A crumpled pink beach towel lies in the corner. Far from a simple case of post-summer blues, Stage raises the specter of another aftermath: two decades after the lethal surge of the AIDS epidemic, Fire Island features prominently in popular accounts of gay history as a place of abandon, never-ending beach parties, and happy promiscuity.
Then, the story goes, gay culture promised a true alternative to normative coupledom. Now, two years after the hard-won legalization of gay marriage, queer couples are just as respectable as their straight counterparts. Fey is filled with nostalgia for those wilder days, but Sinness is too smart an artist to stop there.
His medium of choice, colored pencils, has remained constant. His work still looks like a long labor of love in its intimacy, precision, and commitment to craft. But seeing his drawings installed with the same uncanny attention to detail is exciting: they chat and vamp, strike up conversations or choose to be more elusive, maybe even a little reclusive, at times. The work on view loosely falls into two groups. The Fire Island drawings, which include beach walkers and close-up portraits, are haunting in their exquisite vulnerability.
Far from the seemingly inviolable, gym-chiseled bodies fetishized as the epitome of contemporary masculinity, the figures in the Beach Walker series are middle-aged. This is what survival looks like: a little pudgy around the waist, with slightly slumped shoulders that have known defeat. Affectionately, the drawings catch moments of humility. No raucous parties here but rather quiet contemplation, as these men stand and watch the surf.
The portraits of Jesse, Peter, Keith, Liam, and Wes all capture a similar honesty, as if the subjects were done pretending. For the moment, their faces are naked, unguarded.
