My work is a translation of political and sexual desire. I am concerned with the limits of fantasy in the context of an oppressive social landscape. Strange concoctions and messy logic emerge when I explore those limits. In other words, what is the viability of a feminism based in sex, magic, and friendship when it trickles or explodes into the cold uncompromising outside world?
Since 2016 I have been working on a sprawling and long-term multidisciplinary project called Mansion Rug Liberation Network (MRLN). MRLN chronicles a fictional organization of femmey queers who meet on a filthy rug in a dank basement to plot against the American political and corporate elite, but become distracted by their investment in building relationships with one another and making objects that both demonize and fetishize the homes and material belongings of their targets.
Through the fiction of MRLN, I produce rugs, drawings, cartoons, zines, video and performance (some of it collaborative). At its core, MLRN is about the ambiguity between our culture’s critique of wealth accumulation and our overwhelming desire for property and status. It is also a meditation on the work of bonding and caretaking, which is often overlooked in dominant narratives of social movements.
Right now I am particularly excited about drawing water. I am thinking about water and the ecstatic and impossible act of representing it. Drawing water has become a broad container for signifying the vibrations, possibilities, and contradictions of revolutionary endeavors. MRLN considers water, particularly rivers, as a spiritual home— where their allegiances are tested in the violent currents, where they drown their enemies, and where they aspire to live out their days in ever-churning motion.
All of my work is rooted in drawing and has been for years. I am on a perpetual quest to realize the conceptual potential of cartooning and protest art. In addition to the above concerns, drawing water serves me because it forces me to reconcile the physical truth of wetness and the trace that ink and water leave on paper, with the representational fiction of line.
In other words:
Water on the page because it’s how to hold the ink
The paper’s own past life as trees subbing out in the wings while everyone gets off on line and blotch
Drawing with the TV in the background because that’s how to stay supple under the pressures of realism
Drawing water is a doubling: the ink and water cup wetness, swirling for me to pull a flow across
One frozen in dryness and completely true, the other showy; full of fiction in the motion of line
And at once water holds my organs and makes sex possible
And at once water floods a bitch in his own swimming pool