EVIDENCE OF US
MATT LAMBERT has made himself synonymous with queer art. His movies, videos, zines, books and stage productions conjure a myth. The mirage he projects is a protective device, meant to keep queerness intact, hidden from exploitative eyes.
The Berlin-based artist makes fantasy a shield. In his new book, If U Can Reach My Heart You Can Keep It, this intention has materialized. Curated snapshots of his work etch a communal portrait. Collaborations with Rick Owens, Christeene and Mykki Blanco are no longer just part of his extensive repertoire, but still frames of imagined worlds.
The project was born out of growing anxiety. “There’s an urgency to preserve our history right now,” he explains over a cup of coffee on a day when our meeting was one of many. He’s a busy man. Juggling his many roles —filmmaker, photographer, creative director, writer— isn’t easy. Thankfully, Lambert has found sustainable motivation. The pure euphoria that fueled the early days of his career has given way to a sense of responsibility. “The work isn’t mine anymore, it’s a tool for people.” For an artist who has evaded labeling for so long, Lambert doesn’t mind putting on a single hat for our conversation. We chat with the artist about his many collaborations, his new book and finding excitement in comfort.
Flower, 2016, Blake Mitchell and Sean Ford
Hi! How are you?
Sorry, I’m a bit late. I’m on a roll, I’ve been on Zoom all day today.
I hope I can at least provide some sort of break from it then.
It’s all good. I’m present in all of these. I’m dealing with about five projects today. I’ve just been jumping from one headspace to another.
Does that help you have some perspective on a project? To be busy with another one?
Sometimes. It’s an ADHD thing for sure. I can’t control when things come. I can prepare something in advance for two months and then things only happen last minute anyway. It’s the new normal. Everything just feels so messy. I’m working between so many different mediums, each with different communication styles. Today, I’m doing a feature film, music, video, theater, production, book, and one other thing. Everything happens at different speeds, with different tones.
Commander Ares & Roughkicks on set of “SUBSPACE”, 2020
It’s interesting that our conversation started here. I have often thought of your work as queer in both its form and function. You defy labeling and categorization through the way you move through mediums…
It’s been a blessing and a curse. It’s never boring. But the diversity of these projects is challenging. In the last couple of years, I’ve been trying to be better about intersecting them. I think that comes when you reach a point in your life when you start merging all your selves together. The most beautiful thing about making is that everyone is just making shit together. I started in animation and design at art school. That got me into filmmaking. Photography was just an accessory to filmmaking that I picked up later. And it was never about the photo, it was just another way to capture the character. I didn’t perceive myself as a photographer. Until I started shooting editorials. At some point, it’s smashed together and becomes world-building.
Left HEAT, video still, Paris 2016
Right Lea & Riv at Ficken3000, 2023
Do you approach a project medium first, or does that come later?
It’s medium first. I have this residency at the Volksbühne theater, where I have an ongoing series called Sissy Smut, which is kind of a love letter to transgressive queer cinema performance. I create, but I also curate. I blur those lines. Other projects, like when a porn studio commissions me to do an art thing. They know it’s going to be a film thing, but what if it’s also a zine? Or why don’t we do shirts? I have always been excited about starting small and continuing to build them out. . If we’re making a film, and we have been building worlds for months, why not expand the myth? I used to do a little of my own photography on set, but now I work with my dear friend Vincent Wechselberger, who does beautiful behind-the-scenes documentation. Some of his photos are in the book too. I’ve gotten a lot less territorial and started to open up these created worlds to more guest. There’s an urgency to preserve our history right now, too.
Commander Ares & Roughkicks on set of “SUBSPACE” (2020)
That’s interesting because this “If U Can Reach My Heart You Can Keep It” is documentation of queer history. Do you feel that as a weight on your shoulders?
It’s overwhelming. Somehow, books are scary. It was a heavy and cathartic process. This is a small portion of the work I’ve done in the past 12 years, but looking back and linking them together, there are so many people that I’ve had friendships blossom because of the projects in the book. This is my community. This is my family. I am able to have a distance where it’s not my work anymore, it’s a collection of people. For me, it was a responsibility to present them in the right light. I also feel like I’m sitting between two generations. I want the next generation to look at it and understand.
Ten years ago, I was like, “Fuck it, let’s do our thing and they’ll figure it out.” It was a kind of rebellion, it’s something you need to do at a point in your life. We did the shock value. Now I want to bring people into this. This is part of their history. My role isn’t just fun anymore.
On set of “Flower”, 2016
When did you make that realization? That there was responsibility beyond transgression?
Like all growth, it happened through collaboration. My projects often feel like a punctuation of my collaborations. Doing something like Butt Muscle with Christeene and Rick Owens, I had to figure out what I was bringing. Christeene is so dialed in and singular, into who she is and what her references are. Rick is too, in a very different way. Where am I in that triangle? What space do I occupy? All these moments and conversations challenge you into making work that is pseudo-autobiographical. Filmmaking can be such a fucking narcissistic thing. At some point, you get over it and realize you’re a vessel and a conduit for others. There are these moments where you open these little cracks to new planes of reality. Being able to collaborate with folks like Christeene, Mykki Blanco, Michèle Lamy, Rick, vaginal Davis, peaches, Brontez Purnell, has twisted the way I look at things.
Living in Berlin now… Germany is a disaster with heavy amounts of censorship on an institutional scale. I’m a queer Jewish artist and I would say gay Jews have been demonized for standing up for Palestine. I’ve started to look at how trivial what I do feels as we’re comfortably watching a genocide unfold. There are days when I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. Through Sissy Smut, I’ve been able to at least address some of it and haven’t been canceled yet. I realized at some point my work became less about “Look, I’m a faggot and I’m pushing some envelope,” and more about being a place for people to rally. What else can I do? With the skills and craft of harnessing energy I suppose. The work isn’t mine anymore, it’s a tool for people.
Left Klemens, Vaginal Davis & Joao in homage to Gladys Bentley, Berlin 2024, Autre Magazine
Right The Cock Destroyers, 2020
It’s interesting to hear you talk of collaborations as progress, especially as you’re launching a book that documents the trajectory of your career through them. Have you always felt this way about collaborations or was it something you learned over time?
From a documentarian point of view, it’s your key into a world, into a place, into a person. I didn’t realize it until some years after [I started]. I used to just run towards what was both existing and intimidating. But there are people that I have repeatedly worked with who have shown me the value of extended collaboration. Building sustainable, loving, trusting, long-term relationships with people is the whole point. That magic of diving in and it being a wild and crazy thing is gone, but the comfort and control I have in a space where I can nurture collaborations makes perfect sense.
The transference from narcissistic curiosity to sustainable representation is something else. There’s something so inherently reductive and… [Laughs] It’s funny my English gets worse, but my German doesn’t get better. It’s not opportunistic, but there is something opportunistic about the way photographers and directors move through the world, capturing their essence to level themselves up in their careers. It becomes strategic to the point that it’s devoid of humanity. I’m figuring out ways to be more thoughtful and sustainable In an industry that often feels in opposition to this approach. I used to be about collect, collect, collect. Now, it’s much more of an in-depth, ongoing conversation. It’s more work, but it’s so much richer.
Michele Lamy, Christeene & Rick Owens on set of “BUTT MUSCLE”, 2017
LSDXOXO & Kaiden Ford in “Klappe”, 2022
Left Flower, 2016
Right Rebecca More, 2020
Left Christeene “BUTT MUSCLE”
Right Top Jane & Jules (Evvol) “Release Me”, 2018
Right Bottom Taco Guillen in “Pleasure Park”
Interview by Pedro Vasconcelos
All pictures by Matt Lambert from the book If U Can Reach My Heart You Can Keep It, published by Baron Books