artandotherwise - Tumblr blog

[artandotherwise]

PLEASE READ AND REBLOG

*(do not tag as d.o.nations or m.utual a.id please!)

I’m Hamish Wilson. I am white mentally ill and neurodivergent trans man who is located in southern Ohio of the USA. I have survived multiple forms of abuse but am thankfully in a happy long term relationship with my girlfriend, Liz, who lives in Germany. I want to be able to save up to move out of country to live with her and also save up for our wedding and future, but currently survival is taking priority. When I say survival I am primarily referring to rent, psychiatric medicine, and groceries / food. I have a job, I am a waiter at a sports restaurant, but they are hostile to me as an out trans worker and the money has not been nearly as reliable this year as it was the past two. I am working to pick up more and better shifts and to find a new job, but as of today (December 2, 2023) I am $1350 in rent debt and I am not hopeful for the following months. Reaching my goal of $2500 by January 1st would really change my life around and make me feel like I can finally function in enough security to pursue a happier and healthier life.

Anything would mean a lot to me right now, from donations (even small), reblogs, written encouragement, information on local resources, or commissions for my tarot services. You taking the time to read this means a lot. Thank you.

ven.mo @hamish97

Cas.ha.pp $hellohamish

(I also have tips open on tumblr and am willing to make whatever account accommodates you for money exchange)

[artandotherwise]

“Landscape with a View of the Lake and Chimeras”

Max Ernst (1891 - 1976)

[oil on canvas] 1940

[artandotherwise]

"Nostalgia for Beyond - A Spiraloid"

Friendensreich Hundertwasser (1928 - 2000)

[mixed media: oil, egg tempera, soot tar, Casearti on linen; mounted on canvas] 1958

[artandotherwise]

"Lovers in a Dangerous Time" by Bruce Cockburn, 1984

[artandotherwise]

"Feeding the Worms"

by Danusha Lameris

Ever since I found out that earth worms have taste buds all over the delicate pink strings of their bodies, I pause dropping apple peels into the compost bin, imagine the dark, writhing ecstasy, the sweetness of apples permeating their pores. I offer beets and parsley, avocado, and melon, the feathery tops of carrots.

I’d always thought theirs a menial life, eyeless and hidden, almost vulgar—though now, it seems, they bear a pleasure so sublime, so decadent, I want to contribute however I can, forgetting, a moment, my place on the menu.

[artandotherwise]

"Against Queering the Map"

by Aeon Ginsberg

"Queering the Map is a community-generated project that geo-locates queer moments, memories and histories in relation to physical space"

It feels like we're making it to easy for them this way.

Watch a supremacist use joy like a blade; use a blade

like a blade. Queering the map. They won't let us

donate our blood but they'll let us spill it into the

concrete. There's a bathroom in Taos with boot-print

meant for my face. There's a customs bench on every

border making ghosts of our bodies. How am I at

fault for not wanting to make the one bar a gay bar?

I'm content to be queer and exist; to me the imper-

manence of my presence is enough. The straight girl

thinks it isn't gay when we kiss and I disappear into

my own mouth. Ping the air quality during a smog -

this is what fills my organs as I eraser myself.

The map is not clean. Operation Soap was put on by the Toronto police in the 80s: they raided gay bathhouses and arrested roughly 300 individuals. I don't fault the gays wanting to cruise and get cleansed, I fault the map. The way things are going, the queers are going to be the last haven against the police state, unless the queers give away the map to the police state. The wat things are going, we will have no place to hide if the map is accessible. They won't let trans folk enlist but they're okay forcing us into prisons for trying to exist. Maybe we could make it gay for the month. Being alive that is. Or the map that holds us. Let's install closets in every corner. Maybe while we are here, it will be what we need it to be - and after, well, it could stay that way.

The government ghosts my name away from me, not even

a tombstone will know how to speak it. The way it sits sounds

like nothing an smog. It feels like we're making it easy to

dissapear our community with the internet. Upload our ter-

ritories to the cloud, let it rain-hate upon us. There's nothing

I can do about gay clubs closing but let them and meet

again in secret. What's the hanky code for "I want to destroy

the government before I hear it say my name?" I want to be

a New American Pestilence. Bio-organized death dirge. The

four horses of New-Apocalypse are the Queers, the Trans,

the Furry, and the Elders who lived long enough to see how

to un-die again and again. It feels like the map is an excuse

to have hope, in a world where we can't even afford food. It

feels like we're in the maze and no one has seen cheese for

decades. The queered map I want to see has a minotaur at the

center. The queered map leads you into the arms of a gorgon.

A man escapes the eruption of Vesuvius in Pompei but is crushed to death by a rock anyways. That's queer history for me, always ready to throw rocks, even when we're dying; even when the world ignites our skin, says "this is how you keep warm."

[artandotherwise]

"Black Girl's Window"

Betye Saar (1926)

[wooden window frame with paint, cut-and-pasted printed and painted papers, daguerreotype, lenticular print, and plastic figurine] 1969

[artandotherwise]

"Semi-Nude Self-Portrait"

Richard Gerstl (1883 - 1908)

[oil on canvas] 1902/3

[artandotherwise]

"Tezeta" by Mulatu Astatke, 1969

[artandotherwise]

"Self-Portrait"

Egon Schiele (1890 - 1918)

[pencil, gouache on paper] 1915

[artandotherwise]

"Hommage à Apollinaire, or Adam et Ève (study)"

Marc Chagall (1887 - 1985)

[gouache, watercolor, ink wash, pen and ink and collage on paper] 1911-12

[artandotherwise]

"King Krule & Mexican Street Sounds & Medicine Tea"

by Aaron El Sabrout

Leaves barely shivering in the thickening stillness,

just to show that they're alive & they drink too.

The tree with the knobby spiked flower dick

doesn't question its embodiment-- it just bodies.

It is just a body. What if my body was just a body?

A motorcycle revving in the alleyway/

a masculinity built on gasoline.

Who does gender serve?

Not me, on the toilet at 4 AM

in the blue moonlight. Not a body

wracked with sweat shivers, not

the chub rub that welts slickly

between sticky thighs.

A hudhud cries midday, that danker morning,

calls me back to dusty Maadi lunch-as-breakfast

bisilla & bouftek & cucumber spears. "I was born

in seconds, do you feel me?" Somehow I cobble

this identity together in objects: this mug from

the grand canyon, this bathrobe from Winners.

But they fall apart, rotate in & out.

I too rotate in & out of bodies, out of selves,

first Pokémon t-shirt, sombrero & banana,

now notebook & paint jeans & glasses,

and then?

On the beach the wannabe Maya head

and the somewhere-maybe pyramid

are still sand, sloughing into the sea.

[artandotherwise]

"Sonnet For The Intro To Critical Theory Professor Who Made Her Negative Feelings About Trans People Perfectly Clear At Multiple Points During Every Lecture After I Came Out To Her In That Fucking Gut-Churning 'Please Call Me By My Chosen Name And Not The One On The Roster' Email I'd Have To Send Out To All My Instructors Every Term"

by Joshua Jennifer Espinoza

She finds tenuous ways of working it

in: So yeah, because of post modernism

men can now decide to call themselves women-

She shrugs and she frowns. I don't give a shit,

or try not to at least. I'm here to get

an education. In the email I'd asked gen-

tly if I could be referred to as Jen-

nifer. One word reply: Fine. I don't get

why someone would be driven to such great

lengths to embarrass a student. Me, with

my baby-trans lipstick and belief that

all people deep down contain love and truth.

Trans is the same as chopping off an arm.

she says. But I'm all arms, lost in the swarm.

[artandotherwise]

“Untitled”

A. R. Penck (1939 - 2017)

[oil on canvas] 1980s

[artandotherwise]

“Untitled”

Franz Hitzler (1946)

[gouache, ink, and oilstick on paper] 1987

[artandotherwise]

"Dinosaurs Smelled Magnolias"

by Dalton Day

I am climbing a magnolia tree

& you are telling me

that magnolia trees existed

before bees did

which means that

dinosaurs smelled magnolias

& that maybe that

was the last scent

a dinosaur smelled

before it all went bad

& dark & bad &

when I am safely in the tree

you put your hands together

in the shape of a bowl

or a magnolia & that is

where I would like to sleep

& so I do & so I do.

[artandotherwise]

“Untitled (Head)”

Hedwig Eberle (1977)

[oil on canvas] 2012