An Inventory of Future Loss
on Dean Sameshima’s Wonderland
at Soft Opening, London, UK
* * *
The gays led me to Wonderland.
On a JW Anderson ad in SoHo, a yellow jumper, worn by some man I've seen before; black, red, bold “Anonymous Faggots.” I assumed it was another artist collaboration. Jonathan Anderson has propelled the work of queer artists, dead or alive, for his namesake brand or Loewe or now Dior. Anderson introduced me to queer icons I didn't know: a black leather tote imprinted with a tighty-whitey that introduced me to Joe Brainard; an embroidered t-shirt with illustrations of Pol Anglada; and, most recently, a yellow knit sweater to Dean Sameshima.
At the 60th Venice Biennale, Sameshima's work was displayed quietly in a corner. The lighting was intense, bright, and loudly drawing attention to a white-on-blue serif text that read “Anonymous Faggots,” the same phrase I had previously seen in London. Here, it was not used as a promotional poster or a clothing print, but existed as an artwork.
Beginning to speculate, or project my own narrative: I imagined the painting as a personal memento, like a t-shirt transformed into a canvas: an artifact from a significant, unforgettable love affair. The painting prompts me to imagine a scenario in which I leave an expensive T-shirt at a lover’s place, forget about it, and then unexpectedly encounter it later at a major exhibition like the Biennale.
In his solo show, Wonderland at Soft Opening in London, Sameshima presents exteriors of queer sex clubs and bathhouses in Silverlake, LA, taken between 1995 and 1997. He questions the link between fear and sadness: "I photographed them while they were still open for business." His fear, as if foreshadowing a future sadness, lingers in these images.
Years prior to the series, many well-known queer artists had already died from AIDS-related illnesses; by 31st October 1995, reported cases of AIDS tallied to 500,000 in the US. Eventually, fear became reality: sex clubs closed, parks were monitored, tea rooms blocked. Safe spaces becoming their violent potentials.
Was he pre-mourning a future loss?
Objectively, the images convey the confidence of their photographer: well-composed, properly exposed, and somehow distant. The photographer took their time. There is no anxiety of being told off. Precision prevails in its sharpened stillness: a tripod set up, a prolonged shutter speed, and a narrow aperture.
Shrunken scale invites a closer distance. The sequential arrangement reflects a sobering linearity. The photographs, spaced out almost evenly, on white walls, become almost a study of negative space. The passerpatout holds dense, untold, sheltered histories.
Wonderland is devoid of human bodies but filled with human traces. While the glass reduces reflection, its images let us project our narratives onto it: closed doors, future grief, feral fear.
Vulnerability creeps back and lingers in titles. It catalogs unseen objects between parentheses: Untitled (12 stalls, 1 leather bunk bed, outdoor garden, 1 water fountain, 1 barber’s chair, glory-hole platform, Chinese décor, 1995). An inventory of future loss turns the images into morning-after records. Sun high, club emptied, photographer sober, cataloging an aftermath.
You can almost picture the photographer standing in front of the club, detailing the night before, and examining its exterior. And he, already aware of the impending loss, still captures Wonderland.
The photographer, still careful. Still precise. Still. ✶
Disclaimer: This is an independent, non-commissioned text. The views expressed are my own and do not represent the artist, gallery, or any other parties mentioned.