“Queer Life: A Trans Narrative Recital” was a creative, complex and deeply moving stage production from the University of Minnesota’s Gender & Sexuality Center for Queer & Trans Life (GSC), led and produced by GSC program coordinator Rick X. Hoops.

The cabaret, put on during the week of Transgender Day of Visibility, was a medley of musical theater numbers and contemporary songs recontextualized to fit the transgender experience. “Cabaret” perfectly describes the informal, welcoming atmosphere the production created in the Coffman Union Theater. 

Hoops said they based the show on their own experiences, but the end goal was to create something broadly relatable.

“I had this random thought one day of the idea of a life cycle kind of narrative to describe transness,” he said. “It’s based on my experience but I think it’s a really universal narrative as well.”

The narrative traveled across four sets of performances, from the curious fascination of discovering queerness as a child to the grief of leaving one’s life behind to embrace their trans identity. From the clumsiness of queer love to navigating the world through new youthful eyes, ultimately landing in the unabashed joy of fully embodying oneself as a queer person for the first time.

Cabarets usually take place in a nightclub or restaurant while audience members dine and drink. In this case, GSC provided chips and soda as well as masks, pride stickers and pronoun pins.

But that informality by no means translated to an unpolished performance. The vocalists delivered powerful performances that beautifully captured the complexity of the transgender experience, from insecurity to devastation to lust to euphoria.

Hoops opened with “Ring of Keys” from “Fun Home,” the musical adaptation of prolific lesbian comic artist Alison Bechdel’s 2006 graphic memoir of the same name. The song describes Bechdel as a child encountering a butch lesbian for the first time and indescribably recognizing herself in that person. “Queer Life” puts the song in a trans context.

“As a queer kid, Rick felt relief seeing that it was possible to have a future that didn’t align with the societal expectations they had been taught,” according to the program notes.

Hoops’ expressive performance of this lighthearted song set the tone for the cabaret, the “Ring of Keys” bringing to mind the life cycle allegory they had envisioned.

Bookending the first set was a rocking, booming performance of Alanis Morissette’s “Unprodigal Daughter” from the 2018 jukebox musical “Jagged Little Pill.” 

Hoops sought to capture the angst of trans adolescence and the excitement the shift to adulthood can bring. 

The outro of the song punctuated set one with defiant conviction: “I’d invite you but I’m busy being unoppressed.”

By far the most emotionally resonant number was Hoops’ performance in set two of “She Used to Be Mine” from the 2015 musical “Waitress,” which they said before the set was devastating when put into a trans context.

“It’s very emotional because it’s like looking back at the version of yourself that got you here and not really recognizing that person but needing to be grateful for [them],” Hoops said.

Hoops proved themself right with their stunning and indeed devastating rendition of the song. The emotion in the room was palpable and visible on their face as they sang to their past self — to all the past selves of queer and trans people:

“She is messy, but she’s kind/She is lonely most of the time/She is all of this mixed up and baked in a beautiful pie/She is gone, but she used to be mine.”

Tic Treitler, a first-year student in the Bachelor of Fine Arts Actor Training Program, capped set two with a beautiful rendition of “So, Anyway” from the 2008 musical “Next to Normal.”

Other standout performances included Hoops’ humorous rendition of “Changing My Major” from “Fun Home” and University vocal performance student Sumaya Roble’s of “Love Like You” from the animated series “Steven Universe.”

The fourth set finale consisted of two songs sung by Hoops representative of queer joy, life and resilience: “Cabaret” from the musical of the same name and “I Am What I Am” from the groundbreaking 1983 gay musical “La Cage Aux Folles.”

“So what if I love each feather and each spangle?” they sang. “Why not try to see things from a different angle?”

After the main performance, the cast fielded questions from the audience in a “Talk Back” session, adding another layer to the show’s core theme of visibility.

“What’s more visible than a stage performance?” Hoops said to laughter.

Community members of all ages populated the audience, from queer elders and families of the cast to students to a young child. Everyone who got the chance to speak expressed their amazement of and gratitude for the production as well as hope for more GSC productions in the future.

One last comment came from an audience member who said they had only been in the Cities for two weeks, having recently arrived from another country. Still, they said they were profoundly affected by the cabaret.

“Even as a stranger I was affected by this,” they said. “All over the world, there are people going through this. We all have the power to go out and change people’s lives.”

The opening of Delta Passage, the collaborative thesis exhibition of the 2024 Master of Fine Arts cohort, easily drew over 100 people to the Katherine E. Nash Gallery in the Regis Center for Art East on Saturday. 

The exhibition greeted people with the immensity of the artists’ love, care and passion, not only for their individual practices, but for each other as well.

The exhibition is an immersive confluence of the works of Namir Fearce, Whalen Polikoff and Calvin Stalvig. It features contemporary multimedia conceptual pieces that touch on “fugitive genealogies, nationalistic violence and otherworldly encounters,” according to an Instagram post by the University of Minnesota Department of Art.

Fearce, Polikoff and Stalvig first crossed paths in 2021 when they entered the master’s program together. 

Delta Passage is the product of three years spent together in the program, which professor and director of graduate studies Diane Willow called “inevitably transformational.”

“I love Calvin and Whalen, and they really love me,” Fearce said in his artist talk preceding the reception. “I’ve come into a fortune by meeting them.”

Turning left upon entering the Nash Gallery leads to Stalvig’s installation “Ghost House,” a large tent made out of white translucent plastic tarp hanging above the ground in a room bathed in marbled light that’s constantly shifting in color. 

The keywords Stalvig uses for “Ghost House” in his visitor’s guide include “haunting,” “protection,” “refuge” and “memory.”

Opposite “Ghost House” is another Stalvig installation, “Altar to Ursa Major.” Wood palettes and rough-hewn logs structure the shrine, which is filled with vases of tulips in varying stages of bloom that viewers were given to add to.

Among the tulips were lit and unlit candles and food and beverage offerings to a carved figurine of Ursa Major in the center and one real rainbow rose.

Stalvig said Delta Passage is “a haunting that we invite you to be haunted by.” 

“Be not afraid, like the angels said,” Fearce said to the audience in his artist talk.

Polikoff’s work in Delta Passage, such as “Ewes Nestle Spine to Spine on a Bed of Sunning Perineum,” confronts the glorification and abstraction of state violence, particularly in America today but throughout history as well.

“This propaganda accumulates and is stored in the psyche,” Polikoff said in his visitor’s guide. 

Polikoff’s work dissects that propaganda with acrylic on canvas paintings stretched and held in mid-air by free-standing orange frames. The paintings depict fluid figures with bulging eyes engaging in activities if not outwardly grotesque then suggestive of such.

In “Ewes,” a hairless being eats raw flesh off a table, his sinewy arm bleeding into the face of the being next to him. It evokes Francisco Goya’s 1823 painting “Saturn Devouring His Son.”

Similar to the myth Goya depicted in his painting, Polikoff’s painting references a system bent on destroying the people within it so it won’t be overthrown. 

Polikoff said he’s graduating the master’s program with “a better understanding of what it means to live with conviction.” 

Enclosed in the middle of the gallery is Fearce’s work, a collection called “Hi Cotton.” The familiar opening notes of “Christmastime is Here” correspond with a stop-motion animation of a figurine of a Black child moving throughout a cardboard city. Soon after the lyrics start, however, the voice purposefully falls out of sync with the song as they sing of “lots of blood and tears.”

“How can I believe that this is really how it is?” the voice asks.

Like Polikoff, Fearce asks in his visitor’s guide how to survive in “a world that is designed to kill you.”

He does so through utilizing the tradition of the trickster deity, who is depicted in both still and moving images in Delta Passage, in order to tap into collective imagination.

Sculpted primordial figures, all of which have puffs of cotton growing out of their heads, populate the space, hanging and swinging gently from the ceiling. Fearce’s combination of video and physical movement create a space that is truly alive.

The aliveness of the space is cemented with a shrine on one of the walls featuring all of the figurines in Fearce’s videos in front of photos of the trickster. The physicality of the characters helps to fully incorporate viewers into the space. Fundamentally, Fearce’s work –– and all of Delta Passage –– is something to be consumed by. 

In practice, Delta Passage confronts the professionalization of artmaking with the love and tenderness its featured artists share with one another. That love is what allows the work to flow so well through the Nash Gallery, creating an immersive experience that is truly alive and makes it impossible to leave unaffected. 

Delta Passage is open for viewing at the Nash Gallery until April 13.

For her sixth solo studio album, Plymouth, Minnesota-raised indie folk artist Adrianne Lenker did what she does best: create an intimate musical space that makes room for haunting heartache, warm tenderness and all of the messy things in between — and recorded all of it in the forest.

“Bright Future,” which came out on March 22, is a nearly 45-minute tribute to the beauty and love that comes from spontaneous creativity. In an Instagram post the day the album came out, Lenker explained how it grew out of sessions between her and her friend Philip Weinrobe in Oct. 2022. The pair were later joined by musicians Josefin Runsteen, Nick Hakim and Mat Davidson.

“Bright Future” was the result.

“Headphoneless and heart-forward, everyone gave of their love and passion,” Lenker said in the Instagram post.

Lenker’s M.O. is playing with traditional folk and country sounds by experimenting with instrumentation, subject matter, song length and lyricism. It’s seen on “Bright Future” with the introduction of piano and strings alongside more country and bluegrass sounds, all of which were recorded on tape.

The album immediately takes a risk by opening with the six-minute track “Real House.” However, it pays off as Lenker’s familiarly soft, slightly reedy voice cradles the listener and the lyrics unfold like a meditative chant against low, sparse piano. Her voice in this song isn’t very tonally dynamic at all, but its steadiness turns her from an artist distanced from the listener into an involved storyteller.

It doesn’t stick out as an opener as Lenker’s hauntingly solemn send-off of “And then I saw you cry” blends beautifully into the twangy first notes of “Sadness As A Gift,” which aligns with Lenker’s more recognizable crooning style. 

The first half of “Bright Future” is made up of songs more consistent with Lenker’s established style. Coincidentally or not, they’re also more enjoyable.

“Fool” is a short, plucky, driving track about reality crash-landing into fantasy during a breakup and the process of moving on afterward. 

“No Machine” and “Free Treasure” are gentle, heartfelt songs more reminiscent of Lenker’s 2020 album, “songs,” which received “universal acclaim,” according to Metacritic. However, neither track feels directly lifted from “songs,” mostly due to Lenker’s richer vocals and greater production capabilities this time around.

This first half of the album is punctuated by a reworked version of “Vampire Empire,” a longtime fan favorite by Lenker’s band Big Thief that the group released as a single on Oct. 20. The new version leans heavily into bluegrass and away from the agonizing rock of the original. In this way, it fits in better in “Bright Future,” but the raw emotion of the track is greatly reduced. 

Unfortunately, the shortcomings of “Vampire Empire” set up those for the second half of the album. By leaning into new instrumentation, Lenker loses all of the warmth she generated in the first half of “Bright Future,” particularly in the songs “Evol” and the closing track “Ruined.”

Both piano ballads, “Evol” and “Ruined” are experimentations that read as hesitant and awkward, almost painfully self-aware of how different they are. They’re boring, uncomfortable and unsettled and their minor keys render them cold. 

Through these songs, Lenker proves she can’t write cold music. She is a master of warmth, whether it comes from rage or love, which has allowed her to channel intimacy into her music. “Evol” and “Ruined,” in this way, are incredibly isolating.

To the credit of the album’s second half, we see hints of Big Thief’s childlike whimsy, reminiscent of their most recent album “Dragon New Warm Mountain I Believe In You.” 

“Evol” is based entirely around words spelled backward.“Donut Seam” is a silly reworking of the song’s chorus, “Don’t it seem like a good time for swimming / before all the water disappears?” But in the same breath, the harmonization of Lenker and Hakim’s voices is grating and chilling, negating that whimsy.

Lenker has a gift for feeling out the intimacy in all of life’s moments and bringing it to the forefront. She is also no stranger to complexity or sonic and thematic exploration. This is seen through the vignettes of “Real House” and the overall richer sound of “Bright Future.” However, we also see them in the album’s most disappointing songs.

It’s ironic that an album called “Bright Future” ends on such an unsatisfying, dour note.

Bohemian Press (“Bo Press”), the University of Minnesota’s nonprofit printmaking collective, held a screenprinting party for their meeting Thursday. 

Officers set up screens with some of the collective’s archived designs for attendees to print on scrap fabric or clothes they had brought. 

Co-presidents Josh Wojnar and Jobee Gust demonstrated the process, exchanging playful banter with each other and other attendees. 

Wojnar said with a smile he was still considering whether to print a Bo Press logo on his graduation stole. 

Rainbow Robbins, a regular Bo Press attendee, was delighted to see their design featuring a frog with a mushroom hat successfully burned onto a screen, ready to be printed. They said they were planning on making matching shirts for themself and their girlfriend.

“I found [Bo Press] on accident,” Robbins said. “I saw flyers, I just came to one of the meetings and just stayed part of the club.”

At the meeting, there were no bad ideas or negative consequences for mistakes or having no experience.

“[Bo Press] is open to anyone who’s interested in art and printmaking here at the U,” Gust said.

Neither Gust nor Wojnar themselves are fine arts majors. Students across majors are a part of Bo Press, from fine arts in printmaking to math. 

Both Gust and Wojnar agreed that prior printmaking experience can be helpful for Bo Press members but is by no means required. Bo Press centers its activities mostly around screen and relief printing, which are easier, more accessible processes.

“Most of the time for the print studio only people who are in a print class can use it, but by being in Bo Press you’re able to come in during meetings no matter what experience you have,” Wojnar said.

Established in 2006, Bo Press meetings are held in the Malcolm Myers Printmaking Studio in room W185 of the Regis Center for Art, occurring every Thursday at 4 p.m. Posters advertising various events throughout the collective’s nearly 20-year history add pops of color to the brown cinder block walls and the white cork boards attached to them.

Printmaking professor Jenny Schmid, who helped found Bo Press and has been the collective’s faculty advisor since its founding, said she got the name from Bohemian Flats Park along West River Parkway, which is viewable from the Washington Avenue Bridge.

“‘Bohemian’ has the double meaning of being a region in the Czech Republic, but also like ‘free and wild people,’” Schmid said. 

Bo Press stays busy throughout the year. In the fall, they do live screenprinting at WAM-O-RAMA and coordinate collaborative projects like their Halloween-themed “Hallow-Zine” and a screen-printed calendar. They put on sales in the Regis Center for Art East Lobby, attend events such as print conferences and host visiting artists in the print studio. 

“We packed up and had stuff kind of all ready for fall and then when it gets to spring we’re like, ‘Let’s take a breather. What do we do to keep interest and fun?’” Wojnar said.

Schmid said she has noticed a post-pandemic Bo Press renaissance — a student-led effort to keep things interesting, try new things and take the collective in new directions.

“It was really hard during COVID. We would be online, but it was just sad,” Schmid said. “It’s been great to see the students taking charge of [Bo Press] and just being super active and meeting so regularly and not needing me to motivate anyone.” 

Schmid said she has always wanted Bo Press to be student-run. As it stands now, Gust and Wojnar are co-presidents — whom she calls “royalty” — and there are five other leadership members, all of whom are juniors and seniors.

Gust and Wojnar went from newcomers to Bo Press co-presidents in two short years, an experience they called “tripping and falling” into the roles.

“It feels really weird,” Wojnar said as Gust giggled in agreement. 

Both Wojnar and Gust are graduating this semester, but even with their short term they aim to leave a lasting impact on Bo Press, namely through rewriting the collective’s constitution in order to create a safe space for others.

“We’re trying to get into our constitution that we can ask people who are being transphobic or racist, etc., to leave the club,” Gust said. 

She added the measure wasn’t supposed to be exclusionary but rather proactively protective of others.

Bo Press also hosted queer artist Brian Wagner in the fall and collaborated with the Queer Ecology Hanky Project in spring 2023.

Printmaking is a medium of multiples, meaning a process can create more than just one work. Wojnar said that creates a lot more opportunities for support, collaboration and community building — all things Bo Press is rooted in.

“What really got me excited to continue more with print is even outside of Bo Press it really is big on community,” Wojnar said. “Community is all around in different ways.”

The next Bo Press event will be a spring print sale in mid-April. You can follow them on Instagram for updates.

“Love Lies Bleeding,” is the newest entry into the queer cinema canon and the pulpy gay crime thriller we have all been waiting for, and hit theaters on March 8.

In her second feature film, director Rose Glass tells a tale of family ostracization, loners finding each other, the deep and fiery sapphic love that results and the criminal underworld that is earnestly melodramatic, for better and for worse. 

Stars Kristen Stewart and Katy O’Brian both give performances unabashedly in line with Glass’s tale. They give themselves to their characters and the sensational storylines they find themselves in, and behind all of the thrill, you can see they are having fun.

Stewart plays Louise (known as Lou Lou), who manages a gym in a small, unnamed New Mexico city, living a dead-end life in the 1980s with the FBI inexplicably wanting to talk to her. One day, a muscle-bound woman with fluffy black curls named Jackie, played by O’Brian, shows up to train for a bodybuilding contest and immediately catches Lou Lou’s eye. 

Within hours of meeting, they begin a passionate affair. Soon after that, they are covering up a murder together.

Stewart’s awkward dryness fits the character of Lou Lou well, though within the first 20 minutes of the movie it is difficult to see the character beyond Stewart herself. A similar issue arises with Jackie. Those who have had ads for “Love Lies Bleeding” plastered all over their social media for months now only see O’Brian’s charming smile and not the mysterious newcomer she is supposed to be playing.

Still, Stewart displays a refreshingly dynamic emotional range that captivates and commands. O’Brian wonderfully shows cheerfulness turned into hazy desperation as her character’s ambitions and resulting steroid addiction take over.

Pacing issues riddle the first half hour, as if the film is tripping over itself to get to the action without slowing down for proper exposition. Reaching the inciting incident feels like reaching the climax of a short film when you realize there is still a good hour left to go.

It feels as if our lesbian loner lovers cross paths way too quickly. The audience knows barely anything about either Lou Lou or Jackie individually when suddenly they are forced to compare and contrast them. 

The action itself is heart-racing and engrossing, truly defining the film. A highlight is a scene where a character is suddenly murdered directly in front of Lou Lou. In response, she cries in disbelief, “HUH?!” The reaction elicited laughs and gasps alike from the audience at The Main Cinema.

Typical of an A24 film, “Love Lies Bleeding” contains some grotesque imagery, an interesting dimension that sets this film apart from other action thrillers.

“Love Lies Bleeding” plays up the melodrama and, of course, bloodshed in an engaging way, though the tastefulness of that melodrama is often borderline.

At one point Jackie calls her younger sibling in Oklahoma, who innocently asks when she is going to come home. In tears, she tells them, “Don’t ever fall in love, okay?” Instead of being the emotional peak it is supposed to be, this line feels corny and shoe-horned in.

With its thrilling but heavy-handed action, gritty scenes and circumstances, and intoxicating romance, “Love Lies Bleeding” is evocative of lesbian pulp fiction of the mid-20th century. 

According to the Smith College Libraries, lesbian pulp emerged as “lurid, erotic and sensationalized” depictions of queer life in the form of cheap entertainment, the tradeoff being lack of a substantial story. 

It can be said that “Love Lies Bleeding” is modernized lesbian pulp for the silver screen — the gritty sand and hot sun of its New Mexico scenes mirror the flimsy wood pulp pages of last century’s paperback novels. Still, there is nothing outdated about this film, as queer love is what causes the action. This may not be a film of utmost substance, but that ultimately may not be what it needs to be.