Square Shaped Brain

Conformity ran rampant in my Catholic school upbringing. Even in art, my teachers were against any notion of self-expression. In eighth grade, I was given an assignment to draw the Flat Iron Building using pastels. Vigorously, I plugged away capturing every aspect of the legendary New York icon.

However, my teacher hated my approach to drawing. Skeletor, as I like to call her insisted that the picture did not look like an exact replica of the Flat Iron. I argued, that it was my artistic interpretation. She made me change the picture, but I revolted, resulting in a low art grade.

Although, my parents were conservative, they loved my rebellious nature at times. When I brought home, my Flat Iron building picture. My mom took one look at it and said, “your bitch teacher doesn’t know what she’s talking about.” The next day, my dad bought a frame for it and displayed my work of art in their bedroom.

Growing into adulthood, everything I was taught about art was wrong sans the biographies of famous painters. I was fortunate enough to have visited many museums around the world from Paris’ Musee Orsay to Roppongi Hills’ Mori Art gallery center in Tokyo. It opened my eyes to the notion/cliché that art is really in the eye of the beholder. No museum better exemplifies this than the Museum of Modern Art in New York.

MOMA (as it’s often referred to) is one of my favorite slices of Midtown. I wander each level with sense of curiosity. The most recent exhibits have challenged what I was taught in school.

A crumbled map, toy collections from Russia and the set of Peewee’s Playhouse were being examined like a grand Vincent Van Gough painting. Even the surrealism of Salvador Dali would take art enthusiasts time to translate the meaning.

It harkened me back to the days were my modest art was persecuted by the institution. I thought to myself  “if a crumpled up map and pictures of trailer park constitutes art, then my Flat Iron drawing can fall in the same category.”

After rebelling against my very conservative Catholic school, I found myself fighting to express myself both socially and creatively. Although, I was told that my expression was wrong, it never detoured me from mastering the art of breaking the rules. I loved every moment.

The Extraterrestrial Saga

It’s a bird. It’s a plane. It’s a gaylien. Flying through the galaxy passing the many stars & planets shining brightly is a most fabulous spaceship. Unlike sterile looking spaceship, which makes one yawn, this dome of fierceness is decorated in bright neon.

It plays Madonna, Kylie & Bronski Beat for 24 hours a day. Hence, if you hear “Material girl” too many times, it’s not time to check into the mental institution. The spaceship’s interior has fancy glittery disco balls & a downstairs art gallery with works ranging from Keith Haring to Salvador Dali.

These are gayliens (gay aliens). They’re not all green, but come in rainbow sherbet variety of flavors & colors. Home is desolate planet, where the moon shines brightly, rather than the sun. NASA never shows houses on planets like Mars. Therefore, they more than likely live in holes in the ground.

Why would these aliens leave desolate planets? Sample sales & societal acceptance, duh. From the soft ball-playing lesbian to the intellectual but neurotic gay to the queen, gaylien life extends a broad spectrum of personalities.

Films like Star Wars & E.T. show lovable aliens & creatures from outer space. However, where are the gayliens? We’ve seen aliens who want to take over the world & the one’s who circle the stars bewildered, since they don’t have a smartphone. Therefore, gayliens need to be represented too.

Space like the closet is a place of desolation, where it’s dark & lonely. Therefore, leaving that place of isolation on a spaceship is especially ideal. Whether they’re looking to shake their tail feathers or sit in a circle & talk about feelings, somewhere in the galaxy it exists. Launching like a rocket man, into the unknown. The gayliens’ primary mission is not to return to the dark hole in the ground.