Slava Uncensored

March 12, 2019

Slava Mogutin wasn’t totally surprised when Tumblr—which was, up until December of last year, one of the most liberal social sharing platforms around, and a go-to for the fetish and queer communities—announced it would be banning adult content. “The overall political and cultural climate created by Trump’s government is very much in support of censorship and cracking down on basic constitutional rights and freedoms,” he told office, “so I really see it as part of the larger picture.”

The 44-year-old multimedia artist and writer has devoted much of his life and his practice to activism and documenting queer lives around the world, in a fashion that’s pissed off a lot of authorities—everyone from social-media moderators to the Russian government.

Interview by Lou Delaney
Photos by Joe Gray and Noah Blough

Long before same-sex marriage was legalized anywhere in the US, Mogutin attempted to marry his then-partner Robert Filippini in Moscow, back in 1994. Faced with criminal investigation by his native country, he fled to the US where he was granted political asylum a year later. But his fight against bigotry didn’t end there; it followed him into the art scene. While he was targeted for his reporting and activism in Russia, in New York it was his visual art that was censored.

“[Censorship] used to translate into my works being physically removed from certain projects and shows and publications; I know I was banned from many media outlets,” Mogutin explained. So he started sharing work on the internet; at first, in a virtual gallery on Blogspot featuring queer artists, until that site started censoring him as well. “I just feel like the internet turned from the most popular and democratic medium into the most controlled one, and it’s almost a tool of oppression at this point,” he said.

As other sharing sites moved, like Blogspot, away from lawlessness toward seemingly arbitrary regulation, his work––a survey of identity, human nature, queer life and sexuality—continually got taken down. And to him, compromise when it comes to his art isn’t an option. “I never create images to fit the criteria being sold to us as ‘community guidelines,’ because I feel like I am the community and the people I represent,” he told office. “People who censor artists like myself are parasites, and they would be out of jobs if there was no content for them to censor.”

To him, the future of free expression is in alternative platforms—both on the internet and IRL. Sites like Tom of Finland store—on which Mogutin is currently exhibiting a show, “XXX Files”—and organizations like Queer Biennial create space for the content Facebook’s overlords would rather have wiped away. “Clearly the system allows more freedom for trolls and homophobes and bigots,” Mogutin said, “than people who actually create something original and radical and unconventional.” But luckily, the people are on Mogutin’s side. Apart from his Tom of Finland exhibition, Mogutin recently collaborated with Helmut Lang on a collection of sheer and graphic tops as part of the brand’s “Logo-Hack” series.

Read our chat with the artist about art-world politics and internet irony, below.

Conceptually, what is your mission?

I started in my teen years as a poet and journalist in Russia, and since I was the first openly gay journalist, the Russian media brought a lot of attention to my work and my personal story. I brought a lot of negative attention from the authorities, [which is] why I had to leave Russia. That background informed my work in so many different ways, because I do feel like I represent a certain community and group of people that don’t have representation in contemporary mainstream culture. I see myself as the commentariat of different subcultures and social outcasts, people that are considered marginalized by the mainstream culture.

How does your activism extend beyond your art?

I attempted to register for a same-sex marriage in Russia back in 1994, and at the time it wasn’t legal anywhere else in the world. So that was not the starting point of my work as an activist, but it was probably the main event that led to my exile from Russia. And when I received my asylum in the US as an activist, it became an important point for discussion and I also think it opened a lot of doors for similar cases. It gave people some sort of union––not just Russia, but other republics. I’ve done a lot of talks and interviews regarding discussion with gay rights in Russia nowadays. It went from bad to worse basically––when I left, the anti-gay law was already abolished but still homophobia prevailed in mass media and in mainstream culture.

I still feel very much connected with what’s going on in Russia. I follow the news, I have a lot of friends telling me what’s going on in the underground community and a lot of the work I do addresses the issues related to censorship and homophobia, not just in Russia, but really in America as well.

It seems like a lot of your focus, especially with the most recent work you’ve done, is on American censorship. So I wanted to ask about what you think of Tumblr’s recent ban on nudity and Instagram’s censorship.

It was not a big surprise to me that it happened. Because it was a result of the pressure from the new government regulations. It’s actually the same reason why Craigslist had to drop the personal ads earlier last year. It was kind of a chain of events, and the overall political and cultural climate created by Trump’s government is very much in support of censorship and cracking down on basic constitutional rights and freedoms, so I really see it as part of the larger picture. And also the fact that there was no regulation of adult material on platforms like Facebook and Instagram, which basically led to, on one hand, assuming freedom of expression, but on the other there was this arbitrary censorship with entire profiles being deleted and people being banned from various platforms, with no arbiter mechanism for them to appeal the decision and whatnot. So I feel it highlights the need for constructive dialogue about how this issue should be addressed in the larger culture and context.

Do you see censorship as a positive thing in any case?

Obviously nobody wants adult material to be available to minors, but to me it seems like a lame excuse for suppressing minorities and selling us this homogenized, sterile, castrated version of culture, which has been sold to us as the mainstream norm. I just don’t buy that. A lot of people I know don’t buy that. When I did that story with Tom of Finland store, it was basically my artistic response to this situation and the fact that we do need to talk about it and we do need to resist this whole––the way I see it––huge, evil corporate machine that is controlling not just our personal data and selling it to the highest bidders, but also controlling the content. Yet they’re feeding on the very content that they’re trying to censor and control. I find it very hypocritical and immoral on so many accounts.

What do you see as the result of this kind of censorship?

The result of this censorship is that we’re being sold this very distorted and castrated version of the world and culture that is far from freedom of expression. It’s not what this country is about. I feel like we’re entering this really gray area where we have less and less control over the content we generate or the art that is being accepted in the institutionalized spaces. And I’m one of the lucky examples of artists who has had access to traditional gallery spaces, and I’ve been showing my work around the world for the last 20 years. But I’m aware of the fact that there are many queer artists and artists in general whose only outlet and platform is social media. So this puts them in a very difficult situation, because it essentially leads to not just censorship from the outside, but also self-censorship, because people are too scared to post anything that is outside of the norm being imposed on us by those corporations pretending to be social networks.

You’ve been dealing with this similar theme for much of your art career and it seems that in the beginning, like you said, the work took place in a more physical space. And now it’s shifted into the internet landscape. So I’m curious how you’d compare your fight against censorship then to now.

It used to translate into my works being physically removed from certain projects and shows and publications; I know I was banned from many media outlets. The internet, I did embrace it as one of my preferred mediums and I had a curatorial project on Blogspot before they started censoring as well.

But that was then and this is now, and it actually just highlights the need for not just an alternative virtual space for the minorities and queer community in particular, but also the fact that we can’t solely rely on the virtual representation or virtual exposure, because it’s become more and more difficult to be free of censorship. I feel like the future is in alternative spaces and platforms, not just online but in real life.

How does sharing work in real life compare to sharing online?

As much as the internet offers this great exposure for the new generation of creatives, I also feel like the limitations are greater than the exposure they get. It’s an ambiguous situation when you see self-censorship being one of the main driving forces behind what you see online on platforms like Instagram. They will support accounts that post endless selfies and topless pictures from the gym as opposed to queer artists who are doing something meaningful and radical and unconventional. Essentially the whole system creates mediocrity and reduces content to selfies and what people ate for breakfast. It’s a mediocre selection that is allowed and anything outside the norm is being censored.

I’ve been routinely censored on both Facebook and Instagram and sometimes pictures with no nudity are taken down. Clearly the system allows more freedom for trolls and homophobes and bigots than people who actually create something original and radical and unconventional.

When you’re creating work, do you have these things in mind?

To be honest with you, I never consider my audience and I never consider the outlet it’s going to be published in, because I think it’s counterproductive and not very stimulating in a creative sense. If anything, I was always making work that was against the grain and if something is being censored, it just gives me even more reason to continue with the work I’m doing. In a way it’s reverse-psychology validation for me, because I feel if my work is still considered so radical and dangerous, then I’m doing something right. I really feel this way.

And I never create images to fit the criteria being sold to us as “community guidelines” because I feel like I am the community and the people I represent. People who censor artists like myself are parasites, and they would be out of jobs if there was no content for them to censor. It’s a very distorted model and that’s why I say it’s not sustainable.

You have a different experience of censorship than, for example, most people who were brought up in the United States would have. Do you think people take it as seriously as you do?

Of course there are people who are narrow-minded enough and don’t know any better, and they would subscribe to this model and be happily censored for the rest of their lives. Some people are conformists. It’s not a surprise. But from my personal perspective, it’s not just a personal issue it’s also political, and it’s a fight worth fighting because it’s a part of a larger cultural context that we now live in. If we give up this freedom to post uncensored content, we might as well give up the rest of our freedoms. I don’t see how this online censorship goes with the fundamental principles of the American constitution; and being an American citizen and paying my dues to become one, I feel like I have a right to criticize the injustices and evil the same way I have the right to criticize Russia.

See more from Slava here.

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Pamela Sneed’s latest exhibition, Speaking Tongue, will be on view at Dashwood Projects from November 20 to December 21. The show features twenty watercolor and ink paintings inspired by her recent trip to Kenya, where she was deeply moved by the elegance of giraffes, the landscapes, and the energy of Nairobi.

Blending her background as a poet and visual artist, Sneed’s work reflects on themes of identity, nature, and connection. Her paintings capture the beauty and spirit of the animals she encountered, alongside reflections on her own experiences as part of the African diaspora.

This exhibition marks Sneed’s first solo show with Dashwood Projects and will be accompanied by a new book, also titled Speaking Tongue, to be released in December.

By Enzo Holdt
Artworks by Pamela Sneed

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Tiebreaker - Alvin Armstrong

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There is a moment of silence right before the play. Just before the racket strikes the ball as it hangs weightless in the air, breathless and charged. It’s the fleeting yet decisive instant that can alter the course of the match, determining who wins and who loses.

Alvin Armstrong depicts this crucial moment in his new exhibition Tiebreaker, symbolizing the risks and rewards of competition. It’s an implication of something else at stake, where athletes push not only their bodies, but their spirits to the absolute limit.

The dynamic figures embody the strength, grace, and agility juxtaposed by the vibrant color palette evoking not just the joy of competition but the charged energy of the court.

Tiebreaker is opening Thursday, November 16th at Anna Zorina Gallery.

By Rea Brayshaw
Artworks by Alvin Armstrong

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The Things People Are Ashamed To Take Photos Of: The Photography and Films of Yuhan Cheng

Yuhan’s latest exhibition of photo and video work titled 窗子外 Outside the Window, Inside the Tank 鱼缸里 takes its namesake from what could’ve been a mundane encounter. A month after moving to New York City from Chengdu, China, they stumbled across an abandoned fish tank left curbside. It reminded them of “the rotating fish in a tank that faded into the background of their mother’s home in Chengdu”, a thread connecting childhood familiarity that transformed into a symbol of greater significance in adulthood. A tank is a world within a world; a microcosm secluded from the broader chaos of the outside. Since then Yuhan has captured the other kinds of “fish tanks” closest to them in their photography and short films. Not literal ones necessarily– but intimate confined spaces in Chengdu and NYC where time stands still.

In the midst of taking snapshots of loved ones, Yuhan decided to turn their tender but examining lens on themselves. They realized shooting self-portraits unraveled a deeper understanding of their own nonbinary gender and queer sexuality. Yuhan admits in one of their short films “I hide from looking at my own body.” Yet, in the seclusion of their room which doubles as a dark room, Yuhan began to develop their first nude photos chronicling the subtle wounds; bitten cuticles, bruises, and scrapes they’ve accumulated involuntarily, once again documenting the things people choose to hide.

窗子外 Outside the Window, Inside the Tank 鱼缸里, debuted at FAR-NEAR Studio Hours a gallery in Chinatown focused on expanding the art world's view of Asia and Asian artists curated by Lulu Yao Gioiello. The event merged Yuhan’s works from the past three years, including 70 photographs, three short documentaries, and one installation. There was something uncanny about the gallery’s atmosphere – from the dollar store teal green curtains obscuring every window to the clusters of framed photos mimicking how photos of relatives are displayed in one’s childhood home, to the darkened lighting that was both disorienting and cozy. All these details were meticulously chosen to imitate the rooms depicted in Yuhan’s films and photography. In other words, the audience was invited to Yuhan’s “fishtank”, to share the odd balance of comfort and unease of being known intimately. We talked to Yuhan at Cafe Reggio to understand how their latest body of work came into being.

Initially, I was exploring my friends’ identities through the lens, but slowly, it became a tool to confront and understand my own queerness and gender identity.

Ora Margolis— Were any memories/childhood experiences you had in Chengdu important to how you've developed as an artist?

Yuhan Cheng— Growing up in Chengdu, especially in a military household, shaped and gave me a source of contention how I understood my identity. There was always a sense of conflict when it came to my body and feeling like I didn’t quite fit the expectations around me. This tension has been a driving force in my practice, pushing me to explore identity and belonging in my work.

Tell us a bit about your latest exhibition Outside the Window, Inside the Tank at Far. What headspace were you in when taking these photos?

YC— Outside the Window, Inside the Tank is about the fluidity of self; our bodies, our environments, and our identities. The idea of water as both a symbol of confinement and freedom is central to the photos and film that comprise the exhibit. This fluidity much like how I see my experience moving between Chengdu and New York, where similar feelings follow me no matter where I am. Water mirrors the body, the frame, and the room, which are all containers of the self.

Previously, you’ve said you wanted the exhibition space to look "like your room". How did you make that happen and why is your NYC room important to you?

YC— My room in NYC is an extension of my identity. It’s where I feel vulnerable and where I explore myself most openly. It’s a manifestation of my sense of self. I recreated certain elements in the exhibition—the green sheer curtains, the dollar store shower curtain with bubbles, and the center installation depicted a self-portrait deteriorating in water, reminiscent of a fish in a tank. This room, like any other room or container, magnifies the tension of self-exploration.

Has your idea or comfort with your gender identity and /sexuality changed since you’ve delved into photography?

YC— Yes. The process of photography and filming has been a mirror to my own understanding of self. Initially, I was exploring my friends’ identities through the lens, but slowly, it became a tool to confront and understand my own queerness and gender identity. The process of photographing my queer friends and then myself allowed me to come to terms with who I am.

How did you and Lulu Yao of FAR-NEAR Studio meet, and what makes her a good collaborator?

YC— We first connected when I reached out with my series Princess of Funan River. Lulu understood the struggles and complexities in the work and she invited me to expand on those ideas with her. Our collaboration has worked because Lulu truly resonates with the themes I’m drawn to, like fluidity, transformation, and the intimacy of navigating belonging.

After completing Fish Tank and Remnants of an Amateur Film, what kind of movie do you want to make next?

YC— Right now, I’m more focused on writing. I need to understand what I want to say before making another film. Writing helps me find clarity;it’s a crucial part of my process.

What kind of camera do you use and why?

YC— I use a Canon AE-1. I started with it and I still love it. It's small, spontaneous, easy to use, and light. It allows me to capture moments naturally without overthinking.

What's your biggest fear?

YC— Being disconnected from my sense of self, from others, and from the things I love.

When do you feel most like yourself?

YC— It’s during those fleeting moments when I complete a project. That feeling fades quickly, leaving me searching for the next project to reconnect with that sense of fulfillment.

How do you want people to feel when they interact with your art?

YC— I want them to feel whatever resonates with them. I don’t want to prescribe the experience; it should feel right for each person.

Your work focuses on the close knit communities that surround you or various metaphorical “fish tanks”. What communities do you feel closest to?
YC— The queer artist community, both in Chengdu and NYC, has been a source of comfort and understanding for me. There’s something about shared struggles and shared creative language that feels like home.

What's the biggest difference between living life as a queer artist in NYC and in Chengdu?

YC— In both NYC and Chengdu, I’m learning more about myself. NYC offers a sense of freedom, while Chengdu is home, a place of comfort and history. Neither place defines me but both are significant parts of my path.

What are your next moves/goals?

YC— I want to continue exploring both film and photography, expanding my narrative style and experimenting across mediums. During my show, I found new ways of seeing my photographs such as by adding a window screen between frames or letting a self-portrait fade and grow mold in water. These approaches allowed me to see my work not just as 2D images but as 3D objects.

I want to keep pushing the boundaries of how photo and film can interact, and I’m also interested in trying photojournalism. My focus remains on collaborating across mediums and continuing to accumulate experiences that I can translate into sincere honest work.