I love this so much. The wheelchair image especially. It seems so bananas that anyone could find that image offensive. I knew nothing of Tee's work. Thank you so much for sharing.
I’m positively thrilled that you are working with the Archives to document all this. It’s so important, and it’s a gift that the material and the context will not be lost. It’s maybe more powerful to ensure the story is preserved than it was to create it in the first place - both have to occur in order for there to be a lasting legacy. Great work!
I love everything about this. I well remember the their collectively iconic work and so appreciate the story of how you all "collaborated." It was revolutionary work! This has reminded me that I need to make the time to go through all the books and journals in boxes....my own unofficial mess of an archive. xo
Yes! Do it! Archives depend upon people like you to step forward, offer your material, and work with them to get it organized. What Susie is doing is an archivists wet dream. I encourage you to follow her lead. This is how history is preserved.
I moved to San Francisco in 1981 when I was nineteen. I brought along my girlfriend (I say this because the whole thing was my idea, I wanted to move to the Bay Area to play music) and her young son. We were escaping Oklahoma in a dramatic fashion, because her psycho fundamentalist parents were looking into taking her son from her because of her sexuality, and in Oklahoma at that time, they would have succeeded. Anyway, I didn’t know jack shit about San Francisco, except for stories I’d read about Janis Joplin in “Going Down With Janis”, a few tidbits about the Summer of Love, and that all the coolest underground comics were made there, because I’d worked at a head shop when I was seventeen and read them all the way down to the fine print.
Anyway, I moved us smack dab into the Castro, having had no clue it was the gayest place on the planet. We moved into a third floor apartment right next to the Jaguar bookstore. When I’d checked the place out I hadn’t noticed all the men cruising out front. Within days my girlfriend and I were exploring Valencia Street and quickly discovered Old Wives Tales, where we walked around like starving kids in a pastry shop. On the way back to the Castro, we stumbled into the Artemis Cafe, where my singer songwriter girlfriend thought she might get a gig. The walls were adorned with huge landscapes, and, upon further inspection, I noticed the labia. As I scanned each image, the folds of female flesh exposed themselves to me. Whoa! My eyes almost popped out of my head. It was one of Tee Corinne’s images. Her art was part of my introduction to the city, images I’d not only never seen before but never imagined were possible. It was definitely a “Dorothy, we’re not in Kansas, anymore!” moment, one of many I had during those first few months.
In 1961, a friend played the gay card to evade the draft. He was sent to an Army shrink to determine his actual gayness-or-not. The test involved questions like, quote, "You know vat iss a bulldagger?" If you knew vat vas a bulldagger, it was proof positive that you were gay. I guess the assumption was, how could any straight person possibly know that?
I love this so much. The wheelchair image especially. It seems so bananas that anyone could find that image offensive. I knew nothing of Tee's work. Thank you so much for sharing.
I’m positively thrilled that you are working with the Archives to document all this. It’s so important, and it’s a gift that the material and the context will not be lost. It’s maybe more powerful to ensure the story is preserved than it was to create it in the first place - both have to occur in order for there to be a lasting legacy. Great work!
I love everything about this. I well remember the their collectively iconic work and so appreciate the story of how you all "collaborated." It was revolutionary work! This has reminded me that I need to make the time to go through all the books and journals in boxes....my own unofficial mess of an archive. xo
Yes! Do it! Archives depend upon people like you to step forward, offer your material, and work with them to get it organized. What Susie is doing is an archivists wet dream. I encourage you to follow her lead. This is how history is preserved.
Kris, the time is NOW. I say that earnestly. Especially in your case!
I moved to San Francisco in 1981 when I was nineteen. I brought along my girlfriend (I say this because the whole thing was my idea, I wanted to move to the Bay Area to play music) and her young son. We were escaping Oklahoma in a dramatic fashion, because her psycho fundamentalist parents were looking into taking her son from her because of her sexuality, and in Oklahoma at that time, they would have succeeded. Anyway, I didn’t know jack shit about San Francisco, except for stories I’d read about Janis Joplin in “Going Down With Janis”, a few tidbits about the Summer of Love, and that all the coolest underground comics were made there, because I’d worked at a head shop when I was seventeen and read them all the way down to the fine print.
Anyway, I moved us smack dab into the Castro, having had no clue it was the gayest place on the planet. We moved into a third floor apartment right next to the Jaguar bookstore. When I’d checked the place out I hadn’t noticed all the men cruising out front. Within days my girlfriend and I were exploring Valencia Street and quickly discovered Old Wives Tales, where we walked around like starving kids in a pastry shop. On the way back to the Castro, we stumbled into the Artemis Cafe, where my singer songwriter girlfriend thought she might get a gig. The walls were adorned with huge landscapes, and, upon further inspection, I noticed the labia. As I scanned each image, the folds of female flesh exposed themselves to me. Whoa! My eyes almost popped out of my head. It was one of Tee Corinne’s images. Her art was part of my introduction to the city, images I’d not only never seen before but never imagined were possible. It was definitely a “Dorothy, we’re not in Kansas, anymore!” moment, one of many I had during those first few months.
What a story, Christa. The classic PERFECT welcome to San Francisco. And all that brought us together as friends. It was kismet.
In 1961, a friend played the gay card to evade the draft. He was sent to an Army shrink to determine his actual gayness-or-not. The test involved questions like, quote, "You know vat iss a bulldagger?" If you knew vat vas a bulldagger, it was proof positive that you were gay. I guess the assumption was, how could any straight person possibly know that?