This semester was the first time I felt the need to create, not as a choice, but as a responsibility. I had the drag bans, the anti-trans legislation, and the “don’t say gay bill” on my mind and couldn’t move on without working with it. Imagine my surprise when I received an email about an open call for a campus pridefest that celebrates the LGBT community.
It was an opportunity to be noticed by anyone who felt the same as I had. I showcased two of my artworks. The first was my newest project, “Drag Can’t Die on Our Daughters.” It was a painting and montage project about the importance of drag throughout my childhood. I thought back on how eccentric performance and individuality had always been with me throughout my life. I paired the new project with an older still-life project I had made in my senior year. The still life was full of queer symbolism, with a sign inspired by one from Stonewall spelling out, “let my people love.” My table was set out in the blaring sun, yet I couldn’t have been happier.
I had so many great conversations, mostly with adults who simply thanked me. We found ourselves tearing up or at a loss for words, but through it all, there was an understanding. I spoke to people from St. Pete Pride and Equality Florida. Drag queens performed and were cheered on by young queer people. It was the most unapologetic pride I had seen since I came here.
I finally understand how artists feel when they put out an album full of such vulnerable songs. I was allowing strangers to see photos of my sister and me as six and nine-year-olds on our first day of school. I made it so personal with the hope people could connect through the lens of youth and how well that young, naive psyche could protect us from harsh reality. I felt incredibly emotionally exhausted at the end of the four hours.
Closing out my first time showing my artwork, I have one more anecdote. A man from St. Pete Pride stopped by my table and told me, “every small thing matters,” and I think that will stick with me for a long time.