Artist Statement:

Monstrous is a rejection of social norms, a show that finds the fear behind ‘othering’ and does not hide from it. What is my gender? Other. Sexuality? Other. Ethnicity? Other. Disability? Other. This loose fit, similar to Queer represents me better than any of the predetermined categories spread out in front of me. The truth is I think I ‘other’ myself more than anyone else. Every time I fill out a form, I assign it to myself. I am complicated, I am different from you, and I want to be a monster, if it means being something other. As you move through this show, I challenge you to find the hope and love in things previously assigned dangerous and disgusting. Pay attention to all the forms of ‘othering’ and monstrousness explored in the different pieces. Question your reaction to each and every one. Here I am, a monster, my skin peeled back. Here I am, an ‘other’, smiling at a horrible pun. Here I am, a predator, just trying to protect my friends. Remind me, what is scary about us monsters?

Artist Bio:

Lewis Figun Westbrook (all pronouns/no genders) will always prefer their bio be some kind of joke but apparently that isn’t very professional. They are a queer writer of too many genres and artist of too many things. Lewis grew up in New Jersey where the trees are thick enough to inspire fantasies of magic and a suspicion of secrets in the most mundane places. They now live in Utah with their partners and found family. There, the buildings are short enough to remind you that an adventure is always closer than you expect. She is currently published in Love Gone Wrong, a horror anthology, and many self produced zines. Find them on most social media @lewisrllw or look for them in local queer shops (bonus points if they have books or art!)

Under the covers & behind the pieces:

Restless Night: I wanted to explore a less dangerous form of being monstrous and to me that meant trash, litter, garbage. Things we associate as being gross but also interact with on a daily basis, almost like an acceptable evil. To twist that idea even farther, I thought about trash's role in fishing and the misalignment from before and after a catch that disappoints. That is what motivated the wire used to create a mobile structure and the illustrations of things you might pull up from a body of water. Late nights with endless anxiety inspired the mobile in general, as baby mobiles are intended to soothe and entertain a child until they fall asleep. I wanted to explore a childhood method of soothing nightmares and tie in a form of monstrous-ness I haven’t explored in other pieces. The statements are ones that provide me with comfort and certainty when I am feeling/accused of being monstrous. The paper itself is homemade and uses newspapers, junk mail, misprints of zines, and self portraits. Pieces of my body are visible enmeshed in trash. These mantras would be read as worthless to people who do not value my life and dangerous to people who view trans people as predators. Restless Night says here are all the things you hate and dismiss, and they are the things I go to for comfort.

Check under the bed, in the closet, behind the curtains: As I was exploring the theme of the show, monstrous, I kept thinking about my first ever monsters. The ones that haunted my childhood bedroom, that visited me in the dark and in dreams. I was terrified of the dark but the second I knew what the dangerous shape in the corner of my eye was, I could calm down. What would you tell your childhood self? It is a common question, one I have never known how to answer. I am my childhood self’s monster and hero. In this small zine, I explore that concept through poetic writing. I find moments where that younger version of me is afraid and is in awe and I explore my own fear and admiration towards her.

Split Hair: Hair is endlessly complicated, layered with pressure from white supremacy to conform. It is important in some places like eyebrows, eyelashes, and the top of the head but becomes gross in other places and even grosser the second it leaves the body. It is used as a tool to police marginalized folk with dress codes/‘professionalism’ standards, specifically targeting Black people. It is a huge form of expression, holding cultural significance and in some ways a more approachable avenue to explore gender expression. I purposefully wanted to explore the ever changing line by placing and then removing my own hair from the canvas. I shaved my head for the first time for this piece adding a layer of vulnerability to the whole piece. There was no hair for me to hide behind or to get in my way as I added layers and layers of paint, only to pull them apart. At the same time I am covered in body hair, constantly leaving a trail of tiny curls behind.

What you call a mutilation, I call a feast: The title of this series started as a poem. I was thinking about a change I had noticed with the art I was producing. Years ago, when I got top surgery, my mother expressed her discomfort with seeing my scars. Gender affirming surgery is, well, surgery and surgery always comes with danger but that reaction felt wrong. It did not match with my own feelings. The excitement, the nerves, the hope of being in my body. What you call a mutilation, I call a feast. It captures the disparity between my own and other’s feelings about transition. I created these pieces in honor of how scars can be a relief. I intentionally used fiberglass casting tape because it is meant to hold something still while it heals. Are my scars the wound or the bandage? Am I held still or free? The colors in the pieces are intentionally blue and pink (sometimes veering into red) with a white background because of the trans pride flag color palette while also strengthening connections to scars and blood. Blood can look blue underneath skin and red when it comes out. Two of the pieces utilize wire because I wanted a rigid and dangerous perspective around stitches, giving it a similar vibe to barbed wire. I am seen as dangerous. I did something dangerous to transition, to find new ways of existence. I am the only thing holding myself together. The individual pieces in this series are titled The Last Offering, Geyser, With Life, Peekaboo, Itch, and Cowboys and Doctors.

Under Covers: I spent endless hours hiding under my covers, sometimes to escape into media past my bedtime and sometimes to hide from the possibilities I feared. I wanted to mimic that delicate escape with this installation. I was unable to use any of my childhood blankets instead using very kind gifts from loved ones in addition to a couple I collected for this installation. The film is produced from videos I took during the creation of the artwork for this exhibit including Split Hair and the homemade paper for Restless Night. Enter the fort of blankets and watch the exploration of all the dangerous and monstrous parts of me.

Growth: I started working on Growth in fall of 2023 because I kept thinking about the relationship between queerness and nature. I created collages of plants and nature scenes using pieces of my body, ripping my limbs apart, producing grotesque and enthralling images. The poetry explores a variety of aspects surrounding nature, including seed bombs, categorization of plants, overwatering, fertilizer, invasive plants,  and forests and uses them as lenses to discuss queerness.

Acknowledgements: 

I have long since dreamed of the first time I would get to write an acknowledgements section and now here it is. I never would have guessed it would be for an art exhibit instead of a novel.

I have an endless amount of people to thank and would not be surprised if I miss some people but you never know until you start.

To Jared, Peach, and Gwenna. You are constantly hearing new ideas and solving problems before I am even aware of them. Thank you for being such steady rocks I can always return to. You deserve a better and more encompassing metaphor and I am sure you will get one. Eventually. Guess you are stuck with me until then :p

To The Legendarium and fam, you decorate the best workspot in the city. So much of this would not exist without your fantasy coziness and all my co-working buddies. To Elliott (and bonus for being upset when I don’t share info in a timely manner), Meave, Random, and everyone who has tried to be productive at The Legendarium, thank you for glancing at my work so it can feel official. To Alex, thank you for your gentle questions. You always speak like it is a fact and for my autistic brain it feels like the safest alcove ever. To Raelle, thank you for turning all the pebbles I bring you into the best pond shore. You trust me and the confidence that gives me is honestly ridiculous. To Orion, the big bad boss. You have such kindness and the biggest heart of them all. Thank you for being a dragonfly who appreciates the surface of the water. Hopefully that makes a lick of sense to you.

To my family. Mom, you will forever hold the title of my 1st beta reader. It means so much to me that even when you are not my target audience, you support me. Dad, you taught me the importance of ‘just one more’. Thank you for telling me about the origin of cheese even if there is uncertainty around it. Joshua, the first nerd. Thank you for teaching me the rules to so many games and fostering the nerd in me. Tasha, thank you for letting me tag along with your art projects and for polishing up the rough rocks I placed in your palm. You made art so much more approachable.

Thank you to Art Access, Under The Umbrella, and every volunteer, particularly Stan, Gabriella, and Kaitlyn. Stan, you loved this exhibit from the very beginning and honestly I think you might have willed it into existence. Gabriella, my shaved head buddy, you were kind enough to accept my zines when I was a stranger and inspired me to get involved with Art Access in the first place. Kaitlyn, you built an amazing space but more importantly are so kind when I show you my latest stickers.

Adrian, Leo, Zoe, Jared, Gwenna, and Melissa. You all read and shaped growth, the catalyst of my ‘gross’ art. Thank you for learning so much weird plant information with me. Your feedback and willingness are the fertilizer I built all of this on, and I will forever be grateful.

Thank you to everyone who has ever accepted a piece of art from me for making my art feel so meaningful and to everyone who has ever asked me about my art for giving me opportunities to learn as I speak. To the college crew, Briar, Gwenna, Marina, Marisa, Vinny, you saw some of the worst zines I’ve ever made and some of my worst D&D playing and stuck around. To every artist I know of including Shanna, Rik, Kelz, Sarah, Molly, Felix, Cam, Mel, Pippin, Summer, Dalene, Kadelyn, Travis, Cheyenne, Patrick, Veda, Kit, Cat, Jewel, and so many more for endlessly inspiring me.

I think we all know I have to end this with trans people. I, and as a result this exhibit, exists because of you. Thank you for being loud and for every moment you surround me. I am glad to be a monster if it means you are the company I get to keep. Stay monstrous.

Donation Brief: 

20% of the artist's proceeds will be donated to the Trans Justice Funding Project which supports grassroots, trans justice groups run by and for trans people in the United States, including U.S. territories.

The Trans Justice Funding Project was picked because of their focus on trans people organizing around their experiences with racism, economic injustice, transmisogyny, ableism, immigration, incarceration, and other intersecting oppressions on a national level. I felt that this aligned the most with the feelings of marginalization I explored in my art show.

Learn more and donate directly to the Trans Justice Funding Project by visiting their website at www.transjusticefundingproject.org/