While they often presented themselves as bodybuilders’ publications, their chuckle-prompting titles — Torso, Adonis, Honcho, Mandate — didn’t lie. Gay men’s magazines of decades past were bought by gay men who wanted to look at the erotic illustrations of well- built male bodies therein. Because any- one known to possess such material in the homophobic 1950s and 1960s could experience serious consequences, men hid the magazines under their mat- tresses. These illustrations have now inspired a traveling exhibition, Stroke: From Under the Mattress to the Museum Wall. Curated by notable erotic artist Robert W. Richards and orig- inating at the Leslie-Lohman Museum of Gay and Lesbian Art, the popular show contains 24 original illustrations that ap- peared in gay magazines from the 1950s to the 1990s. It also looks at how gay men, forced into the closet during those decades, used these pictures to explore their sexuality intimately. It additionally serves as a showcase for the artists in- volved. On view are works by two dozen top artists of the times, including Touko Laaksonen (Tom of Finland), Antonio Lopez (Antonio), and David Martin.More
Producer, writer, and activist who produced shows like All in the Family, Sanford and Son, and Maude, is awarded the 2016 Freedom of Expression Award after a screening of the new documentary Norman Lear: Just Another Version of You.More
At the main festival ground on Saturday July 23rd and Sunday July 24th at Fort Mason Center, we welcome many celebrities from Japan, including WORLD ORDER, Silent Siren, Wednesday Campanella, GARNiDELiA, Mitz Mangrove, and many more, and we will also host a variety of events, including J-POP LIVE concerts, Meet & Greet sessions, Q&A with special guests, Interactive Summit, Travel Pavilion, Ramen & Sake Summit, dance, karaoke,cosplay and'J-POP Queen' drag contests.More
The queer group Gay Shame was the bane of DPW workers everywhere this past year, using "wheatpaste" (wheat + water = irritatingly hard-to-remove glue concoction) to post flyers targeting everyone from astroturfing pro-development group SFBARF to its capitalist benefactor, Yelp founder Jeremy Stoppelman (lest ye forget his epic response to now-fired Yelp staffer Talia Jane's Medium post complaining about the cost of living in SF: "Move to Phoenix!").
In 2013, when Catharine Clark moved her eponymous gallery from 49 Geary to the Potrero Hill area, she gave herself more room to work with, including a dedicated media space that has shown indelible work by such artists as Shalo P ("The Bedroom Suite"), Nina Katchadourian ("In a Room Full of Strangers"), and Andy Diaz Hope and Jon Bernson ("Beautification Machines").
In 1987, French-Senegalese writer Marie Ndiaye published a 100-page novel comprising a single sentence. Ndiaye's first work for the stage, Hilda, receiving its American premiere at ACT (translated by Erika Rundle), is essentially a play for a single actor masquerading as a three-person piece. Hilda centers on Mrs. Lemarchand, a bored and lonely upper-middle-class wife who pathologically strives to control the lives of those around her, namely that of her new maid, Hilda; Hilda's husband, Frank; and their family. Lemarchand dominates Ndiaye's drama. Exerting her will to possess and destroy through schizophrenic bouts of suffocating love and malicious blackmail, she's a sort of spiritual sister to psychotic fan Annie Wilkes in Stephen King's Misery. Her sheer immensity renders Ndiaye's intense psychosocial study a directorial challenge: When one character has most of the lines and virtually all of the action, what do you do with the other two bodies onstage? Unfortunately, director Carey Perloff opts for the bulldozer approach, making Marco Barricelli (as Frank) and Lauren Grace (as Hilda's sister Corinne) look like little more than bumps in the earth, easily flattened by Ellen Karas' rampaging Lemarchand. While Karas gets the full run of Donald Eastman's stark, white set to milk the madness of her character in perky twin-sets and pearls, Barricelli and Grace don't get to do much but stand inertly in the corner. The play's central themes of slavery and domination are powerfully conveyed by the absence of Hilda from the cast of characters in Ndiaye's text. Yet Frank and Corinne's essential passivity translates as callousness; they fail to resist Lemarchand (as if they don't care enough about Hilda to put up a fight), and so undermine our yearning to see the maid herself.