On Sunday night, spontaneous, full-throated laughter filled the stage as Holly Hughes delivered a dynamic solo performance in, "Preaching to the Perverted," at the Balch Arena Theater.
From the line, "We're here to talk about me - my favorite topic, and soon to be yours, I'm sure," it is clear why the personal narrative monologue is her medium of choice. While Hughes has forged a career in performance art, she also is a professor in the art and theater departments at the University of Michigan and an activist for lesbian issues.
"Preaching" recounts Hughes' experiences as one of the notorious "NEA Four," a court case from the early 1990s, where four artists filed suit after their grants from the National Endowment for the Arts (NEA) were cancelled because of concerns over "decency." While the grants were eventually reinstated, the decency clause remains part of the NEA's charter.
Last fall, Pen, Paint, and Pretzels staged Mac Wellman's play, "Seven Blowjobs," which parodied Jesse Helms' fracas with the NEA Four.
To allow for a more intimate perspective into Hughs' life and work, the Tufts' Department of Drama and Dance sponsored a Q&A with the artist during Monday's open block. During the talk, Hughes traced her journey from waspy Mid-westerner to lesbian performance artist extraordinaire. A native of Saginaw, Michigan, Hughes was "raised by feral republicans, who weren't too interested in self-expression, since it tended to interfere with their golf swing."
Influenced by the radical political movements of the 1960s, Hughes knew she had to hightail it out of Michigan; soon after she graduated from art school (where she studied as an abstract painter,) she found herself in New York. It was there, in the early 1980s, that she got caught up in the performance movement that was sweeping the East Village's galleries and caf?©s.
Hughes found her calling in theater after joining the WOW caf?©, an artist's storefront co-op she developed "a huge group crush on," consisting largely of women who had been kicked out of other feminist collectives.
The group threw good parties Hughes said. The XXX-rated women-only Christmas bash, where attendees could frequent a booth providing complimentary buzz cuts and the "God Ball," where attendees came dressed as the religion of their choice are only two examples.
But what affected Hughes the most was the spirit of cooperation between artists of different disciplines, and the sense of play with which they approached their work.
She was also greatly influenced by drag shows and the theater of the absurd, but wondered why women didn't have a space where they could be free to be ridiculous and campy, devoid of the male gaze. In response, she created her first piece is major performance piece, "The Well of Horniness" (1983). The tone of the difficult to summarize but suffice to say it was a deliciously silly romp and is well-captured by one of its early lines, "Feel free to go too far; it's the only way to go in this play."
Since then, Hughes has continued her work in personal narratives and monologues, winning two Obie awards: one for "Dress Suit to Hire" (1988) and another for "Clit Notes." (1990) Her hilarious and disturbing plays deconstruct our common realities and tackle such serious subjects as cancer, familial acceptance, and living as a lesbian in a world that expects otherwise.
Besides earning prestigious awards, Hughes has also earned herself some enemies: Jesse Helms and other members of the far right have called her work pornographic and she has received criticism from within the queer community as well for her taboo-shattering stances. For instance, in her exploration of the development of sexuality in "Clit Notes," she reveals her attractions to her father and to butch lesbians who remind her of him.
Her sharp yet playful satires, several of which examine the inner workings and incongruities of the lesbian community, are meant to shock audiences out of their complacency. In our current climate of political conservatism, where progressives seem to be taking an increasingly silent stance in the culture wars, perhaps Hughes' unabashed brass is exactly what we need.
