You lived, and I will remember that
In memory of Queer lives lost to hate-crimes and suicide.
April Widdup’s interactive sculpture acknowledges the queer experience of navigating places and spaces which have been designed to isolate such bodies. Spatial coding operates to regulate and direct interactions and behaviour, often causing bodies that exist outside the ‘norm’ to feel vulnerability, discomfort, and the social pressure to conform. Through form and display, Widdup calls attention to this, while bringing into scrutiny the methods through which minority bodies have historically been grieved and remembered as victims. Without remembering the lives, and lived experiences of those we have lost, we have no history, and no way to challenge the political and social issues facing queer bodies today. You lived, and I will remember that acts to spark new traditions of remembering, mourning, and most importantly healing.
April Widdup, You lived, and I will remember that (I), 2022, Recycled wood, mirror, LED lights, mdf, vinyl, 126 x 78 x 156 cm
To navigate life and space safely, minority bodies often need to conform, assimilate, or disappear. One of the first notable things about these pieces are how through form, and display they blend with their environment, built and coded to seamlessly conform to their surroundings. Upon approach the blackened holes beckon the inquisitive viewer.
In order to engage with the work the viewer is asked to lend themselves to the experience of queer bodies. By physically engaging with the space, and feeling potential discomfort and vulnerability, viewers are confronted with how space is experienced by other bodies. The interior features the names of 651 queer people who have recently died from hate-crimes or suicide. There are two viewing holes opposite ends of the box, allowing two people to engage at the same time. When you peer into the box, the transformation of space is striking. A glowing tapestry of lives and names greet the viewer, the surface of the mirror in this environment becomes almost void like, the glowing names reflect back and forth via the mirror creating an infinity effect, demonstrating the immensity and ongoing nature of the violence directed at queer bodies.
The square viewing point contrasts the circular forms which hold the glowing names, the viewer is at once transformed from passive spectator to active participant, seeing themselves in and along side the stories of others, while remaining distinctly separate. The spatial illusion, and the material qualities of light and glass evoke a sense of awe and the profound, the physical discomfort needed to engage creates an acute awareness of the living body, its experiences and needs.
To access the content of the second object the viewer must again physically experience space which has not been designed for them or their comfort. Laying down the viewer is left half exposed to the greater public, while partially engulfed by a form reminiscent of a guillotine or coffin. Such exposure highlights the vulnerability felt by minority bodies. As the viewer lays down and their body sinks into the form they rest upon the discomfort of the hard surface becomes irrefutable. Now within the object, the viewer is again made aware of the fact that the spaces we occupy are never empty, but instead a filled with everything from sound waves to codes which operates to regulate and direct interactions and behaviour, often causing bodies that exist outside the ‘norm’ to feel vulnerable and isolated.
The haunting humming and rhythmic pulsing within references the heart, the blood that pumps through us, and ultimately life. The world outside slowly disappears as the visuals overhead consume the attention of the viewer. The multitude of glass spheres which float overhead, act as a lens which both magnifies and distorts the visuals. Transforming and translating the one to the many, the individual to a collective, each unique through form and placement. The viewer is shown a story, through a series of emotive vignettes that are based in seeing, feeling, and becoming.
We cannot comprehend loss at this magnitude if we don’t acknowledge what exactly has been lost. During my research period for this project, I came to realise that many of these people wanted to continue living. Despite all the hate and violence targeted toward them, they had loved ones, experiences, and communities that made life worthwhile, that allowed hope.
We must challenge the violence targeted towards queer bodies, but we cannot do this through dwelling on the circumstances of queer deaths, we must do it through recognizing the queer body, experience, and life as important, as valuable and as something worth remembering and protecting.
April Widdup, You lived, and I will remember that (II), 2022, Recycled wood, hot sculpted glass, mdf, monitor, sheet glass, 195 x 96 x 158 cm. Video by Catherine Feint.