Queer Reimaginings

Judy Darragh

Mixed media assemblage

"For many, the path to becoming a parent isn’t always easy, and as a queer woman this journey was more challenging and confronting than expected, highlighting how far our society has come but how much further we have still to go.

The ability to create a family is often something that is taken for granted in Aotearoa but for many LGBTQIA+ people the struggle is still very much real.

On the surface everyone has the right to have a family but the reality is that the options are limited for the queer community with financial, legal and social restrictions often in place.

Many folks, by choice or necessity, go through fertility services which are time-consuming, costly and can be overwhelming. The multiple steps that need to be taken vary but can include accessing donors, the IUI or IVF process, and surrogacy - which are all governed by an ethics committee and the HART Act of 2004 and for the latter The Status of Children Amendment Act, 2004 as well as the outdated Adoption Act of 1955.

Along the way many individuals and couples are also defying stereotypes of what a ‘traditional' parent or family is, and often are having to educate those around them, which is on-going into parenthood.

In most cases this path to becoming a parent is often met with hope, fear and many tears (in my case anyway).

For me this artwork highlights the joy and the struggle of becoming a parent, the beautiful and surreal journey that my partner and I went on to welcome our truly loved child into the world, and the ongoing gratitude of being able to live in a time where we can have a family."

Andrea du Chatenier

Ceramic

"This Weeper reminds me of the beauty of discomfort. How do I identify? And who is my gender for? How much labelling and announcing of oneself is necessary when I will change my mind tomorrow?

I love the androgony of the Weeper here. They are glamourous misery. We don't know who they are, or why they weep. But it's beautiful and it's private. 

(It's also giving me big Chappel Roan vibes.)"

Maker Unknown

Flax thread (?), silk ribbon

"My mother taught me crochet (several times) until I became proficient as an adult. At first, a vested interest in craft and general ennui lead me to crochet - but then it became an act of resistance and self-expression.

A lot of art and demode crafts have been adopted by minorities as a form of expression outside of the normative zeitgeist, and I noticed a lot of queer people online who crochet.

I have crocheted jockstraps, purses and sculptural forms, and shared my patterns with other queer crocheters to enjoy and help build community.

Connecting with the feminine side of my family (and self) was always regarded with a sense of unease from outside my immediate family, and lead to years of picking apart ideas of masculinity, social performance and self-worth. At times a sense of belonging in myself has been very low, and performative aspects of gender is an enormous burden on queer people generally.

This mantle decoration seems very old and odd and outdated, but was expertly and passionately made by someone, more than likely in their home.

Patterns for small homewares such as this were common from the late Victorian period all the way till the 1970’s, and this piece is a clear signifier of the makers place in a rigid society.

Crochet hasn’t changed since the first printed pattern appeared in 1824, and it feels like a credible way to honour the people who didn’t have a lot of choice in their circumstance and spread joy and fraternity in the queer community."

• Major Samuel Henry Mokopōpaki of Pāua Rockyshores [blue]
• Jay William Te Ururangi-Pūriri of Ryvington Ln [green]
• Ruby-Molly Ngatai of the Bowery [red]

Te Maari

Felt, wool/silk/mohair/synthetic fibres, custom acrylic stage

"These felt dolls by Te Maari ignite sensory pleasures. Tactile, indigenous, soft-rough, femme, mysterious and a teensy bit alien, these ladies are relatable!

They delight and make me feel seen: the me that loves waahine, the me that loves dressups and the autumnal colours and wild heady textures of Papatūānuku. These babes wear skirts or dresses with their korowai but have manly names. They are slippery despite their fluffy exteriors.

I love their clean-shaven heads and androgynous faces. Their wide, haughty taniwha eyes. Their biomorphic taamoko. Their refusal to settle neatly under one label. They’re Maaori, but Maaori and; waahine, but waahine and; manu but manu and. I love this for them, and for me. 

I came out as bi on national television (Ice TV!) in ’93 or ’94. I played the lesbian love interest in a short film about a migrant teen’s secret life, as a gay teen myself. Everything was relatively out, relatively easy, for a time... Except I couldn’t stand still, couldn’t remain one thing, needed to keep moving, never get pinned down. My plurality got me in hot water. Going straight got me in hotter water - strange to say - and like the dolls I’ve gone a little mute and watchful with age. Ah the hard lessons.

But Te Maari's sassy dolls remind me of feeling so hot in my hair cropped short, my perennial docs and my men’s walk shorts – unless it was a swirly skirt day! They’re even London-born Maaori waa, like me. They see my shapeshifty takatāpui māmā self, and nudge me to stay fluid, keep soaring.

And every time I read the name Ruby-Molly Ngatai of The Bowery, I think of Leigh Bowery and want to clap and clap."

Published by Ward, Lock & Co

Paper

"Growing up in a religious household meant I held pretty negative views about homosexuality.

I remember being in youth group on a Friday evening and being told to boycott Pump water bottles because they were a sponsor of the Hero Parade. Gay people were to be avoided, pitied. Even after leaving the church, it took me decades to untangle the internalised homophobia and rigid view of sexuality that I’d grown up with.

Some aspects of Christianity and Bible teachings have helped to shape positive characteristics in me, like my belief in the importance of charity and the power of collectivism. 

But I was also made to feel shame, confusion, and denial about parts of myself that I came to realise are inherent – and a source of joy. "