Now, I think of it as a gallery.
Here hangs First Pride . It’s a riot of color—sequins and leather and a thousand rainbows. The crowd is a blur of motion. In the center, a boy with glitter on his nose is laughing so hard he’s crying. That’s me. For the first time, I am not the “gay friend” or the “disappointment” or the “sinner.” I am just a boy, laughing in the sun, surrounded by thousands of people who also used to be alone in a crowded room. gallery gay blog
Walking into my own gallery for the first time was terrifying. Because for thirty years, someone else had been curating the show. My parents hung the family portraits. My teachers installed the dioramas of “normal” futures. The church mounted a giant, gilded painting of a man burning in a lake of fire, labeled Consequences . Now, I think of it as a gallery
Now, I think of it as a gallery.
Here hangs First Pride . It’s a riot of color—sequins and leather and a thousand rainbows. The crowd is a blur of motion. In the center, a boy with glitter on his nose is laughing so hard he’s crying. That’s me. For the first time, I am not the “gay friend” or the “disappointment” or the “sinner.” I am just a boy, laughing in the sun, surrounded by thousands of people who also used to be alone in a crowded room.
Walking into my own gallery for the first time was terrifying. Because for thirty years, someone else had been curating the show. My parents hung the family portraits. My teachers installed the dioramas of “normal” futures. The church mounted a giant, gilded painting of a man burning in a lake of fire, labeled Consequences .