Welcome to Filthy Dreams
Well hello there! Welcome to Filthy Dreams, a blog that analyzes culture through a queer lens. Rather than jumping right into new content, we thought it best to introduce ourselves and our aesthetics with our Trash Manifesto
Latest Entries
Filthy Dreams’ From Here to Eternity HALLOWREEN X Playlist
Welcome to the 10th edition of our HALLOWREEN playlist! That’s right, 10 years and kicking, though these days, Marion is looking more like Willem Dafoe from The Lighthouse, and Emily more like Mia Goth from Pearl: I’m a STARRRR!! Over the past 10 years, we have compiled music playlists to put the spin into your … Continue reading
Is That You Mo-Dean?: Esther Pearl Watson’s “Guardian of Eden”
I don’t know if you’ve noticed, dearest Filthy Dreams readers, but I have a tendency to be a little, um, WORDY. Because we all need a break sometimes from my unending (draining) gush of thoughts and because there are shows closing soon still worthy of our attention, I thought we’d try something different: brevity! So … Continue reading
Purgatorial Aesthetics: Chris Lloyd at Entrance and Gina Fischli at Swiss Institute
In a basement not so far, far away from whence I came, I saw hell. Or, rather, the charred gates of hell, engulfed in flames, so papery thin that a devilish visitor could tear their way through them in an instant. Continue reading
Marilyn–Sort Of: I Love Andrew Dominik’s Flawed Masterpiece “Blonde”
“Please come. Don’t abandon me. Please.” Ana de Armas as Norma Jeane Baker as becoming-Marilyn Monroe prays to a mirror; her hands clasped together in desperate supplication. She’s begging for, as Joyce Carol Oates describes in her novel Blonde, “her Friend-in-the-Mirror.” Tears stream down her face as she pleads to the bulb-ringed three-way mirror. Her … Continue reading
“Pearl” Is the Maniacal Somewhere Over the Rainbow-Yearning (Anti-)Heroine We’ve Been Waiting For
“I’M A STAR!” Mia Goth’s psychotic stardom-reaching farmer’s daughter Pearl bends at the waist in her scarlet red version of Margaret Hamilton’s nefarious cyclist Almira Gulch’s high-collared dress in The Wizard of Oz and howls that line from the depths of her soul. Pearl has just attempted a rousing half-imagined bomb-strewn trenches boogie, a kind … Continue reading
“Painting in New York: 1971-83” Is Ugly as Hell (And That’s a Compliment)
Jesus Christ. This shit is fucking ugly. That’s the immediate thought I had upon clicking on the installation views of the current exhibition Painting in New York: 1971-83 at the two Karma spaces on 2nd Street. My eyes watered staring at squiggles of bold yellow paint resembling squirts of yellow mustard on a hot dog … Continue reading
If I Stay All Night and Talk: Conversation as Corrective in Nick Cave and Seán O’Hagan’s “Faith, Hope and Carnage”
Does an artist need to believe—or at the very least consider—the existence of God (or the divine, a higher power, or whatever it is you want to call it) in order to create transcendent work? That’s the question I’ve been wrestling with ever since listening to an advanced copy of the audiobook for Nick Cave … Continue reading
Ersatz Freud: Natalya Hughes’s “The Interior”
Natalya Hughes’s The Interior, presently on view at the IMA in Brisbane, is in essence an abstraction of Freud’s consultation rooms during and after the Second World War, from Vienna to London. Hughes cordons off the threshold of her exhibition with a blue curtain on a metal rod, reminiscent of a makeshift hospital ward. The … Continue reading
What’s So Dangerous About Maia Kobabe’s “Gender Queer”?
I’d like to begin with a fact. A simple yet shocking fact. It is this—a floodtide of filth is engulfing our country in the form of obscenity and is threatening to pervert an entire generation of our American children! At least that’s what George Putnam said, finger-wagging in his Middle America-terrorizing introduction to the fear-mongering, … Continue reading
Lipstick-stained Teeth and Americana Altars: Walter Pfeiffer’s Perfect Shots at the Swiss Institute
Two sultry gazes stare sightlessly from a weathered window or a picture frame as if stolen from the bedroom wall of a fanatical teenage girl in 1955. James Dean and Elvis Presley, icons of mid-20th century rebels without causes. Ripping it up, hip thrusting, jailhouse rocking, Vampira attracting, drag racing, they are double martyrs to … Continue reading