So, what is this 'goopy human' thing?
Let's dive into the goop. The story of one costume, still in process.
2023 was a very goopy year for me. A lot of gooping in the aftermath of a massive break-up that had me questioning everything (What is love? Why do we bother with it? Is dreaming about being an artist in NYC all a farce? Is everything made up?!) (I don’t know anything, but to that last question - I emphatically still believe that yes, everything is made up!). I was flailing around the country, living month-to-month, bouncing from residencies to friends’ couches, figuring out next steps in both my personal life and my career. I described myself as goopy to basically everyone I knew. I feel like verbal/ written language often fails to capture the depth of human experience, but ‘goopy’ seemed to be the word that most accurately described my messy internal world.
I’m not sure if there’s an exact definition for goopy (something that people have asked me). But, to me: Goopy is the messy, raw, real, unfiltered fleshy/ vulnerable/ meaty bits that’s underneath the human suit we all put on. And I’d unintentionally made a costume to encapsulate it.
If you’re curious to learn more about this costume-making/ discovery process, which spanned multiple years and continues to be ongoing, keep reading below! I made a whole presentation about it for an interview about my creative process and figured I’d share it in blog form. It’s a little lengthy, so save this post for when you have 7 minutes (according to Substack) — maybe while you’re on the subway or taking a poop and let’s get in the goooooooop…..
I first created this meaty mask during a virtual residency with my beloved Agile Rascal — a theater company that intersects biking + theater + environmental justice. It’s a daring and intense project dreamed by my now dear friend Dara. In 2020, when live theater halted and re-adapted, a group of us Rascals met twice a month on Zoom, responding to creative prompts with an array of offerings. I initially created this muscular mask in response to Dara + Kendrick’s work, where they created soft sculptures of internal organs (below).
I filmed a short video with the masks and gloves in my living room, and shared it with the rest of the Rascals. People liked it and asked me about it, and I didn’t have too much to say. I was looking at pictures of muscles and sewed it, and that was that. I don’t often understand what I make. Or it takes time to understand — like developing any relationship with a being.
In the summer of 2021, as we slowly emerged from our isolated Zoom bubbles and into *real-life* collaborative art making and community, I brought the mask + gloves to our residency at the Sable Project. The talented Rascals used it in devising a new theater piece. The performers were exploring the concept of ‘goopy humans’ — creating characters with flailing, messy, exaggerated human-esque movements, contrasting to the micro-worlds of ants, butterflies and fungi that we were also studying. I wasn’t in my full state of goopiness at the time — though I think it’s where the idea was first planted in my imagination. Thank you, Rascals!
The being continued to have many lives in the months to come. For me, one of the greatest joys is seeing my work activated in different ways. I’m not attached to particular characteristics in costume — I love seeing how different humans’ creativity and expression bring a costume to life!
In the fall of 2022, I had a two month residency at the Wassaic Project. My friend from the residency, Nicole Banowetz, was creating an installation for Wassaic’s Haunted Mill, and she invited me to perform in her piece (yes, for anyone doing a close read, she also has a shout out in my previous post!). It was an excuse to finish up two costumes, and to push myself to dabble in “performance.” I definitely don’t consider myself a performer — but there’s a fascinating freedom and safety behind a mask.
Our concept: We were afraid of the humans passing through.
It was fascinating to watch reactions through the lens of the mask. At first, visitors — primarily kids — were often fearful of us, these unknown creatures. Then, they would realize that we were afraid of them, as we scurried away and hid in the nooks of the inflatable. It was beautiful to witness their curiosity and empathy as a response. Many would gently come up to us, and whisper sweet things like, “Don’t be afraid” or “It’s okay, I’m you’re friend.” Fleeting, but tender relationships were developed. Kids that came closer were given candy — almost like a reward for their curiosity and kindness. It made me think a lot about otherness and fear.
I realized that this being was, in fact, the goopy human — reflective of my vulnerable interior world at the time, and cathartic to embody. During a residency at Vermont Studio Center in February 2023, I made a mini-version of this goopy human, along with its removable human suit. In my sad and existential studio space, I experimented with stop motion (37 second video below). I feel like this is a seed for something that is still to come…
Shortly after my residency, I traveled to New Orleans with a suitcase filled with miscellaneous art + art-making items, including the mask + gloves — they’re small and lightweight, so perfect for travel. I didn’t know what to expect for Mardi Gras day. But, I put on this costume, told myself to “commit to the bit,” and spent the entire day in full gremlin mode — hiding behind cars, fearful of people and gurgling gibberish. I made a few extra eyeball gloves and had delightful moments of comradery with fellow gremlins. I did this for 13 hours. Maybe I became a performance artist that day? Fascinating and cathartic; the first time I spent so much time in costume and in character. Again, the power of the mask! Anonymity and freedom!
Finally, I revisited this goopy human this fall, as I was creating my first short film, “Home is a Ghost.” I’m not sure what to say about this yet. I think the meaning is still formulating for me. The film had to do with my bad ass maternal grandmother, with some appearances from monsters. More to unpeel and understand, probably as I dive into more personal work in the future…
I’m still goopy — perhaps we always are — but it’s no longer the first word I’d use to describe myself. Still, the goopy human feels tender and deeply connected to me. For me, it encapsulates a realness and rawness that I think we’re all unified by. The costume is dirty and worn and falling apart; perhaps imperfect, but I do love when my work is in this state. It shows that its been alive and activated and in the world. And I believe that’s a beautiful way for art and objects to live — beyond pristine gallery walls, it’s ongoing and alive.
With the distressing state of the world, it’s hard to feel like any of this matters. But if anything, I think there’s a beauty in recognizing our shared humanity: our collective goopiness beneath whatever ‘human’ facades we put on each day.
To anyone who has read this far — wowwww, thank you, thank you, thank you! I’ve honestly had anxiety about sharing this post — the general insecurity of ‘does anyone careeee?’ So, please say hi if you made it down here. Comment, email, slide into my DMs. Your curiosity about my practice means a lot. I’m so interested in knowing your thoughts. What does this being make you think of? What’s your relationship to goopiness?
With love and gratitude,
Lexy