Kelly Bjork’s imagery has always centered around scenes of domesticity and intimacy. Their paintings feel familiar because they document the often-overlooked details of everyday life: the pleasing pattern of repeating tile, the warm grain of wood floorboards, the cozy, curated clutter of a living room shelf. These scenes are familiar because we have lived there.
But beyond the narrative of tenderness and brick-and-mortar interiors, a larger picture emerges, traced in the titles of Bjork’s exhibitions spanning the past 15 years. In Blankets (2012–2015), a story of intimacy is told through the utilitarian household object folded, draped, and crumpled like a kind of semiotic origami. Just one image in the series reveals what’s implied: a person hidden within the folds. In Living Together (2017), the realm of objects is expanded, the solo towel-as-signifier giving way to rooms filled with things. Still, these are highly curated vignettes playing games of hide-and-seek. Each offers only a partial view of a living space, often containing a doorway or window into another secondary space where, again, we’re only allowed a smattering of information placed like clues: a desk where art is presumably made, a bed where sex is presumably had. In Almost Home (2015–2017), figures finally come into view: a meeting of unclothed women in a steamy sauna, a partner waiting alongside a grandmother’s deathbed, and self-portraits, often mirrored or bifurcated, as though teasing at developments to come. Gentle Cravings (2018) expands the imagery to scenes further afield from home: a therapist’s waiting room, a woman waiting on an apartment stoop, and other people’s couches, rugs, and rituals. In Anima Rising (2019), we are introduced to new beds with new and old lovers—with a candor that would make the Blankets blush. The show’s namesake piece is a self-portrait of Bjork on their knees, hair chopped, pendulous breasts hanging, with a second self rising up between the legs of another woman. It’s feral and carnal. And they like it.
Bjork’s first solo exhibition with J. Rinehart Gallery in 2022, Swimming Naked, offers imagery at its most explicit, fleshy, and decidedly queer. It depicts scenes of lovers under the covers, gay friends and queens (there’s a cameo of Betty Wetter), and even an ass getting eaten out. Of course, the ass is eaten tenderly, as only Bjork can paint it. “Jump in, swim naked, the water is fine,” the statement beckons.
For their second show with J. Rinehart, titled Lunacy, Bjork has exited the temperature-controlled wading pools of queer joy to plunge into the deep end of some danker waters, as they reckon with disorientation, dissociation, and new connections forming in a new chapter of their life, on the cusp of perimenopause. Just when you think you’ve gotten to know your truest self, another side emerges.
We had questions; Bjork gave us answers.
Your work has charted personal transformations over the past 15 years. How do you describe your gender and sexuality now? (Or is that important?)
BJORK: I do claim being queer, nonbinary, and trans. It does feel important to establish representation.
Do you think of your practice as more exhibitionist or diaristic?
BJORK: I would say diaristic since it really is me documenting my life. Some of that may feel exhibitionistic at times, but that has felt necessary to paint the full picture (pun intended lol).
What does painting the full picture accomplish?
BJORK: I feel that it allows my audience to fully connect with me. They may not have the same experiences and the work may not have the same meaning to them as it does to me, but I am so often told that it makes them feel something, and that is a very special way I can connect with people.
How do you choose what to depict in your images, and what remains private?
BJORK: You know, I really don’t choose for anything to be private.
You don’t have images tucked away that will never see the light of day?
BJORK: I don’t! I put it all out there!
What does “lunacy” mean to you?
BJORK: The definition: “intermittent periods of insanity, such as were believed to be triggered by the moon’s cycle” was what really struck me in relating to this work. Experiencing perimenopause and the mental and physical struggles that come along with that truly do feel like pure insanity at times. And having a cycle that so often is tied to the moon just resonated. Lunacy also means foolishness to me, in relation to art making—I can feel in a state of madness when creating, and I have to be in it to fully feel myself, and I think that is an insanity in itself.
Has your definition of intimacy—or the way you think of it in your imagery—shifted over the years?
BJORK: Yes, I think intimacy started out in my work meaning relationships with my loved ones, and that continued but changed focus on more of my relations to the queer community. In Lunacy, I feel like intimacy is shown by allowing the viewer to see me fumble through experiencing my body changing, my struggles with mental health, my coping mechanisms, and also through what I grasp and seek to find hope and keep going.
Who is this work for? Previously, the work has been focused on making that tender, safe moment for viewers. This is a departure from that.
BJORK: Lunacy is for people struggling, and letting them know that they’re not alone. So hopefully this work can also offer a space for those people to find belonging.
Let’s talk about perimenopause as a character in Lunacy. Is there any part of perimenopause that is exciting for you?
BJORK: Oh lord, at this point? No. HAH! But what could feel exciting is the necessity of continuing to get to know yourself, especially now that I feel I have more understanding of what is going on, and also the letting go—and how this will change again…and again… and again. I don’t know what’s to come, or what else is to change or become off-kilter again, but I have seen the strength in myself to go on and keep trying to figure that out, and continuing to find help outside of myself for support—whether that is therapy, acupuncture, Western meds, or, importantly, my community.
I’ve heard people describe perimenopause as a time when raw feelings like rage become more unfiltered, maybe because we’re shedding expectations around nurturing and keeping the peace. Have you experienced some kind of shedding like that, and has it shaped your current imagery?
BJORK: I have felt the shedding of another mask, of truly letting people know how I am feeling and what I am going through no matter how “ugly” society may deem that. Perimenopause is a part of our experience, one that 51 percent of the population will go through, and I think everyone should know more about that and be able to support those going through it. And I think we are at a point now where many of those people will be nonbinary/trans, and with that, those experiences should also be documented, supported, and understood.
You’ve said that you consider your work both documentation and manifestation. How does that manifestation work?
BJORK: At times, drawing what I don’t understand or want to seek (i.e., spiritual growth), helps me move towards those things, and sometimes when the work is done I realize that I have done just that.
Something else you mention about this body of work is how it’s responding to the current hostility to queer communities. How has making work in a hostile climate changed you and what you chose to depict in your work?
BJORK: What I depict in Lunacy feels like a departure from past themes—letting out more of my shadow self, the darker side, and being vulnerable in that way. Showing coping mechanisms to deal with the devastating reality we’re living in, regarding the hostility towards queer communities, and all minoritized communities, and being honest about the things I do to deal.
Is there anything you learned through making this show?
BJORK: That I am able to continue to create what I want and that doesn’t have to be for anyone else, but hopefully it will offer something to others.
Does lunacy equal freedom?
BJORK: I think yes, lunacy equals freedom, in a way of letting it all hang out there, being seen no matter what, and hopefully that leads to understanding.
Kelly Bjork: Lunacy is on view at J. Rinehart Gallery through Oct. 28, with an artist talk on Oct. 17.
