Queerskins: A Love Story begins in a relatively unassuming manner. What becomes clear immediately is that the experience of the reader is born from an archive. In the early ‘90s, a box with a diary allows a Catholic mother an opportunity to learn the fate and a little bit about the life of her estranged son. It’s important to note, she lost her son to AIDs. The interface (online, non-VR version) is an assemblage of a large amount of text, sound clips, images and movie files. Navigation is non-dictatorial and can be explored in a quite random manner or as a series of multimedia collage works. I found the interface a little overwhelming at first.
Something I particularly enjoyed about this piece was how the interface, despite overwhelming me initially, managed to pull me into the narrative in a way that reminded me of the works of HIldegard Westerkamp and Janet Cardiff. The use of the first-person in both text and sonic monologues reinforces this relationship to the work. In particular, the very intimate close mic-ing technique in the recorded monologues pulls in the viewer/reader. However, what really interests me in this work is the treatment of the text, materials, sounds and structure.
It seems as though a great deal of the raw materials assembled here have been treated in a way to really ramp up the sense of nostalgia. The photos look dated despite being mostly appropriated and this serves the instantiating gesture and space of the piece: an archive. Even the initial music heard, Pachelbel’s Canon in D, suggests the movement of mutable materials over a fixed base. I’m surprised to find myself talking about this piece and in any way discussing the importance it has as a conceptual gesture…but here I am. The cello line introduces what is called a ground bass that is a repeated through line in the piece. Similarly, first-person methods and techniques to imbue nostalgia are a ground for this work. This helps Queerskins later when the narrative arc enters a more challenging territory. In my case, being intimately familiar with the culture in question (although temporally removed by a few decades) made the texts particularly difficult on the level of affect. And not just because of my familiarity with amyl nitrate and non-committal sex…
I’m interested in asking if Donna Haraway’s concepts of string figures and making kin might be applicable here. Really quickly (I mean, very quickly) the concept makes use of virtual agency and subjectivity to tell stories between species, peoples, cultures and people. The relationship to actual perspective is asymptotic (you can’t ever really know the experience of another) but the point is to ALWAY be thinking, improving and passing these string figures between us. Given that, I think this work could fit into the ideas Haraway expressed. Is it the “truth”? No. Is it a work that allows the user to become “kin” with the subject of the story? Yes. Put another, Queerskins manages to draw from nearly ubiquitous experiences and tropes in a way that allows readers to develop a relationship with the subject of the text and, in a larger context, the social moment and trauma that were a part of the AIDs epidemic.
Cover of Donna Haraway’s Staying with the Trouble