili Lakich, frankensteined. Standing in front of this pseudorobot, this pseudodroid, THIS NUMBER 5 IS ALIVE! covered in rainbow slurs, the viewer sees herself reflected through a green screen. While I dig Lakich’s gassier pieces (she’s known for her works in neon), I appreciated the opportunity to interact with this superficially evil hater.

One word the entity seemed to be missing, though, in its mini-pantheon of no no words, was tranny. I wondered if someone had convinced the robot that this was the current n word of rainbow slurs, and I whispered to the robot, “Just say it.” I saw my head in the green screen that is the creature’s head, I was it, and I could see my lips mouthing, Just say it, but the robot wouldn’t speak the T word.

I moved past SLURI (that’s what I’d name the robot) and onto the next wall where there was MORE LILI LAKICH! YAY! (She has a total of three pieces in the show).

Of course, the neon thing is Lakich’s. Its eponymously named for its slogan and the piece’s A blinks in out and of existence, leaving traces of its semiotic self as the light temporarily dies. Angela Gleason’s Fruit of Thy Womb hangs near the sign, ready to be grabbed by an CatHOlic slut on her way to sue Hobby Lobby. Its not a necklace, its a rosary, and I really like art that combines beauty and pharmaceuticals, and had my parents ever found certain things I kept in my jewelry box, I could’ve argued BUT ITS ART! if I’d been able to reference Gleason’s oeuvre. Of course, I only kept aspirin in my jewelry box and aspirin would make a beautiful rosary. “And then God NSAID ‘Let there be light! LET THERE BE LILI LAKICH!” Gleason has actually crafted an entire collection of rosaries made out of fascinating {s}crap–blood, earplugs, political pins, erasers, and the erasers are the most delicate, little prayers that could truly come in handy during the SAT. Lastly, as far as what I’m gonna choose to yap about, is Scooter LaForge’s SUNSET, an oil painting which depicts a young ginger spending time with himself on the shores of some body of fresh water. SUNSET has haunted me because there is something really innocent about it in spite of everything that prudes would probably say you shouldn’t find it innocent for.

I can’t talk about everything at QUEER BIENNIAL I cause that’d just be stupid. Go see it. Bi Bi!

And please tune in next week to get HAMMERed.

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