he calls himself, his nom de art – his nom de everything, for that matter. His paintings. His videos. His drag self, when he was into that. His narrow loft space, above Hygienic Gallery.
The loft (“the best apartment I’ve ever had,” he calls it) is his personal portrait gallery, with floor-to-ceiling paintings ofMedusa and drag queens he’s known; and artist friends and children standing atop mounds of skulls and himself as a child in a T-shirt that says “Lost” and many more.
CaseyMoran is his given name. On a recent morning his stenciled, palegray T-shirt reads, I IS SOME ONE ELSE. It’s a line translated from 19thcentury avant-garde poet Arthur Rimbaud’s declaration, “Je est un autre.” He says, of his T-shirt, “It’s more like, ‘I’mnot who you think I am.’”
An excerpt from his Artist’s Statement says a bit more about who that is: “Casey Spectacular creates a soap-opera world of characters marred by smudged mascara, cigarette breath, and social ineptitude. Though loud and needy, they are never as important as what surrounds them. He is a storyteller— he