michael j. morris


Retrograde (Solo series by Larry Doyle)
6 June, 2016, 12:19 am
Filed under: art | Tags: , , , ,
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Installation view of Retrograde by Larry Doyle on view at Mouton

Retrograde, a new series of works on paper by Larry Doyle on display at Mouton in the Short North, develops an emotive iconography for a culture of feeling that unfolds between cartoonish figures that might very well mirror ourselves. Each piece depicts similar although not identical figures drawn in Doyle’s signature style, little bodies composed of imperfect geometries, hard lines, and sometimes blushing with watercolor blues and pinks and violets. These figures aren’t specifically human; their little alien bodies include only a few shapes, yet there is something recognizable about them. Maybe it’s the subtle ways they seem to hold themselves upright or slouch into themselves, the ways they seem to incline towards or away from each other, or the fragility of what seems to be their spindly legs. Maybe they all seem shy and insecure because of how their tiny eyes are almost always set low and to the side, shifty and uncertain. These figures do not depict us in a literal sense, but perhaps their forms emerge from the details by which we know our feelings—the sensation of “towards” or “away,” “downcast” or “uplifted,” that feeling of “just to the side” or “just out of reach.” On their own, in pairs, and in groups, these little figures begin to compose metaphors—for loneliness, for intimacies, for desire, for displacement, for community—with their stationary choreographies of position and placement in relation to each other and the minimalist contexts in which they are set. Often adrift in white space, or sometimes set in the foreground of a light watercolor wash, these scenes function as illustrations telling familiar stories with bodies not our own in abstract spaces to which we may have never been.

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Cover The Path to the Heart (Dont Let No one In), Watercolor/Ink

Yet despite the minimalist quality of these illustrations, they seem at home in Mouton. Mouton is a small bar that specializes in classic and innovative hand-crafted cocktails. I’ve spent many first dates at Mouton, and returned here again and again with friends and people who I love. It’s an intimate space, a place to drink and talk and flirt, sometimes a place to see and be seen, and occasionally somewhere to maybe meet someone new. In this sense, Mouton is both a place and a kind of a place—the kind of place for dates and dating, for going out with friends, and maybe for cruising. Doyle’s drawings may have an otherworldly quality to them, but they are also very much of this world—a world of sustained or anticipated intimacies, intersecting socialites, and the mixology of hope and disappointment that can accompany the search for love and connection in this modern age.

Doyle’s pieces—all created during the planet Mercury’s recent retrograde, an astrological time at which communication and clear thinking can feel the celestial backwards pull of Mercury’s path—are titled things like “I Will Keep You by a Thread,” “Everyone is Looking but No One Can See,” and “Cover The Path to the Heart (Don’t Let No One In).” Each title offers a comment on some social, personal, or intimate state of affairs which then becomes the basis for that which the piece illustrates. Moving through multiple stages of translation—life and lived experiences to recognizable feelings and affects, then onto short but cutting phrases, then into visual iconography—Doyle uses the retrograde as an opportunity to reflect and process, the artworks emerging from experiences that seem to include retrospection, revelation, and rumination. In each case, Doyle uses the concise images and phrases as strategies for depicting and sometimes critiquing how we act and interact in our search for connection, companionship, friendship, and love. In many cases, the figures Doyle situates within these scenarios find themselves accompanied by specific entrapments—head encaged by wiry lines, perched precariously on a tiny ledge, surrounded by dark inky clouds, wrapped up together in red thread, and so on. These additional elements and objects in the images extend the metaphors, offering perspectives perhaps not only of ourselves but of the situations that we create for ourselves—and for one another. Even when they are shown together, their connections and collectivity seem tenuous at best; together or alone, the loneliness of these little beings remains relentless.

One of the most overt critiques in the show is entitled “Thirty is the new Death” and shows thirty little skeletal figures all laid out in individual coffins alongside each other, tinted in a spectrum of bright and soft pinks. Reflecting on the tendency in the gay community to mark 30 as the end of one’s life—or at least one’s dating life—the pink skeletons in pink coffins on a field of pink seem more like infants than anything else, a morbid nursery of pink-on-pink-on-pink. Death and infancy cross into one another in this flamboyantly rosy field of tiny coffins. If the piece is a metaphor for turning 30, it seems to ask us to consider what might only be beginning at 30? If we figuratively terminate ourselves or others at 30, what might never have the opportunity to grow, mature, and thrive? If 30 is a coffin, it’s a tiny one.

What I find most compelling in these works, however, are not the stories the seem to tell or the familiar scenarios of dating, isolation, and companionship to which they refer; rather, it is the vocabulary and syntax of their visual composition that fills me with feelings. Doyle’s use of line, scale, orientation, and repetition are evocative, in ways that both support and extend the implicit narratives of these pieces. The hard black lines with which these figures are drawn present clearly bounded forms, discrete within their seemingly impenetrable isolation. The images may suggest stories of seeking connection, but in their composition, these figures—alongside each other, overlapping, or even tied together by a thread—will remain outside of one another’s hard lines. My eyes might drift smoothly across these pages, but they register these lines, these borders, these boundaries, perhaps longing to be crossed while nevertheless perhaps also signifying “keep out.” More often than not, these figures reside in a primarily flat two-dimensional plane, a seemingly shared space, but in multiple pieces—particularly those entitled variations of “I’m Not Looking” and “Still Not Looking”—Doyle’s use of scale and orientation suggest that these figures may not be in the same place at all. However flat the space may seem, these figures—upright, sideways, upside down, far, and near—seem to ambiguously occupy different dimensions, with perhaps far more distance between them than first meets the eye. The repetitive use of form—all of these figures are more alike than they are different, nearly but not quite identical—envisions a pervasive sameness, and between what seems to be the same, connections remain elusive. Homogeny is not given as the cause for isolation in this self-same society, but it is evidently its condition. To the extent that Doyle’s works offer mirrors or metaphors for reflecting on our lives, we might ask: in what ways do we repetitively reinscribe our edges as such bold borders? How might we become attentive to the ways in which others who seem to be right next to us are potentially near or far in ways that are less immediately visible, or maybe even standing on an entirely different ground? How does homogeny or the expectation of sameness not only minimize or elide our differences but potentially condition our isolation, our difficulties connecting, and the breakdowns of our communication?

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Still Not Looking, Watercolor/Ink

Doyle writes in his artist statement: “My works are centered around connecting, dating and searching while all these feel retrograde. As my little beings are crowned, boxed and tied I hope you can place yourself within their adventures seeking companionship, friendship and truth. Please include us in your story.” While illustrating the search for love and belonging in this modern age, Doyle invites our projections, simultaneously or alternately asking that we place ourselves within his work as well as include him and his little beings in our own stories. Inasmuch as the exhibit “centers” around connecting, dating and searching, it also seems to reach out from itself, asking for connection and companionship as it depicts ways in which they are thwarted.

Retrograde will be on display until the end of July at Mouton.



remarks on grief, rage, and remembering
20 November, 2015, 10:47 pm
Filed under: culture | Tags: , , , ,

Tonight I was humbled to speak at the vigil for the Trans Day of Remembrance in Columbus, Ohio. The Trans Day of Remembrance (TDOR) is held in November each year to memorialize those who were killed due to violence based on bias or prejudice against transgender people. The Transgender Day of Remembrance is intended to raise public awareness of hate crimes against transgender people, and to publicly mourn and honor the lives of transgender people who might otherwise be forgotten. Through the vigil, we express love and respect in the face of national indifference and hatred.

The text that I wrote and shared is below. These words do not feel adequate. Perhaps no words feel adequate when faced with extreme violence and loss, and yet in the face of such violence, silence is death, and so we must speak the words that we have, however inadequate:

Tonight I want to speak briefly about rage and grief. But before I do, I need to acknowledge the privilege from which I speak: I am white, and that affords me mobility and security that are actively denied to others. While I identify and present as non-binary, I grew up assigned male, which gave me basic social advantages that are regularly foreclosed for people who are not men. I am able-bodied in that the world regularly meets the needs of my body in ways that it does not meet the needs of others. I have been privileged with extensive education, which now gives me the opportunity—and the responsibility—to educate others, while there are many, many others who have not been given such education from whom we have much to learn. Speaking here is a privilege, especially when we are doing so precisely because there are others who can no longer speak. I do not—we must not—take this opportunity lightly; so thank you for allowing me this space.

When I am faced week after week with another headline reporting the murder of another trans person—very often another trans woman of color—I am swept up in grief and rage. Although I did not know the people whose names I now read, something of my world, of our world, the world that we share, is now broken because the world that we share has broken them.

These acts of extreme violence and loss are unbearable first because of the unjust deaths of individuals—individuals who we must grieve, who we will name, who we must not forget—and unbearable perhaps also because these extreme violations make our shared vulnerabilities evident, make palpable the countless ways that we are all exposed to others in ways we cannot control. We cannot control how we are seen or perceived by others, how we are named or called or addressed by those we do and do not know, the places in language and the law where there is or is not space for us, or the ways in which we take on available roles in order to survive. When we encounter another, our bodies are exposed and vulnerable to them, and we cannot control how they might approach us. Violence reminds us that life is fragile and precarious, in need of protection and support; violence against trans people reminds us that such support and protection are often withheld from trans people, especially those who are pushed to the margins or off the page by the existing structures of power. Violence against trans people reminds us that we still live in a world in which narrow definitions of gender constrain how we might live and also determine who might die. It’s easy to feel powerless in the face of such violence, because we are harshly reminded that there are limits to self-determination: we each determine who we are and who we will become in the ways that we can, but we do so in a society of others that determine the limits and consequences for our self-determination. In the face of such reminders, first I must grieve for those who have been killed, and then I must rage because we are all embedded within systems of gender that continue to act on and through us in ways we do not choose. Even at our most self-actualized, we must navigate our own becomings within systems of restrictions on how we can appear, where we can go, what words we can use, and what support we can receive, as well as the risk and danger of defying such systems. I grieve and I rage. And then, in the midst of grief and rage, I must also celebrate those I know and those I do not know who are actualizing their genders in ways that do not conform to the genders they were assigned, those who are living at the limits of these systems, and through whom more ways of living are becoming possible. I celebrate each and every one of you, and my celebration does not negate my rage and it does not negate my grief. And from grief and rage and celebration, I must also remember that I am part of this world in which we are all vulnerable and exposed. Just as I am exposed and vulnerable to others, I in turn shape how others might live in ways both big and small. If violence reminds us that life is fragile and precarious, in need of protection and support, it also compels me to extend that support and protection whenever and however I can, to actively create space for difference and for others who are different from me, and to imagine livability for those lives we may not yet recognize, those perhaps I cannot even imagine.

So, as we remember together tonight, as we honor those who have been killed, I ask that we hold together our grief, our rage, our celebration, and our commitment to imagining a world made livable for more and more lives.

[Thank you to TransOhio, Buckeye Region Anti-Violence Organization (BRAVO) and King Avenue United Methodist Church for hosting this event.]



LINES OF FLIGHT: a screening of new queer porn

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PRESS RELEASE:

Bringing together the work of award-winning queer porn directors and performers, LINES OF FLIGHT will offer a glimpse of porn being made at the leading edges of culture. Each film presents a unique view of sexuality, sex, and gender, inviting viewers to consider sex—and its presentation—in new ways, to encounter desires that might be unfamiliar, to see things they have maybe never seen, and to expand their view of what is hot.

The screening will include four scenes curated by Michael J. Morris:
-“Going Here,” starring Jiz Lee and Lyric Seal, from Wet Dreams, directed by Courtney Trouble
-“Workout Voyeur,” starring James Darling and Damien Moreau, directed by James Darling for FTM Fucker, shot and edited by Isabel Dresler
-Jack Hammer and Jessie Sparkles, directed by Shine Louise Houston for Heavenly Spire
-Chelsea Poe and Courtney Trouble, from the feature length FUCKING MYSTIC, directed by Courtney Trouble and produced by Chelsea Poe

An open conversation will follow the screening, providing an opportunity for public dialogue about porn, sex, sexuality, gender, desire, pleasure, fantasy, power, bodies, or whatever else comes up.

February 28, 6-8pm at Feverhead (1199 Goodale Blvd, Columbus, OH, 43212)
FREE and open to the public
Donations invited to help rent the space
18+ event

Facebook event page: https://www.facebook.com/events/1395677790737026/

TRAILERS AND MORE INFORMATION:

-Jack Hammer and Jessie Sparkles for Heavenly Spire: http://www.pinklabel.tv/on-demand/?scene=jack-hammer-and-jessie-sparkles
“Heavenly Spire focuses on masculine beauty and sexuality, and how it manifests on different bodies, in a unique cinematic style. Directed by Shine Louise Houston.”

FUCKING MYSTIC: http://courtneytrouble.com/the-fucking-mystic-trailer-debut/
Fucking Mystic is a narrative pornographic film about a small town girl who moves to the Bay Area and finds she has a profoundly erotic effect on her new surroundings. Directed by Courtney Trouble, this film is a true collaboration, with Ajapop as the Director of Photography and Chelsea Poe as Executive Producer and headlining star.”

-“Going Here” with Jiz Lee and Lyric Seal: http://courtneytrouble.com/lyric-seal-jiz-lee-going-here/
“What if we could turn places of trauma into places of pleasure? In Going Here, Lyric and Jiz explore the edges of danger, public sex, experimentation, and lust. This exclusive excerpt from Courtney Trouble’s upcoming film Wet Dreams is about letting our fantasies take over all else.”
Jiz Lee on “Going Here”: http://jizlee.com/wet-dreams-courtney-trouble-films-going-here-jiz-lee-and-lyric-seal/

-“Workout Voyeur” with James Darling and Damien Moreau for FTM Fucker, shot and edited by Isabel Dresler: http://ftmfucker.com/2014/06/11/damien-moreau-and-james-darling/
“Damien Moreau watches his neighbor James go on a run outside. As James runs past his window, Damien finds himself lost deep in a fantasy … FTM FUCKER is owned, operated and directed by award winning FTM porn star James Darling. FTM FUCKER seeks to create an environment where trans men’s sexualities and bodies are celebrated in a respectful & affirming way.”

LINKS FOR DIRECTORS AND PERFORMERS:
-Courtney Trouble: http://courtneytrouble.com/awards-and-notables/
-Shine Louise Houston: http://shinelouisehouston.com
-James Darling: https://twitter.com/jamesdarlingxxx
-Jiz Lee: http://jizlee.com/bio/
-Lyric Seal: http://lyricsealsucks.tumblr.com
-Chelsea Poe: https://twitter.com/chelseapoe666
-Jack Hammer: https://twitter.com/jackhammerxl
-Jessie Sparkles: https://twitter.com/jessiesparklesx
-Damien Moreau: http://ohdamienmoreau.tumblr.com

CURATOR:
-Michael J. Morris: http://michaeljmorris.weebly.com

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