RAW, POETIC, REAL
New York, June 2025
Queerness has always existed in opposition to something. Otherness is a matter usually defined by restriction. Outside of the enclosed space that is the norm, queerness is seen as a finite space. Artists like SLAVA MOGUTIN know this to be a misconception. Throughout his career, the exiled Russian curator has used it as a catalyst for expansion. Beyond the walls of heteronormativity, he’s found endless inspiration. His latest show, My Romantic Ideal, is the embodiment of this ethos. In it, queer love is explored not as a concept, but as freedom.
Outside of societal expectations and predetermined romantic roles, queer intimacy thrives in the unimagined space. From Robert Flynt’s inkjet photographs to Brian Kenny’s expressionistic compositions, Mogutin’s curation thinks of queerness as language. Including his own work, the selection runs the artistic spectrum, from past pioneers like Tom Bianchi to tomorrow’s biggest names, such as Alejandro Ruiz. Their presence isn’t quantitative; it’s qualitative—each expanding our notions of love.
That is the point of My Romantic Ideal: to fight for the expansion of what’s outside the norm. As he puts it, in a time when queer rights face serious threats, “romance is a rebellion against dehumanization.”
The exhibit is just the beginning of a summer dedicated to the cause. A Homosexual Renaissance, Gay Propaganda 3.0, and American Faggot Party are all projects that speak to the same mission.
Left Bruce LaBruce, Hunk with Sneaker, 2008
Right Slava Mogutin, Martin Roses, Berlin, 2024
What was the My Romantic Ideal’s starting point?
I came up with the title a few years ago, shortly after my girlfriend Maxima died tragically at the age of 25. It was a life-changing event that affected me very deeply, both personally and artistically. The idea for My Romantic Ideal started as a personal reflection on intimacy, desire, and vulnerability in a world that constantly demands performance, resistance and resilience. I wanted to explore what romance means outside of heteronormative fantasies—something more raw, poetic and real. It was a reaction to both the hypervisibility and simultaneous erasure of queer love, sexuality and sensuality, especially in art and media.
Left Cameron Lee Phan, Self-Portrait in Paris, 2020
Right Stuart Sandford, Polaroid Collage XVIII, 2022
How did the current political climate shape the curation?
We’re living in a time of culture wars—where queer and trans bodies are politicized, fetishized, commodified and attacked in equal measure. From book bans to anti-drag and anti-trans laws, censorship is making a comeback under different disguises. This show is a direct response—a visual act of defiance and nonconformism. It’s about reclaiming physical and creative space for queer love that doesn’t have to be justified or sanitized.
Left Gerardo Vizmanos, Dancer, 2024
Right Paul Mpagie Sepuya, Daylight Studio Mirrorr, DSF4313, 2022
The exhibit features 28 photographers who run the creative spectrum of the medium. What was the process of selection like?
I wasn’t interested in checking boxes or putting together another all-inclusive, tokenizing queer show. I chose artists whose work speaks to the contradictions and complexities of queer desire. Ultimately, I wanted to create a platform for my fellow artists—friends, lovers, collaborators, comrades-in-art. What ties them together is their honesty and refusal to be silenced or marginalized. I see My Romantic Ideal as an intergenerational and multicultural queer communion.
Left Slava Mogutin, Cassils with dildo, LA, 2019
Right Ross Collab, See You See Me, Minneapolis, 2022
How do you think queerness informs or reframes heteronormative ideals of romance?
Queer love isn’t about mimicking heteronormativity—it’s about rewriting the rules entirely. Our relationships, desires, and rituals don’t follow scripts. We create new languages for care, intimacy and commitment. Queerness allows for a deeper interrogation of love—not as ownership, but as mutual becoming.
Left Slava Mogutin, Zackary and Rhys, 2012
Right Bruce LaBruce, Abercrombie&Fitch, 2002
How has the pushback against queer identity shaped your practice?
Being exiled from Russia for my queer writing and activism was the most literal and violent pushback imaginable. But it also sharpened me personally and creatively. Censorship, homophobia, and state repression taught me that visibility is survival. My work—whether visual, literary or political—has always been shaped by that urgency. I see queer imagery as a weapon against bigotry and hate.
Left Donovan Quiroz, P Lindavista, 2023
Right Carter Peabody, Bastian Floating, 2025
We live in a time where corporate-sponsored Pride is the norm, and yet anti-trans sentiment in the mainstream seems to grow by the day. How do you understand that dichotomy?
It’s pinkwashing at its finest. Corporations love the optics of Pride while quietly supporting politicians who harm our communities. The coexistence of rainbow capitalism and rising hate shows that representation without structural change is rather pointless. Let’s not forget that the Pride tradition came out of a street riot against police brutality and systematic oppression, and now it’s just a mere capitalist decorum for corrupt politicians and corporations.
Left Ben Prince, Sweet Bird of Youth, 2023
Right Matt Lambert, Homage to Bros Blowin' Shotties, 2022
What is an artist’s social responsibility?
To tell the truth. To ask uncomfortable questions. To imagine new possibilities. Art can’t just be decorative—it must disturb, inspire, provoke, and connect. Especially for queer artists, creation is a survival mechanism, a political statement, and a spiritual pratique.
Left Stanley Stellar, Cherry Grove Kiss, 1990
Right Tyler Matthew Oyer, Finney, 2025
How do you think queer romance can be thought of as resistance?
To live and love openly as a queer person is a political act, especially in countries where homosexuality is criminalized or semi-legal. Romance—real, messy, heartfelt romance—is a rebellion against dehumanization. Queer love is not a luxury—it’s a lifeline.
Left Lukasz Leja, Velazquez and Lukasz, 2022
Right Ben Prince, Sean with Fruit, 2022
How do the artists in My Romantic Ideal embody that transgression and rebellion?
Each artist in My Romantic Ideal brings a distinct perspective—through tenderness, eroticism, punk defiance, or poetic restraint. From Stanley Stellar’s intimate vintage print of two men kissing on Fire Island to Tom Bianchi’s mixed-media objects blending photography, collage, and sculpture, each piece expands the visual language of queer desire. Paul Mpagi Sepuya’s beautifully composed and executed studio studies. Quil Lemons’ powerful large-scale close-up of an intercourse. Robert Flynt’s intricate and nostalgic prints on vintage NYC maps. The raw physicality of Miguel Villalobos’ black- and-white nudes. Gio Black Peter’s performative and playful pictures of models posing with his Glory Hole paintings. Dreamy and ecstatic photos by Luke Abby and Tyler Mattew Oyer. Łukasz Leja’s exquisite self-portraits with his paintings referencing Velázquez and other great masters. Jan Wandrag’s intricate tapestries combining street photography, Grindr screenshots and Renaissance masterpieces… I could go on about every single artist and piece. Honestly, with so many incredible contributions, I’m already dreaming about turning this into a big, sexy, unapologetically queer book.
My Romantic Ideal, curated by Slava Mogutin is on view at the Bureau of General Services—Queer Division (BGSQD) in New York City from May 1 to August 31, 2025.
Interview by Pedro Vasconcelos