Et Alors? Magazine 20

et alors?
a flamboyant art magazine

editorial
Comrades!
It’s been a while since our last edition of Et Alors? Magazine but here
we are!
Times have been hectic and challenging lately, and we needed a
moment to reflect our lives and our work. After some deliberation
we recently released a website with our own artwork. Have a look
via www.jfpierets.com. We’ve been thinking and working on the
material for quite some time, however it’s been only since the last
couple of months that we felt the need to make it public.
And let me share our latest art project with you, called 22. 22 will
take off as from September 2017, when we will get married in
every country that has legalised same-sex marriage. Out of the 194
countries in the world, only 22 recognise and provide gay marriage.
When saying these numbers out loud, we found that most people
are not aware of this fact, so we have created a positive artwork
that celebrates the countries that do allow it, while highlighting an
issue that still needs work.
Taking all our new projects into account, we also felt it was time
to mould Et Alors? Magazine into a format that reflects who we
are, and what it is exactly we need to put out there, even more.
Integrating the magazine into our art practice is one of the first
steps. As from now on we will publish our ‘artist talks’ the moment
they occur. Every once in a while we will bundle them into a new
issue of Et Alors? Magazine. Hereby creating an accurate timecapsule
of what we did, who we spoke to, what we’ve made and
what inspired us over that period of time.
I truly hope you stay with us in this new adventure.
At this moment we’re getting ready for our trip to New York. To
start our 22 pre-production, write the documentary script and to
continue our hunt for patrons. To get everything ready and set up
for our first wedding there in September. A camera crew will follow
us over the 18 month course of the performance to later create a
50-minute making-of documentary. To be released in the spring of
2020. In 2019 we will exhibit the art/video installation of 22 for the
first time. A book with all our adventures will follow later that year.
Why do all that? Because at the current rate, we will reach global
recognition of same-sex marriage in the year 2142. That’s 125 years
from now! Let’s see if we can get it to go a bit faster.
Enjoy our new issue of Et Alors? Magazine.
Made proudly and with tons of good vibes, as always.
Keep safe, stay gorgeous!
Fleur & Julian
003

et alors? magazine
july 2017
issue 20
Text & Research
Fleur Pierets
Artwork & Layout
Julian P. Boom
Contributors
Bernard Perlin
Dietmar Busse
Faryda Moumouh
Gazelle Paulo
JF. Pierets
Johnny Rozsa
Jorge Clar
Michael Schreiber
Ron Amato
Van Wifvat
A very special thanks to
Ingrid Van Den Bossche
Tracy Atkins
table of contents
Editorial
Table of contents
Nadia Naveau
Faryda Moumouh
22
Jorge Clar
Bernard Perlin
Clark Kent
003
004
006
022
034
036
048
064
www.etalorsmagazine.com
www.jfpierets.com
www.22theproject.com
© All material in this magazine is copyrighted as indicated.
004

Et Alors? Magazine is a project
in motion, co-created by female
artist duo and lovers JF. Pierets
- Fleur Pierets and Julian P.
Boom - who’s work questions
the mainstream understandings
and the construction of (gay)
identity. An ongoing research
platform where they publish their
conversations with musicians,
visual artists, writers and
performers by whom they are
inspired, hereby capturing the
zeitgeist of a world in the midst
of its striving for change and
it’s cultural awareness when it
comes to gay imagery and female
representation in mainstream art
history.
info@etalorsmagazine.com
Cover
Nadia Naveau
Antwerp, Belgium
Sculptor
www.basealphagallery.be
et alors?
a flamboyant art magazine
005

nadia
naveau
text jf. pierets
007

I’m going to start with a quote by Ai Weiwei:
“Being an artist is not a job, it’s an identity”.
Definitely! From the moment I started at the academy
I noticed that sculpting was very demanding on
both a physical and a psychological level. This has
never diminished. I very much like what I do, but
a large percentage of my practice involves - let’s
call it ‘suffering’ for lack of a better word. You can’t
underestimate the hard work involved in a creative
process. Maybe it has something to do with my
perfectionism and the way I always seek to surprise
myself. I am able to make large and complex series
like Salon du Plaisir - but then I have to change
everything and make it challenging again. I want
to keep finding things that I don’t know yet. I want
to keep on being amazed. Those steps can be very
small, and they may not even be noticed by the
public, but for me they are very important. That’s
the thing I’m pursuing. That doesn’t mean it always
works out. So when it doesn’t, I’ll feel unhappy and
unsatisfied. But when it does you have the feeling
that you can literally do anything. It’s a never ending
circle which I’m quite familiar with by now, but when
I was younger I definitely considered giving up art
and starting a day job.
Can you describe what you are looking for?
That’s difficult to explain because in the first
place it’s about a certain tension between shapes,
between abstract or organically formed elements.
I’m also looking for surprise. I’m always curious and
never satisfied with things I already know. I keep
searching for the new. Although ‘searching’ may
be the wrong word because I have the feeling that
I bump into things. They’re just there when I need
them. When I’m in this creative flow, things come
my way. Those things can be very banal. It can be a
color, a shape, or even a chip of wood from a chair.
Everything automatically makes sense and comes
to terms with what I’m working on at the moment.
I know it all sounds a bit abstract but it makes sense
in my head.
I guess you can compare it to a jigsaw puzzle where
every piece automatically leads to the big picture.
If you say you want to surprise yourself, does that
mean that you never know the outcome?
Not always, no. All the images in my mind translate
into the clay as some sort of collage. Sometimes I
don’t know where an image comes from, yet when
the piece is finished and I start talking about it, spend
time with it, it all matches up. It all becomes clear.
I notice I keep on fostering connections between
what I did before and how I can make it more
abstract, or make a different version of it. Every
piece is a step forward to the next one. Even little
things like collages or pictures I make, are a prelude
to the piece that comes next.
My intuition is often faster than my interpretation
or reason.
What makes you go to your studio every time?
Discipline and action. When I’m - for one reason or
another - a bit rusty, I start making things through
boredom. Things I know, things that don’t take
any effort. I start sculpting Nick (Nadia’s husband,
painter Nick Andrews), which gets me going most
of the time. It’s all about doing things. I get a lot
of inspiration from magazines, from traveling or
design, but in the end you just have to start and see
where it leads you. However, I’ve also learned that
it’s not bad to take a break every now and then.
Especially after an exhibition when it’s important to
wind down. And even when feelings of guilt start to
kick in, I always acknowledge the value of just doing
nothing for a while. Sometimes you just have to let
go.
Some African languages don’t have a word for
artist, but translate it as magician: someone who
puts magical powers into an object? What do you
put into your work?
I have the feeling that I literally put everything
into my work. And since I often cannot recall how
I’ve made something, the fear of not being able to
do it anymore lingers once in a while. Even when
everything always works out fine, I cannot say that
the process is obvious. It’s a huge contrast to when
I’m feeling confident. The greatest moment is when
you feel that everything connects, when you are
in the middle of this creative process where all the
pieces come together. Then I can even say that I’ve
made the best thing I’ve ever seen! This doesn’t mean
I’ll have that same feeling the next day, but it’s a good
start. It’s an addictive feeling though. The adrenaline
you feel when you’re on a confidence high is great. It’s
very empowering. Enough to keep me going through
the tougher times. Thankfully I’m able to put it more
and more into perspective because absolutely no
creativity comes from being in a negative loop.
008

012
‘I like people
to experience
what they think
and feel for
themselves. Art
opens people’s
minds.’

happy to have the possibility to exhibit and enjoy the
fact that people are seeing what I’ve done. It’s also
very nice that after all this time of solitude, you get
to put your work out there. It can be very rewarding.
‘As an artist
you have to be
determined. And
be disciplined.
Without lapsing
into a regular
pattern. Because
then you stop
evolving.’
Do you see the world differently as an artist?
Probably. But I have difficulty saying so because to
me it sounds very pretentious. But there is indeed
a big difference between how I view the world and
how, for example, my parents are experiencing
it. Maybe that’s what they call ‘a trained eye’?
However, being a good artist is not only about how
you see the world. It’s not even solely about talent.
You also have to be determined. And be disciplined.
Without lapsing into a regular pattern. Because then
you stop evolving. An art collector once told me that
he kept on buying my work because he loved to see
how I was evolving. And how he always stops buying
pieces from artists who’ve become predictable.
That was one of the biggest compliments I’ve ever
gotten.
How important is acknowledgement?
Very. I don’t think I could be the kind of artist that
only creates without showing it to an audience. I’m
Is it important that people like your work?
I’m quite sensitive about it but it doesn’t guide me.
Otherwise I would still be doing what I did 5 years
ago. But I do feel good when people like my work.
When I’m in my studio I’m on such a different planet
that there’s not a thought in my mind about pleasing
my viewers. However, I find showing my work in a
gallery pretty stressful. You’ve given it your very best
and all of a sudden people have an opinion about
what you’ve been doing. It’s very confrontational
stepping from your studio into a place where all of a
sudden you’ve become someone with the intention
of doing business. I think the art world has evolved
in such a way that it’s necessary to step fully into the
process of both creating and presenting. And since
I’m very bad at the business side of things, I’m very
happy that I have a gallery that takes care of this.
When did you start calling yourself an artist?
I still don’t. It feels weird. I always say I’m a sculptor.
I think that covers it. This is a conversation I often
have with my students: it’s the difference between
being an artist and artistic practice. I don’t think it’s
the same thing. For me, being part of the art world
is called artistic practice, which doesn’t necessarily
mean that you are an artist. Obviously I want to be
part of that world, yet I don’t want to be swayed by
it. It’s not what makes you an artist.
I don’t often read about or hear you explain your
work. Why not?
I always feel that it doesn’t matter. That it isn’t
necessary. I find what people say or write about my
work more appealing. Although often surprising, I
find someone else’s interpretation very interesting
to think about, as opposed to when I talk about it
myself. I don’t have the feeling that me talking about
it adds any value. Maybe it’s because explaining
your work ends the conversation. I like people to
experience what they think and feel for themselves.
Art opens people’s minds. When I started at the
academy I found that it made me wiser, more
grounded. And going to a museum often has a very
big influence on the way I think. But this is what
it does to me personally. When it comes to other
017

people I do hope that my work makes people think,
that it has a certain impact on how someone sees
the world.
Does art have to be socially relevant?
There are always issues popping up along the way but
my first reaction would be to say no. Not necessarily.
Someone can view a piece of art as ‘just’ appealing.
It’s not easy to say that nowadays, but I do believe
that. However, a good work of art mostly contains
all those qualities. Depending on the place and time
where it’s created. It’s significance can even grow,
becoming symbolic over time. For me it’s more
important to make a balanced work than to make
a point. Beyond the aesthetics, it’s important that
the image is accurate. Like a painter who finds his
balance with color, or a musician finding the right
notes. For me it’s playing with forms and shapes.
How does it feel to live with another artist?
Honestly, I cannot imagine not living with an artist.
If you’re together for more than 20 years, like we
are, you grow together towards new things. You
experience transformation together. Also, I couldn’t
do without his feedback. I don’t like to have people
in my studio when I am working, but it’s very
important that Nick drops in because he instantly
feels what I’m doing. Often it’s about the little
things, but it’s easy for us to see what can make the
other one’s work stronger. And because we know
each other’s work through and through, it becomes
very intuitive. His influence is never far. And the
other way around.
What makes you most happy?
Being with Nick and sculpting. Because that’s what
I do best. The former is about love and what we are
doing together, how we are exploring other countries
and our work. The things we are experiencing and
how we turn that into works of art. The latter makes
me extremely happy in a very intense manner, but
it can equally make me very unhappy. I was raised
very strictly, so considering my upbringing it’s not
evident that I would have become a sculptor. I had
to fight pretty hard to be able to do what I am doing
now, so it must be very important. Otherwise I
would have given up very easily. It’s both an urgency
and an emergency.
www.basealphagallery.be
021

faryda
moumouh
text jf. pierets
023

Why choose photography?
Since I was young I was already drawing, watching,
registering details from the things I saw. It was an urge
and I had the feeling I was chosen by a visual language,
which I pursued. I went to art school when I was 14 and
it made me discover a cultural world that was alien to
me. It opened the doors in my head and in my heart.
Photography was love at first sight. What scared me in
the beginning was the technicality of a camera. When
I went to school cameras were still analogue. So you
had to get going with diaphragms and shutter speeds.
However, what I found very liberating was the speed
of the medium. When I was a child I wanted to capture
every detail of an insect but I had to do it before it was
gone. Now I could just take a picture of everything that
caught my eye. It was that directness, that velocity that
got me hooked.
What inspires you?
I get inspired by society and the context in which I find
myself. I’m not necessarily talking about politics, but
we all find ourselves in a societal context in which you
are free to respond or not. And if something triggers
me, I have to act accordingly. It leads to a photographic
series anticipating religion, or headscarves, or ethnicity.
Those aren’t my themes per se, but I can’t ignore
something that’s omnipresent. I call it philosophical
image processing. My antennas are always on alert
for images, words I read or hear, that can bring me
towards a new interpretation. Inspiration is everywhere.
I write everything down in little notebooks so I can
start researching whenever something stays with me.
Sometimes I call myself a philographer. A philosopher
who meets a photographer.
You are reading and seeing a lot. How do you decide
what to take and what to leave behind?
Most of the time I think and work on one theme, quote
or story per year. That’s the starting point to frame and
identify what I think and feel. I research, read, make
sketches, and look for other sources that connect with
the initial thought. If you look at my work process
you’d think I’m a painter or a drawer because I collect
thousands of images to filter and to support the result.
I call this work in progress ‘photographic drawing’.
When I’ve gathered enough information, I unleash my
intellect, my logic reasoning and continue in a purely
visual manner. The images themselves lead me towards
the final result. Which is both analytic and visual. I always
trust my heart to lead me to where I’m supposed to go.
Can you talk me through one of your latest series?
I re-read ‘The stranger’ by Albert Camus and it got me
thinking about being the stranger versus being strange.
Which is a very vague concept. I started photographing
in Antwerp’s typical concentrated migrant areas but that
turned out to be the wrong approach. Documentary
is not my course. Then I thought about registering the
reflection of those worlds. The reflections in mirrors, in
shop windows, etc. to capture the thought that people
are always judging the first layer of what they see. So
instead of creating a linear sequence, I put the layers
on top of each other to make a dialogue between the
different pictures. In the end you have a strange image,
consisting of multiple reflections of a strange world.
They almost look like paintings. So it started with a book
by Camus and I ended up here. It’s unpredictable. I never
know where I will end up.
Do you aim to keep your work recognizable? And is
that necessary?
When I’m photographing I’m not thinking about my
specific visual language. And if it’s connected to my
other work. However, I think my intuition is a constant
guidance which, unconsciously, makes the images
correspond with one another.
How do you see your evolution?
In the beginning my way of working was a bit too
noncommittal. My way of capturing an image
happened a bit too spontaneously. Over time this
evolved into a more philosophical and conceptual
manner. Whereas now I make a combination of those
two styles. Conceptual but intuitive. I feel this course is
the most accurate and closest to who I am as an artist. I
feel very much at home with what I am doing.
Ai Weiwei, Joseph Beuys and Marina Abramovic are 3
of your heroes. What binds them together?
Activism. And the freedom they claim to express their
minds. Art doesn’t necessarily have to be activism.
Personally, I find that social engagement always adds
an extra value to the work or to the artist. I find what Ai
Weiwei does from his context very important; his search
for a full-blown democracy, the right to have an opinion
and how he communicates that to the world. Activism
depends on the context though. For me there’s a nuance
between activism and social awareness. In my work it’s
a social notion with lots of room for interpretation. If
I were an activist, I would have to express my work in
a more targeted and concrete manner. But I like my
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028
‘Art gives a more added
value to my life than
religion. I don’t need to
listen to a human invention.
I’d rather listen to myself in
everything that I do.’

work to act as a window through which I can inspire a
dialogue. It obviously has its community themes but
it’s more in a societal - than an activist context.
And what about religion?
Art has a more added value to my life than religion. I
don’t need to listen to a human invention. I’d rather
listen to myself in everything that I do.
Do you identify with your work?
Very much so. Being an artist defines my identity more
than my background or roots. I’m an individualist and
an existentialist. The notion that I am here and that
I’m allowed to be here gives me the permission to
claim my existence. That kind of freedom is almost
sacred. As a teenager I found a lot of comfort in Sartre.
It brought me the awareness that I exist, which has
been a guidance throughout my life and has been my
primary motive ever since. Not only as an artist but
also as a human being. Let everybody be.
Do you address certain topics in your work in order
to have people ask questions?
It depends on the question. For example, I constantly
get asked where I’m from and it disturbs me that
my ethnicity always takes the upper hand. I know
it’s because of how I look and because of my name,
but sometimes I just want to be. I want to talk about
my work, about what I think. However, before I can
do that, I always have to explain where I come from.
I believe we have to accept that the world and our
society is colored, but we don’t always need to talk
about it. Because it always makes you ‘the other’.
How about your place in the art scene?
There are moments when I would like to have more
public recognition for my work. But I’m very sensitive
when people contact me when they need a female
artist, a foreign artist, or both. Work by artist Charif
Benhelima for example is exposed all over the world.
Everybody talks about the strong visual language
of his pictures which transcends his Moroccan-ness.
His work goes beyond needing an excuse to have an
ethnic artist in your collection. It’s just great work.
And that’s what matters. Only with that kind of
mentality can you get an exact reflection of the world
in a museum or a gallery. And that’s what art is all
about, isn’t it?
www.faryda.com
033

22

Next to offering you this brand-new edition of Et Alors? Magazine, we also wanted to share our new artwork with you:
Out of the194 countries in the world, only 22 recognise and provide legal same-sex marriage. When saying these numbers out
loud, we found that most people are not aware of this fact, so we have created a positive artwork that celebrates the countries
that do allow it, while highlighting an issue that still needs work.
As female artist duo & lovers JF. Pierets, we will get married in every country that recognises same-sex marriage. Starting off
coming September 2017 in New York. A camera crew will follow us over the 18 month course of the performance to later create
a 50-minute making-of documentary. In 2019 the art/video installation of “22” will be exhibited for the first time. A book with all
our adventures will be released later that year.
At the current rate we will reach global recognition of same-sex marriage in the year 2142. That’s 125 years from now so let’s see
if they can get it to go a bit faster.
www.22theproject.com
www.jfpierets.com

© Gazelle Paulo

jorge
clar
037

We caught up with poet and performance artist
Jorge Clar in his home in New York, and talked about
words, sounds, and image. An ideal for living.
Initially, you came to New York because you
wanted to be close to the disco scene.
That was the main reason. While growing up in
Puerto Rico, I spent my time daydreaming and
playing records. I became enthralled with the layers
of sound in disco—the music became medicine.
Everything about the genre, from the quality of
the recordings to the way the arrangements are
structured—featuring classical strings and horns,
electronic textures, and rhythm—is alchemical.
Disco pulled me through my adolescence. A few days
after moving to New York in the fall of 1987, I went
to the closing of the Paradise Garage discotheque.
Larry Levan’s musical selections, and Richard Long’s
sound system, were so mind blowing. The clubbers
danced with such freedom and expressiveness—I
knew right there and then I was home. I had gone
to the Garage with Jesse Díaz, my first roommate
in New York, with whom I had spent many summers
in Puerto Rico, hanging out in discos and constantly
listening to music. Through him, I developed a love
for dancing and pulling looks together. In the early
90s, I would meet DJ Freddy Turner, with whom I
would write record reviews on house music 12-inch
singles for underground music magazines, in the
process meeting many of my heroes in music, like
David Morales, Kerri Chandler and “Little” Louie
Vega.
When did you start writing poetry?
I always loved books, and ever since I started reading
authors like Borges, Ginsberg, and especially
the short story A Clean, Well-Lighted Place by
Hemingway, I knew I had to write poems. I remember
reading Howl and thinking it was like my stream of
consciousness. So I sat down on an old cast iron
typewriter my father had given me and started to
write, imagining myself a tape recorder of phrases
and sounds I heard. My first poetry collection was
called In a Singapore Hotel Room. I imagined myself
as Somerset Maugham in the Raffles Hotel, which
I had visited during a summer vacation. This was
one of the first instances in which I was inhabiting a
different character in a work of art, something that
continues to this day in my performances. Through
poetry—and through making cassette mix tapes,
which to me were like building blocks of sound
and words—it became easier to make friends and
demonstrate who I was. I was a very shy only child,
and mostly related to adults, until I decided I wanted
to be friends with more of my classmates. Initially, I
imitated the style and idioms of all that surrounded
me, trying to fit in. But I soon realized the more
I delved into my eccentricities, the more I had to
share. After graduating from Syracuse University,
where I studied Newspaper Writing, I eventually
started combining between performance and
poetry readings. People enjoyed the extra aspect
of showmanship. A few years later, in New York,
I worked at Penguin Books and started to come
together with a group of friends. My friend Douglas
Rothschild invited me to read at mythical places like
the St. Mark’s Poetry Project. We would organize
salons or read at people’s houses. My friend, the
playwright Adam Rapp, would perform as a “human
prop” with me. Those were formative years. Living
with painter roommates Alberto Álvarez, and later
Michael Brown—who still shares an apartment with
me—has honed my eye for visuals and the notion of
what makes a painting work. Hanging out with my
college friend Paul Weinstein, with whom I would
spend every Friday night and Saturday morning in
his Park Slope apartment, focused my appreciation
of great graphic design, modernist radios and
electronic equipment, new wave music, and all sorts
of collectibles.
What else did you learn during those days?
When my father passed away, I spent 7 years in Puerto
Rico taking care of my mom. It was wonderful to
relate to her as an adult and also explore other sides
of my personality. I became the perfect homemaker
and sometimes, when I would see objects from
my life in New York, I would wonder where that
person had gone. Eventually, I was offered a job at
a marketing firm back in the city and mom was well
enough to stay with a caregiver. I returned to living
in New York full time. At a party, I met my friend
Dominic Vine, and he introduced me to the Radical
Faeries, a grassroots countercultural movement
seeking to redefine queer consciousness through
self-exploration. They were founded as a reaction to
gay culture towards the end of the 70s. Back then,
there was an emphasis on a ‘clone’ aesthetic, which
presumed a masculine stance and set of rules. The
faeries, on the other hand, established sanctuaries
038

© Ron Amato

040
‘I get the feeling
that people are way
more focused now on
creating, expressing
their freedom and
celebrating who they
are. It’s almost like a
statement.’

© Dietmar Busse

© Dietmar Busse

‘You’re taught to
be happy when
you have achieved
something, but I
think it’s of upmost
importance to be
happy—in other
words, to have a
generalized sense
of wellbeing—and
enjoy the process
as you go along.’
in rural areas where men could explore aspects of
their femininity. Becoming involved with them was
a milestone in my life. I explored questions about
relationships, sexuality and freedom. I discovered
there is no “one size fits all” to relationships, for
instance. They can be endlessly customized beyond
paradigms like ‘husband’ or ‘boyfriend.’ Also, it was
around this time that iPhones came into the scene,
facilitating the capability of taking photos on the
go. Dominic photographed me constantly, and we
became collaborators in photo, writing and mix CD
projects.
You’ve come a long way. How do you look back?
When I was little, I imagined myself on a dance
floor like the one in Saturday Night Fever (I actually
did visit the dance floor featured in the movie one
Halloween, when my friend Katsumi Miki and I went
to the now extant Spectrum disco in Bay Ridge,
where the movie was filmed…I danced to Madonna’s
“Vogue” on its wonderful lights and cried), moving
to the rhythm of disco music and being exactly in the
moment. I imagined myself in a sort of monumental
stasis, frozen in ecstatic bliss. It heartens me that
everything I envision actually manifests. It all
becomes true. In my dreams, I wanted to interact
with other artists, have lots of records and enjoy life
everyday—and here I am.
So you’ve found your peers?
Yes, I think we’re on the brink of a movement.
I’m humble and grateful to be a part of it all and
facilitate connections between people, supporting
each other and working together. For example, I
never considered myself someone who draws, and
now I do so in a spirit of play and discovery. At my
friend Joel Handorff’s place, Kelly Bugden, Scooter
LaForge, Van Wifvat and I often get together to
draw, and more friends like Rafael Sánchez, Gail
Thacker and Gerardo Vizmanos also join in. We like
to call these sessions “The Magic Mirror,” where
we are all reflections of each other. Johnny Rozsa
will often serve as a model. Connections happen
serendipitously. I met Bubi Canal when he came to
see a performance I did with José Joaquín Figueroa.
That meeting led to much collaboration, and I’ve
played characters in both Bubi’s and Jose’s video
art. Bubi and I meet almost daily to discuss social
media and work on projects at Little Skips, a café in
Bushwick which we call “the office.” I commissioned
a t-shirt with a painting of Allen Ginsberg from
Scooter years ago, and that dialogue led to countless
painted garments, which I often wear during my
performances—both live and in photos—and often
within the context of his shows. I wrote poems about
the atmosphere of his painting process and they
were included in the catalog for one of his shows.
Dietmar Busse invited me to his apartment to take
my portrait, and from there he has taken many
photos which are so dear to me. In Van’s house in
Ocean Grove, New Jersey, a Victorian cottage full
of good spirit (I think I lived there in a previous life),
many of us get together and make drawings and
take photos. The greatest beauty of all this is that
through creativity, we all have become dear friends
who participate in a constant conversation that
generates new realities.
What do you think of the political climate of the
United States at the moment?
There’s a lot of political anxiety nowadays. The
day after the last election almost felt the same as
the day after 9/11. There was this stillness, based
on anger and pessimism. A lot of people felt very
scared and wanted to leave the country, thinking,
for instance, that gays would be more marginalized
as a minority group. However, I get the feeling that
people are way more focused now on creating,
expressing their freedom and celebrating who they
043

044

© Dietmar Busse

© Van Wifvat

are. It’s almost like a statement. Everything has
a political implication. It makes art stronger and it
is going beyond the framework of what has been
before. It’s getting richer and more focused. And it
comes straight from the heart. Like an act of magic.
Now more than ever this whole idea of following
your intuition takes everything to a different level.
Do you know the saying that the darkest part of
the tunnel is just before the end? Well, I think that’s
where we are right now.
And your personal work?
I have my blog, which is basically a photoperformance
as well as a writing project. It’s both
an archive of all the personas in my imagination as
well as a documentation of the artistic community.
I write stories about what I’m wearing on certain
days. I explain where and with whom I was when I
found a particular shirt, for example. What we were
talking about at that moment. What caught my
eye and convinced me to buy. Or about the friend
who gave me a pair of pants —what he is doing
with his life, where he comes from and why he felt
he needed to offer me that present. The stories
go into the details of what happens every day, in
Proustian fashion. My biggest influences in writing
are Andy Warhol, 80’s nightlife chronicler Stephen
Saban, Charles Baudelaire and Bill Cunningham, the
late New York Times fashion journalist. On the blog
photos, I’m often wearing clothes made by friends,
which adds an extra layer to the narrative. I become
a mannequin—or a canvas, if you will—for their
artwork. The images connect people and events in
daily life. I’m weaving together a world that seems
recognizable, and yet has a dreamlike quality. Jorge
Clar Diary is a never-ending novella.
You make time capsules.
Yes, time documents, literally and figuratively.
Like a diary. I’ve always loved diaries because of
the way they talk about the small things. I love the
idea of giving these tiny details their moment in the
spotlight. By doing so, even the most banal thing
can become very meaningful. It’s a pure reflection of
my thinking process.
Tell me about your work on physical
transformation.
When I first came out as a gay man, I was travelling
through Israel. I felt very comfortable there, mainly
because I was in a different environment. Being
in Jerusalem, I could feel the place was very
charged. Generally, people go to this city with
much anticipation, due to whatever significance
they give to to the place, which makes for a
particular energy. The only other place that has
the same energy is New York City, as people tend
to come here with a specific purpose in mind. In
Israel, I felt like I could see things within a sense
of protection. Up until that point, I had repressed
my attraction to men, and it was in Tel Aviv that
I had an epiphany and was through with denial.
I “came out” to myself. A veil lifted, and after
that I transformed very quickly. It wasn’t as much
about sexual liberation, but more about freedom
of expression. And one of my main tools of
expression is through clothing. I’ve always been
enamored by an abstract sense of glamour and the
epiphanies I often have late at night, when I listen
to music. By accessing that magic and expressing
it through clothes, I create subtle characters that
deliver a message.
People react to this expression. I say this very
humbly and with much gratitude: sometimes I am
told I give hope. That my work inspires or cheers
up the day. I think that’s so amazing. I love walking
down the street and having someone smile at me.
When one wears even the most surrealistic outfit
with conviction, there is almost a air of reverence.
You sound very spiritual. Are you?
I feel the universe has always taken care of me.
I’ve been through hardships, but in the end they
made me strong enough to now enjoy every
moment. You’re taught to be happy when you
have achieved something, but I think it’s of
upmost importance to be happy—in other words,
to have a generalized sense of wellbeing—and
enjoy the process as you go along. If you follow
your intuition and are a kind person, things
become way easier to navigate. Art becomes very
helpful, bringing forth a meditative state. When
your work is based on play, more possibilities
come to light: you can do and be more. I strive to
think constructively, and manage my emotions
consistently. When I do what feels good, I know
I’m on the right path. I can then manifest with
utmost efficiency.
www.jorgeclar.com
047

ernard
perlin
text jf. pierets
049

Bernard Perlin (1918-2014) was an extraordinary
figure in twentieth century American art and gay
cultural history. An acclaimed artist and sexual
renegade who reveled in pushing social, political,
and artistic boundaries, his work regularly
appeared in popular magazines in the 1940s, ‘50s,
and ‘60s; was collected by Rockefellers, Whitneys,
Astors, and Andy Warhol; and was acquired by
major museums, including the Smithsonian, the
Museum of Modern Art, and the Tate. In One-Man
Show, Michael Schreiber chronicles the storied
life, illustrious friends and lovers, and astounding
adventures of Bernard Perlin through no-holdsbarred
interviews with the artist, candid excerpts
from Perlin’s unpublished memoirs, never-beforeseen
photos, and an extensive selection of Bernard
Perlin’s incredible public and private art.
One-Man Show: The Life and Art of Bernard
Perlin has been named a 2017 Stonewall Honor
Book by the American Library Association, and is
a Lambda Literary Award Finalist.
What triggered you to write this book?
I discovered Bernard and his amazing artwork
through my great interest in the illustrious gay
social and artistic circle that surrounded the
legendary photographer George Platt Lynes in
the 1930s through 1950s. Bernard was an intimate
member of this great New York gay “cabal,” as he
called it, whose members and visitors included
such artists and literary such figures as Somerset
Maugham, and Christopher Isherwood. Bernard
Perlin was the last living member of this remarkable
company, then in his early nineties, and so I wrote
him. He responded with a friendly phone call that
led to another and another and ultimately to an
invitation to his home in Connecticut. And so
began our close friendship and the unexpected
journey towards this book.
Was it important to write this book, aside from
your personal connection with Perlin?
First and foremost, I felt a great sense of
commitment to getting Bernard Perlin’s
extraordinary artwork seen again. But as I began
to learn more about his equally extraordinary
life, I knew the incredibly compelling story of this
unsung gay artist-hero had to be told somehow,
and as much as possible in his own colorful,
unfiltered way.
As an art connoisseur, what attracts you to his
work?
Bernard was a beguiling storyteller - not only
in conversation, but also in his art. Every Perlin
painting tells a unique story. I’m particularly drawn
to his work that can be classified as “magic realism,”
in which he interjected unexpected or magical
elements into his examination of “real” situations
or objects or figures. I always find his perspective
an interesting one to consider. In terms of subject
matter, I really love Bernard’s “Night Pictures,” a
series of paintings depicting the swinging “cocktail
culture” of 1950s New York City jazz clubs, street
dances, and underground gay bars. The latter were
very daring works for him to publicly show when he
did, but for Bernard they were just further efforts
to depict the full “normal” range of people seeking
connection with one another.
He was openly gay in the 1930’s. How did that
work out?
While he was very conscious of his sexuality and
embraced it from a very young age, it wasn’t really
until he went to art school in 1935 in New York that
he found a thriving underground gay culture that
welcomed him and he easily fit into. He was 16 years
old at the time. From that point on, Bernard chose
to also live his life “above ground” as a fearlessly
openly gay man – doing so during a fearfully closed
period in our recent history. It’s remarkable now to
consider some of the real risks he faced, sometimes
head on. He walked past a sign reading “no Jews
allowed” into a department store in Nazi-occupied
Danzig in 1938, bought a pair of Hitler Youth shorts,
and then boldly walked around in them, as not only
a young gay man, but a Jew. Equally remarkable
was his attitude about being arrested in a Parisian
bathhouse in 1951. In spite of being thrown into a
large cage in the middle of a medieval courtroom,
and tried in a language he didn’t understand while
onlookers jeered, then being jailed without knowing
how long he’d be held, Bernard just took it in his
stride and thought it all a “great adventure.” He was
similarly arrested in Florida and Virginia for “behavior
against public decency,” posted bail, then skipped
town and carried on undeterred with his cruising
and bathhouse escapades. But certainly the most
poignant story he shared with me was about his not
wanting to fight in World War II, so he had to go to
a psychiatrist, be declared a “mental degenerate”
050

as a homosexual, and then present himself as such
in front of the draft board. When we talked about
this, Bernard confessed that he had long carried a
sense of shame over what he perceived to be his
cowardice about not going to war, when in fact it
was an incredibly brave act to have publicly declared
himself a homosexual in 1941. And of course, he
then went on to fight the war anyway, but with his
paintbrush, producing many now iconic images
of World War II as a propaganda artist for the U.S.
government and as a war-artist correspondent for
Life magazine.
Did you ask him about the most significant
changes between being gay in the 1930’s and
now?
I did. It was very enlightening for me to learn
that he had been able to so freely express his
sexuality when he did – although it should also
be considered where he did – in 1930s New York,
which was somewhat less permissive than it had
been during the 1920s, but yet allowed gay bars
and gathering places to exist, as long as the police
were paid off. Of course outside of New York, such
open expression carried tremendous risk. As he
explained it: “one was open but with a great sense of
consciousness about it.” In the last couple of years of
his life, he was delighted by the changes that were
then accelerating for gay acceptance. The act of
marrying his partner of 60 years was a tremendously
important one for him. And they did it solely as
a political statement, to add their number to the
statistics. Although he had never been conflicted
about being gay, Bernard certainly celebrated the
fact that society was becoming less conflicted. Or so
he hoped.
You write about Perlin as a gay artist and you
launched the book at a gay publishing company.
Why is it important to accentuate this?
The actual artwork should be left to the
interpretation of the viewer, of course. We all see
the world uniquely through the lens of our own
experience and identity. For that reason, Bernard
didn’t like having his work linked to a particular
style, nor did he subscribe to any particular school of
art. He wanted viewers to interpret his work in their
own way, free of any pre-established definitions,
but yet at the end, he did want them to know it was
the work of a gay artist. That the great variety of
‘Of course
historically up to
this point there
has been limited
gay imagery
in mainstream
art because it
has not been a
socially accepted
expression. But
I’m ever hopeful
that that is
changing.’
human experience that he had depicted in his work
– that a great variety of people had emotionally and
intellectually responded to over seven decades – had
all been recorded by a fellow human being who just
happened to be gay. By a “variant” himself. It was an
identity that he felt very proud of and committed to
championing – to “normalizing” in a way, although
there truly is no such thing as “normal.” He just
hoped his viewers would allow and consider it, in the
hopes it might expand their perception not only of
his art, but also of our shared humanity.
Does this have something to do with awareness?
Showing that artists, movie stars, etc. can also be
gay?
Sure, as you bring the gay experience into the fold
of the bigger human experience, it does “normalize”
it. Just as I feel it’s important to consider whatever
particular identity an artist embraces – whether that
relates to their gender, sexual orientation, ethnicity,
etc. – in the hope it will challenge and expand
a viewer’s perspective on their art, but will also
054

‘I feel it’s important to
consider whatever particular
identity an artist embraces –
whether that relates to their
gender, sexual orientation,
ethnicity, etc. – in the hope it
will challenge and expand a
viewer’s perspective on their
art, but will also influence
how that viewer then sees
the real world and lives
happening around them.
Ultimately, we are all human
at the end of the day.’

influence how that viewer then sees the real world
and lives happening around them. Ultimately, we
are all human at the end of the day. Isn’t it wonderful
that we can see things so differently? In fact, it’s
important that we do. Considering that informs
all of us about the wonderful variety of the human
experience. And toward that end, Bernard found it
very important to raise his hand and be amongst the
counted as gay artists.
Why do you think there is so little gay imagery in
art history?
That’s an interesting topic that Bernard and I
actually spoke a lot about. A picture of two men or
two women kissing isn’t actually a classical theme
in art – “yet,” as Bernard would point out. Of course
historically up to this point there has been limited
gay imagery in mainstream art because it has not
been a socially accepted expression. But I’m ever
hopeful that that is changing. Bernard was in the
vanguard of artists who were boldly depicting
gay themes in their work several generations ago,
and happily that mantle has been taken up in recent
decades by more and more younger artists. It’s just
a matter now of getting more of their work on the
walls of mainstream museums to make that “yet” a
reality.
Page 48 The Shore, 1953
Page 52 The Forest, 1956
Page 55 B-29 Mechanics, 1945
Page 56 The Gang, 1957
Page 59 Spanish Steps, 1954
Page 60 Hospital Corridor, 1961
Page 62 Self Portrait, 1937
Is that also something you aim for with your book?
Absolutely. It’s empowering to have known this
man who was at the vanguard of promoting that
acceptance just by living his life openly and fully
and refusing to compromise. I was so blessed to
have learned from a fellow human being who had
the ability and the courage to embrace and to
dominate his life – a man who was fully occupied
with living, loving, and leaving nothing unexplored
that interested him. He found both in his life and
his art what is at the heart of the fulfilled human
experience: and that is, to live one’s life fully in one’s
own way – authentically, and without apology. And
so that is what is at the heart of this book, and why I
felt Bernard’s story was an important one to share –
not to provide an exact blueprint of how one should
live one’s life, but to open a door to possibilities, and
permission.
www.bernardperlin.com
www.discover.brunogmuender.com/one-manshow-bernard-perlin
063

clark
kent
artwork jf. pierets

066

One of our favourite movie monologues is from
David Carradine in Quinten Tarantino’s Kill Bill. Bill
talks about Superman. How Superman wakes up in
the morning as Superman and dresses into his alterego
Clark Kent in order to blend in with us humans.
His glasses and the business suit are a costume,
whereas his cape with the big red “S” is his normal
attire.
Emerging from our daily reflection and the things
we see around us, “Clark Kent” is an investigation
into the disconnect between the gay identity
and society’s parameters. A society filled with
collective family aspirations and hetero normative
imagery. Where gay advertisement is still rare and
often considered offensive. We wondered how
personalities form if you don’t have any role-models.
And if you can construct a true identity when there is
no familiarity in sight. Do you put on your Clark Kent
costume, in order to fit in? Or not?
Being gay, there is a lack of connection between who
you are and what you see in the world around you.
“Clark Kent” is a series that addresses this conscious
and unconscious effect, and the inevitable need to
reconstruct who you are.
www.jfpierets.com
067

068

069

‘Being gay, there is
a lack of connection
between who you
are and what you see
in the world around
you. “Clark Kent” is a
series that addresses
this conscious and
unconscious effect,
and the inevitable
need to reconstruct
who you are.’

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