Will Munro: History, Glamour, magic
by Art Gallery of York University
My rating: ★★★★★
As someone who arrived in Toronto in 2013, I feel really sad to have missed Will’s presence in the city. The first time I heard about him was during the “Art in the Spotlight: The posters of Will Munro” virtual conference hosted by the AGO, and I was immediately captivated. Reading the book and seeing the importance of rock/alternative culture, history, art/diy, and sewing to him, made me feel really connected.
A lot of my queerness was developed in the alternative rock scene in Brazil: I was part of a rock band with my high school friends and, thanks to glam rock – where, at least in Brazil, straight guys would wear really skinny leopard print pants and more makeup than I would ever at the time –, I felt welcomed. Plus, in a very religious country, an alternative scene with mostly non-religious people, would naturally include more people being open-minded towards the LGBTQ2S+ community*.
* In hindsight, I do have to acknowledge that those spaces, at large, were still quite misogynistic and not as open to BIPOC individuals; but within the big space, you could find your pockets of people who were more accepting and open-minded in general.
Then came history. Growing up gay in a large family where you don’t have anybody else part of your community felt very lonely. THE only queer person I remember meeting before coming out was a geography teacher who was a bit too bitter and flamboyant for me to feel connected to at the time*.
So it was no surprise that I took an interest to understand the history of my community. In college, every single project I could find a connection to the community I would try my best to do so, and my final project included research of queer representation by media in Brazil (and it was also when I got to know Barthes. You have a soft spot in my hear, Roland.)
* In hindsight, I’m a lot more flamboyant and potentially even as bitter as him (or more) nowadays but my internalized homophobia at the time spoke louder than my empathy for him.
Art, for me, is a “new” interest. Even though I was always adjacently connected to it – I’ve been part of poetry festivals in school since an early age; played many instruments; had an interest in drawing throughout childhood; developed a strong interest in photography during college, etc. –, because it was never the main focus on my conscious mind, I’ve never felt part of it until recently.
Same thing when it comes to diy projects. I’ve always loved learning things but I didn’t know how to group having an interest in things that range (and I’ve tried – to a certain degree – all of the following): balloon animals, origami, woodworking, painting, making things out of bamboo, 3d printing, cross stitching, book binding, cooking deserts, air dry clay sculptures, dance, etc. I now understand that all of these come from the desire of creating things and self expression. Of equally having new experiences while also being able to imbue my history and soul into a performance or tangible object.
And finally comes sewing. One of my grandmothers was a seamstress. I’ve always admired her going into her little sewing room and creating these beautiful garments. She couldn’t afford her own place – partially because sewing is considered such a “cheap labour” in Brazil, because of her upbringing/family background, and because of her being visibly native-Brazilian –, so she lived with one of my uncles in a two-bedroom apartment, and her sewing room was the “maid’s room”: a very small and usually dark place that were present in some kitchens in Brazil. Nowadays they’re usually used for laundry/powder room/utility spaces. Even though I would sit at her room for a hours in a day at times, I never learned anything from her because sewing as seen as a “woman’s job” and I would’ve definitely been punished by my father had I tried to learn it. (Hmmm… maybe my interest in sewing stems from that childhood repression? I need to investigate that. Wouldn’t it be cool if every stitch that I make came charged with a middle finger to my own father, the patriarchic system, and homophobia?)
Unlike other “Closing Chapters” before, I realize now that this one became more about me than the book, which is good, because now that I think about it, you shouldn’t be reading these notes if you’re looking for a book review. Go to Amazon for that and then buy the books from independent (and even better, local to you) bookstores. These notes are here to document what I’m reading and, if possible, explore my connections and feelings to the books so I can later refer to them when Alzheimer eventually starts.
