Somebody2Talk2: A Conversation with SlimeHospitalLesbian
Commonly found napping in parking lots on warm days
I only contour on holidays
Iwoulddie4 u
1like=1prayer
I♡MOMS
I'm Afraid of Americans.
Above is the bio on SlimeHospitalLesbian’s Instagram profile, followed by a link to Prince’s “My Computer” from his 1996 album, Emancipation. If you don’t love her already, there’s not much else I can do for you. Former MOMS drummer, ex-Vegas showgirl, recent university graduate, defacto teacher—but above all—visual artist and musical muse, Slime is violently poignant in her depiction of body-as-vessel and her documentation of it navigating different spaces using various mediums. I recently spoke with her about the continuous underlying anxieties of creating work, examining the notion of identity in relation to respect, and the sadistic pleasure of seeing corporal evidence of work.
She largely presents her photographic work (with occasional glimpses of her other non-photographic pieces) on the popular social media platform, Instagram. Her first few posts are ‘normal’ enough; an irreverent black and white selfie, some clouds that resemble an excessive amount of coke lines, a charming picture of Iggy Pop in his youth, a smoggy Los Angeles city skyline. Then one abruptly stumbles upon an image of a rather priapic thumb enthusiastically emerging from the open zipper of some blue jeans, and things get bizarre. Oh so beautifully bizarre. A majority of her early work is wet, erratic, and aesthetically challenging. Her self-portraits are fleshy, provocative, and slightly erotic, but almost defiantly not sexy. Her depictions of the body and its surroundings aren’t driven by the need to please anyone. If anything, it’s driven by the exact opposite. Almost all of her work on Instagram is blurry, grainy, and clearly shot through the lens of a shitty phone or digital brick from a parallel universe. In an online world saturated with crisp (well, as crisp as the platform will allow), obsessively photo edited, impeccably lit, and perfectly posed images—her photos are fucking refreshing.
(Fig.1)
On September 28, 2014 she posted a picture (Fig.1) of what would likely be one of the Kardashian’s staple breakfasts...if they were on crack or homeless but still keeping up with the times. Served on a respectable tablecloth that could easily pass as your great aunt’s vintage wallpaper sits a plastic cup of savagely devoured oatmeal. Laying next to it is a piece of untoasted wheat bread, indecently lacking a plate of any kind, and smeared with slices of avocado. The weapon, a sullied plastic knife, lays atop its victim. Her work constantly questions, “why are we the way we are, why do we do what we do.” Why do people feel the need to post immaculate images of their #healthybreakfast; a hashtag that has garnered (as of April 3rd, 2020 at 9:17 P.M.) six million six hundred seventy-five thousand forty-one posts? Who are they for and, Jesus, who the hell is eating ribs for breakfast?
(Fig. 2)
One of my very favorite works (Fig.2) by her was posted on July 20, 2015 with the frank and minimalistic caption, “OK”. Consistently evoking artists such as Alyssa Monk and Jenny Saville, this stunning, bordering on abstract, picture could easily pass as a sedulous oil painting. Her mouth is pressed against a steamy glass pane in a way that makes her lips strongly resemble a deliciously ripe apricot cut in half. It’s edible connotations are so delectable, it borders on perverse. When asked about how hedonism fits into her art, she recognizes that there is a “basic human satisfaction [in] looking at something pleasing, maybe sometimes confusi[ng] to hopefully spark thought.” As for her own guilty pleasures, she admits to indulging “in sushi, alcohol, and cussing” and “nudity, art, and social media the most.”
Majority of her non-photographic work include depictions of headless, armless, legless torsos of men and women, but mostly women. “Breasts... are so beautiful and tactile and really seem as though they were designed to entice touch,” she said. “My work is impersonal, it usually relates to the body and maybe even my body. It is not definitive of any one person or experience, maybe [it’s] just the idea of being a feminine body in space and time.”
“I am always feeling separate from my body in that I’m constantly doubting the validity of my own existence. I’ve always assumed that is an issue for everyone, but maybe not. I struggle most with a disparity between my creative expressive nature and my practical nature. I am always at odds with “how will I make money and pay rent AND make art?”
“‘Being a girl’ has always created this expectation in my mind that I have to do better. I can’t just be good, I have to be tough and excellent.”
“...I think this has hindered my ability to make simple and conceptual pieces because I have always feared peoples’ interpretation of a heavily conceptual piece from a female. I have always felt it would be chalked up to crazy or lazy or stupid, and like I wouldn’t be given the opportunity to explain my work. [It’s] almost as if, because of the biases of sexism, my piece has to speak for itself and I wouldn't be afforded a second chance to explain it.”
And maybe that’s why her works are so defiant; so clearly a “Fuck you” delivered with a just-benevolent-enough laugh.
“My favorite works are cheeky. If they aren’t a bit biting, I don’t feel strongly about them. I don’t love very much of my work and I try to give it away so I don’t have to look at it. The one piece I love that isn’t really cheeky or playful is Moonshine Jar with Michael Jackson’s Face (Fig.3 and Fig.4). It bothers so many people but it brings me a great deal of comfort. I think after working on something for three months, your relationship with an object and concept can become very intimate. When I presented it to my class, I came very close to crying because I felt extremely vulnerable and misunderstood and suddenly felt overwhelmed with the soul-crushing fact that no matter what I presented, I would not verbally be able to explain everything that went into my journey with the object.”
(Fig. 5)
And this lurking fear is evident in her work. From her references to the iconoclastic cult classic Gummo (Fig. 5), to the Virgin wearing a crop-top with white panties, to perching herself on the lip of the literal black hole of shit and piss who’s final destination will continue to evade definitive answer, she presents humanity’s uncertainties and perceived blasphemies on a silver platter with a fortune cookie that reads, Existence and the unknown and the known and visibility and invisibility are all equally terrifying. How are you not crying? Soylent is people, you hear me? Do you understand? Thank you, come again soon.
(Fig. 6)
One can clearly see the influence of and direct reference to artists such as Nan Goldin, Ana Mendieta, and Cindy Sherman in her constant, almost obsessive depiction of intimate and mundane scenes. She challenges her viewers by composing everyday objects in commonplace settings, but in a way that is eerily disconcerting. Take, for example, Fig. 6. We are presented with a relatively ordinary pair of white crew socks with a teal toe and heel. Your mom would have probably bought them for you from Costco without ever being reminded of the vice drenched life you likely lead. But the socks are wet. Soaking. But her legs and the socks attached to those legs are curled up on a shower floor, so it makes sense. And then you realize it doesn’t. In fact, it’s almost disturbing. It could pass as a bloodless murder scene, or worse. The image screams with narrative and emotion. And this is exactly what her work grants her: “A place I can be quiet and loud at the same time. I get to speak loudly without using any words.”
Art has also brought her to some grounding and surprising realizations: “That I am capable of discipline and that I love the physicality of art creation. That I am scared of people, and art is a way of isolating myself while simultaneously (indirectly) connecting to others.”
“I think my deep connection to my aforementioned Michael Jar was extremely surprising, I didn’t expect to feel so proud and emotional once the piece was complete.”
“I think I have also relied heavily on my instructors' prompts in the past. My favorite works have been made under instruction. I am struggling post-graduation with finding my own inspirations... A difficult day is a day I tell myself I am going to make something and then lay in bed and realize I never did it. I hate that feeling of disappointing myself.”
(Fig. 7)
