Saw the 50 years of stonewall exhibit at the Brooklyn museum; it’s a weird but ticklish feeling to see the work of several peers that I have parasocial relationships/mutual friends/messy gossip on in a big fancy museum & is probably the closest i’ll come to how Frida Kahlo felt about the French surrealists she knew - ‘these cuckoo sons of bitches with their heads in the clouds’
That said, it was incredibly moving to see the work of Mark Aguhar on the walls of the same insitution John Singer Sargent left all his watercolors to. I didn’t know her personally, but I followed her on tumblr & her suicide came close around that of my friend Leo; I remember it vividly & the summer of 2012 felt like everyone was dying. Seeing her litany again after all these years, in such a different context & a different me, felt like a revelation. Blessed are the weirdo queers.
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