The Great Book of David: Two Weddings and a Funeral

In 1975, my gay uncle David married a woman. David was born out of the closet. So how he made it down the matrimonial aisle to wed a lass remains a complete mystery. It was not one of those deals sealed with a lesbian comrade to put a public face on a private life. It was a huge, festive ceremony in a church. All of his buddies celebrated with him, tying their polyester shirts into "sissy knots," baring their midriffs, and bumping and grinding on the reception hall’s dance floor until the bride’s brother had had enough, ending the evening by throwing blows at their rainbow tribe of a bridal party. This marriage lasted two whole weeks - and that, my friends, was a miracle!

This was not Uncle Dave’s first attempt at marriage. Two years earlier, he found the perfect gown at Goodwill. Laboring over a hand-me-down sewing machine, he formed two bridesmaids’ dresses out of navy, velour fabric and ivory lace. The local YWCA rented a room for the occasion. His twin sisters joined him at the altar. Six other siblings declined the invitation. And Jimmy, the groom, chickened out, never making an appearance to exclaim, “I Do” or offering an explanation for, “I Do Not.”

My uncle lived a life rich in stories. When I called upon his good friend Albert to give me the scoop, this man, who was much more conservative than my uncle, laughed long and hard before recalling past events for my benefit. David was 20-years-old when he first pursued marriage. He was 40-years-old when he died.

“What if all my friends were dying? What if all my friends were dead?” is a question posed by artist Harris David Harris through his video installation series showing On The Ground Floor. Sadly, by way of the Great Book of David, I witnessed the answer firsthand. My uncle and many of his kindred were among those lost in the early wave of the AIDS epidemic. 

In Harris’ video portraits, he captures his generation's "current nostalgia for the fashion and visual culture of the 80's and early 90's" while reflecting on his peers' lack of knowledge "about those who came before us." In his artist's statement, Harris ponders a query directed at millennials by author and queer activist Sarah Schulman, “Do they wonder why there are so few sixty-year-old versions of themselves passing by on the sidewalk?”

Last week's Supreme Court's decision in favor of marriage equality, has me doing quite a bit of pondering myself. Imagining mostly, how the good luck idiom, “the third time’s a charm” could have applied to David, had he been afforded the opportunity to stay with us a little while longer.

Nico Tango Argentina

The tango, some historians speculate, was born in the brothels of South America's Rio de la Plata region. Others argue that only well-to-do gents learned to tango inside bordellos. In the late 19th century, mastering this dance was common for the men of Argentine's growing immigrant labor force who needed to win the affections of women with their stylized moves. The tango was peacocking, a way of attracting a mate. When these men failed to magnetize someone, they continued to practice with one another while waiting in crowded cathouses where the wealthier lads then discovered the dance.

Ethnographers believe the tango originated with the darker skinned folk of Uruguay who mixed motherland Candombe rhythms with a melting pot of Bohemian polka, Cuban habanera, and the German waltz. Whatever the origin, today Argentina is recognized as the Tango Mecca of the World. This fact catapulted artist Nico Mazza out of her New York City apartment into a nomadic South American life in search of the perfect tango. For those who embrace the more than 125 year-old dance, the road to Argentina is a pilgrimage, where the call is both sacred and sensual.

In Buenos Aires, the tango is so pure, so rich, and very passionate. I fell in love with the city. I started dancing about five or six years ago. I got into the music first, then found that I was addicted. This is the story of most people who tango, something drags you in. I've always had nostalgia for the past. I'm moved by traditions. Traditions of practices. Traditions of art methods. Traditions of storytelling. I'm drawn to experiences that I haven't lived. - Nico Mazza

Sonambulists' Tango co-choreographed by Nico Mazza.

It's fitting that an artist compelled by custom and history would find the tango. It's also fitting that an artist charmed by sensuality would find her work on the walls of our last exhibit The Feminist Sex Shoppe. When probed about the genesis of her masked nudes, Nico confesses that it was guilt.

Guilt from my grandmother. She used to tell me,"If you ever touch a man, you'll get pregnant." The first time I kissed someone I thought, 'Oh my God, I'm gonna have a baby!' I was really terrified. So scared. On top of that, as a kid, I used to masturbate in her bedroom. My grandmother had an altar on her dresser with all her little votives. I remember seeing this framed picture of Jesus's face looking back at me. I was so ashamed that I hid under the covers, hence the hooded women in my work.

Divine Trinity, Ink on Paper by Nico Mazza

You might spot Nico on a ballroom dance floor near you, but it would be easier to visit her at SHE/FOLK, a women's arts & story collective where she is a co-founder and regular contributor.

I Shoot Myself

In her most recent series, Positive Biology, Czech born and Brooklyn based photographer Marie Tomanova places the human body center stage. Red lipstick stands stiff between pointed toes, a bare bottom wonders through the snow, an outstretched hand grips a blue tiled bathroom. Riding shotgun on a road trip through The Mojave Desert, she shares secrets about her work both in front of and behind the camera.

Marie Tomanova, Waterfall, Giclée Print, 2014

MA: Your photographs are subtly performative. Talk about your work in front of the camera and why you are often your own subject.

MT: I studied painting at university but never felt fully satisfied with the medium. I stopped painting right after I graduated and ran away to the United States. The whole experience of living in a different country and culture helped me understand myself better. Separation from family and friends created space for deeper insight. When I came to New York, I saw Francesca Woodman's show at the Guggenheim. I was mesmerized. It became clear that photography and self-portraiture is the way I would go.

I shot myself because there was nobody else around. During the process I realized that seeing myself in photographs worked as a perfect mirror. And I like the power of being fully in control of the process. It's creatively satisfying to be both in front of and behind the camera.

MA: Locale plays a strong character in your work...

MT: Surroundings are very important to me and I search for the perfect place. I love walking around industrial Brooklyn. Or getting lost and naked in the woods. The wild energy of nature resonates with me. And I treasure visits to my friends' apartments, because there's always something inspiring there.

Marie Tomanova, Bathroom Curtain, Giclée Print, 2014

MA: You were born in former Czechoslovakia. Can you talk about growing up in central Europe? How does your hometown influence your work?

MT: I am from a small town in South Moravia, a really beautiful place where everybody knows everybody. We have a farm with goats and horses, chickens and bunnies, vineyards and fruit trees. My mom is an incredible gardener and so are my sisters. Family is important to me and we are very close. 

My father died shortly before my 16th birthday. The process of understanding and acknowledging loss was very difficult. And I still deal with these feelings and memories in my work.

MA: Your pictures seem to possess a narrative. Do you consider your practice a form of storytelling?

MT: There is a story behind each picture. But I'm not interested in what they say to you about me. Instead, I want to see what they can tell you about yourself.

MA: Can you share a few technical secrets? Is there a camera, lens, or filter you prefer?

MT: I use Canon 5D Mark II for digital pictures. And Fuji's Mini for instant film. I recently discovered an old Polaroid 101 Land Camera which I absolutely adore. I don't use filters. I do very little editing in post. And I love to shoot in golden hour light.

Marie's photographs were featured during "The Feminist Sex Shoppe" group exhibition which closed this past Saturday, April 25th. Two framed prints are still available, for a limited time, through OTGF's Art & Merch online.