EXHIBITS HONOR LGBTQ HISTORY
Denver’s Pridefest is on hold this year, but two local exhibits carry the torch of community — with mixed results
Denver’s Pridefest is on hold this year, but two local exhibits carry the torch of community, but with mixed results.
I’m a glass-half-full kinda guy, so I’m going to use the one in front of me today to toast the city of Denver’s cultural team for getting this year’s Lgbtq-themed exhibitions at the Mcnichols Building 50 percent right.
Of course, visitors have to wear a mask to enter the historic building where the two shows are installed. And, yes, they need to make a reservation in advance, and then watch their email for an electronic “safety form” demanding a sworn promise to sanitize hands upon entering the galleries. But that’s the way it is during a full-blown pandemic, and if you do your part as a responsible, non-virus-spreading citizen, you’re
rewarded with the thirdfloor exhibit “Queer City of the Plains: An Artistic Look at Denver’s LGBTQ History.”
It’s a charming and informative show that mixes history-light with art-light and comes together just right. There’s some welledited wall text highlighting a century of Colorado LGBTQ history, much if it unknown, and a sampling of artworks from a genderdiverse, ethnically-mixed roster of local makers, all on their way up.
“Queer City of the Plains” is a celebratory effort that manages to capture a bit of Denver’s gay past and future as well as its fabulous, inclusive, nonbinary, present-day self, where all varieties of sexually-different humans are able to express themselves with pride. It’s a terrific idea and would have been an excellent complement to the 500,000-person Pridefest event that was scheduled to take place right outside the building this weekend in Civic Center park. Pride, an annual happening that mixes politics, parades and plenty of beer, was canceled due to current coronavirus fears.
The second exhibition, spread across Mcnichols’ massive second-floor, is titled “Lavender Mist” and it tells a different story — and in a way that I found uncomfortable. Subtitled “Gay Men in Contemporary Art in Colorado,” the show is a guys-only affair displaying a sampling of work by 22 artists meant to highlight the outsized role that gay men have played in the state’s art scene over the past few decades.
It’s celebratory, too, though I’m not sure what it is celebrating. It feels a lot like cis male privilege, because that is what has dominated the art world over the past few decades and many of these artists, like every gay male (especially whites ones and including art critics), have benefited from.
To be clear, gay males have certainly suffered for their sexuality: bullying, discrimination, rejection, death, all very real horrors that can’t be minimized. But the whole point of Pride is to recognize that such trauma is delivered upon all sexual minorities. That’s why the word “gay” has been downplayed in favor of the inclusive “LGBTQ ,” which stands for gay, lesbian, bisexual, trans and queer, with that final term broad enough to make sure any evolving identities are welcome into the fold.
To produce a show that only allows in men to the exclusion of everyone else, and time it to a pride celebration in 2020, is to dwell in that privileged past.
There may be a time and place to do a boys club event like this, but it needs context and a lot of deep research before it can be presented. Hopefully, it will arrive with that privilege acknowledged and reckoned with appropriately. For “Lavender Mist,” according to the curator’s statement, the works are brought together because of the “otherness” that gay men experience as sexual outsiders. But that “otherness” is not limited to queer people who happen to be male.
The all-genders unity of the present-day LGBTQ community can be unwieldy and fragile and it can, at times, come together into an alphabet soup that’s difficult to deploy. I actually see the acronym misspelled frequently. But that soup is now the comfort food of a solidaritydriven movement. It feeds the concepts of kindness, compassion, agency, validation, togetherness, even love.
That’s what makes the “Queer City of the Plains” exhibit so nurturing to consume.
The history part tells stories of men, women and non-binary characters, starting with secret, samesex tales going back to the mining camps of early Colorado.
It stops to point out the accomplishments of Oleta Crain (1913-2007), one of the first black female officers in the U.S. Army “who used her position to combat racial discrimination in the armed forces.” It recognizes Denver attorney Wendell Sayers (19041998) who “became the first black assistant attorney general for the state of Colorado” and who was active with the Mattachine Society, one of the first gay rights organizations.
It explains the work of Gilbert Baker (1951-2017), who designed the rainbow flag that represents the national gay rights movement and then followed that up with designs for flags customized to all 50 states.
It brings history right up to date by introducing Yvie Oddly, the drag performer from Denver who recently won a season of the reality show “Rupaul’s Drag Race” and last year was named one of the most powerful drag personalities by New York magazine.
The art on display — as art is supposed to do — interprets those stories on a deeper social and emotional level. For example, local textile artist Steven Frost uses Baker’s rainbow flag as a starting point to make his own flag, updating the design with handsewn sequins, and including elements inspired by textiles used by Apache, Ute and other Indian peoples, as well as elements from Colorado icon Molly Brown’s famous opera cloak.
The story of Oleta Crain is rendered in illustrations by local artist Adri Norris, who combines stylized portraits with text to also tell tales about women who entered the labor force during World War II.
Jonathan Saiz takes liberties with those stories of early miners by creating miniaturized portraits of fictionalized people from that era and writing madeup captions that place them in typical settings. Above one portrait of a youthful male from a distant past: “This young man was killed by a homophobic mob inspired to violence by alcohol, a hot Colorado summer, religious dogma and lust.”
There’s also a feathery, hot pink outfit worn by Yvie Oddly on “Drag Race”; several walls of quilts highlighting important gay historical moments made by the local Secret Love Collective; and an Lgbtq-progress themed video game created by Brian Corrigan.
“Queer City of the Plains,” organized by Brendan Picker in partnership with historians David Duffield and Genevieve Waller, moves quickly through complex issues, but it’s an enjoyable and economical way to learn a few things.
The other show, “Lavender Mist,” curated by Michael Paglia, includes work by artists with well-earned reputations: John Bonath, Kevin Sloan, Shawn Huckins, David Zimmer and others. Paglia, who is an art critic and whose deep knowledge of the Colorado scene deserves great respect, also includes the work of a few deceased artists, including legends Dale Chisman and Wes Kennedy.
But it’s hard to appreciate the presence of any of the artists in the show because of the male-only rule. No doubt, all of them have stories to tell about their experiences of being “other,” some of them very dark, and all of them needing to be heard. But the exclusivity muffles their voices, detracts from their credibility, overshadows their authenticity.
The loss of Pridefest this year is a disaster for the LGBTQ community. It may look like a party on the outside but, for many, it is a crucial, existential affirmation of their very being, an annual energizer that feels necessary when it’s time to tolerate the ugly things that happen, like the unwelcoming of trans people from the military, or the establishment of roadblocks to adoptions by same-sex couple. Plenty of young people, every single year, realize they are fully human by seeing that there are so many thousands of others that are human in similar ways.
For that reason, it’s easy to endorse a visit to these exhibitions. They may not have the fun and fury of a full-blown fest, but they offer that recognition of difference. “Queer City of the Plains” was supposed to be a sideshow, but it holds up just fine as a main event.