Don’t Say Hey
Curatorial Statement:
Curatorial Statement:
In 2014, the art I was making celebrated a time, and reflected social and cultural shifts brought on by years and years of determination and progress. LGBTQIA+ laws were put in place to protect; queer folk now can legally marry across the country and have the same rights as heterosexuals. Then in 2016, a rather impactful change occurred and since then, society has regressed.
Those who identify as LGBTQIA+ have been confronted with a return to a new form of conservatism, fear campaigns, and misinformation in efforts to stifle, revoke, and silence those in our community. Florida, our neighbor to the South, has pushed to create a “Don’t Say Gay” agenda, focused on protecting children but more so, being a signal that being gay is somehow now, not ok. Many states have followed with multiple avenues of discrimination that only fuel hatred and mistrust.
As an arts educator, I have seen the direct correlation these changes have had on my students. I see where fear has become a part of their creative process, at a time and place where they should be openly finding their voices, they are scared, or worse, they are not making the art they truly want to make. This form of muting comes from a deep internal fear, born of their communities, their families, and at times their peers. It is not always loud or direct and the role of social media plays in spreading information only makes it more real and damaging.
Curating Don’t Say Hey is my way to create a space for students to share their art, engage in dialogue, to see that it does get better. My students are paired in this exhibition with nationally recognized artists, from different mediums, regions, and backgrounds who are coming together to create connections and form the type of networks that we find through art and openness. Art has always responded to challenges and has been a catalyst for meaningful bonds.
Artists Jasper Johns and Robert Rauschenberg supposedly spoke to one another through their art, using a coded language to one another, unsuspecting to the art world and the public, because in the 1950s, it did not matter how good the art was, if it was made by openly queer artists, it would never have seen the light of day.
A singular piece of art can be a protest, a group of artists coming together to show support, share their stories, and stand alongside those who are afraid, is part of a revolution.
Those who identify as LGBTQIA+ have been confronted with a return to a new form of conservatism, fear campaigns, and misinformation in efforts to stifle, revoke, and silence those in our community. Florida, our neighbor to the South, has pushed to create a “Don’t Say Gay” agenda, focused on protecting children but more so, being a signal that being gay is somehow now, not ok. Many states have followed with multiple avenues of discrimination that only fuel hatred and mistrust.
As an arts educator, I have seen the direct correlation these changes have had on my students. I see where fear has become a part of their creative process, at a time and place where they should be openly finding their voices, they are scared, or worse, they are not making the art they truly want to make. This form of muting comes from a deep internal fear, born of their communities, their families, and at times their peers. It is not always loud or direct and the role of social media plays in spreading information only makes it more real and damaging.
Curating Don’t Say Hey is my way to create a space for students to share their art, engage in dialogue, to see that it does get better. My students are paired in this exhibition with nationally recognized artists, from different mediums, regions, and backgrounds who are coming together to create connections and form the type of networks that we find through art and openness. Art has always responded to challenges and has been a catalyst for meaningful bonds.
Artists Jasper Johns and Robert Rauschenberg supposedly spoke to one another through their art, using a coded language to one another, unsuspecting to the art world and the public, because in the 1950s, it did not matter how good the art was, if it was made by openly queer artists, it would never have seen the light of day.
A singular piece of art can be a protest, a group of artists coming together to show support, share their stories, and stand alongside those who are afraid, is part of a revolution.