“My queer childhood wasn’t spent drawing hearts in the margins of textbooks. It was spent being hurt. Queers often don’t grow up singing love songs. To me, they seemed abstractions until I met someone who treated me so nice that I sometimes want to cry thinking about how they could possibly be so kind to me. I’m 28, and for the first time in my life – after the hell I’ve gone through – I’m in love.
I spent this month building a queer black love song as beautiful, messy, and wild as I am. I want this space to lift away the misogyny of an art world so obsessed with seriousness and solidity that it forgets the power of a good meal, a tender embrace, or the joy of being given a rose. I want to slow down again. I want to get to know somebody. I want to spend hours with someone and get to know their touch.
The gallery needs love. The institution needs love.
A river’s caress will melt a mountain. Love will melt the stones of our society.”
Process:
