TONTS. - Joy, Art & Queerness with David Martin Harris

Episode Date: October 7, 2022

My guest today is David Martin Harris. They are the CEO of the Melbourne Queer Film Festival, they have worked for the Australian centre for contemporary art, as the chair person and co-curator of SEVENTH gallery, they have been the co-recipient of an FBI Smack Award for best NSW arts program and they were also on the board of directors for Mooghalin Performing Arts. David has also worked for the West Australian Ballet and the Sydney Symphony Orchestra and while all of this is really impressive credentials what I loved so much about this interview was David’s story shared in their keynote address to a group of young queer visual artists and their families at a Monash Gallery of Art exhibition.To find out more about the Melbourne Queer Film Festival you can head to https://mqff.com.au/For more from Claire Tonti you can head to www.clairetonti.com or instagram @clairetontiShow credits:Editing - RAW Collings, Claire Tonti, David Martin HarrisMusic - Avocado Junkie Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

I would like to acknowledge the traditional owners of the land on which I create, speak, and write today, the Wurundjeri people of the Kulin Nation, and pay my respect to their elders past, present, and emerging, acknowledging that the sovereignty of this land has never been ceded. Hello, this is Tance, a podcast of in-depth interviews about emotions and the way they shape our lives. I'm your host, Claire Tonti, and I'm really glad you're here. Each week, I speak to writers, activists, experts, thinkers, and deeply feeling humans about their stories. And my guest today is David Martin Harris. They are the CEO of the Melbourne Queer Film Festival. They've worked for the Australian

Centre for Contemporary Art as the chairperson and co-curator of Seventh Gallery. They've worked for the Australian Centre for Contemporary Art as the chairperson and co-curator of Seventh Gallery. They've also been the co-recipient of an FBI SMAC Award for Best New South Wales Arts Program. And David's also been on the board of directors for MacGarland Performing Arts. They've also worked for the West Australian Ballet and the Sydney Symphony Orchestra. And while all of these are incredibly impressive credentials, what struck me most about David is the story of their life. So I sat down to write my questions and do my research for this interview. And then David sent me their keynote address that they gave to a group of young visual

artists at Monash Gallery of Art. And it was so moving and so beautiful and said so much more than I ever could in asking questions that I've asked David to read their speech here. I hope you enjoy it just as much as I have. I learned so much. I'll get out of the way. Here they are, David Martin Harris. I wanted to say something to you, actually. Yeah. Because I sat down to research and do this interview and then I realised I was coming at it from a straight person asking you to explain to me and teach me your experience, which I don't, I mean, obviously that's cool as well.

That's okay. Yeah, no, like, I mean, it's part of what you have to do as a queer person in public sphere or in the roles that I work in. And, you know, but it's also everyday life for us as well. You know, that explaining about gender, about sexuality is something that becomes part of your everyday when you meet new people. And that's okay. Yeah.

I think that's okay sometimes. But I also kind of wanted to, I you meet new people. And that's okay. Yeah. That's okay sometimes. But I also kind of wanted to, I don't know if apologize is the right word, but I wanted to thank you, I guess, because when I read your keynote that you sent me, that was from the Monash Gallery of Arts, right? And you were speaking to some young visual artists and it moved me so much. I cried while I was reading it, but it also made me think so much about the assumptions I made. And I hadn't thought about reading it, but it also made me think so much about the assumptions I made and I hadn't thought about what it would be like to be a queer person having someone speak directly to you rather than presenting to a group of straight people and being like, this is my

experience. So that's why I've asked you to read it because I just think it's so beautiful. Sure. Okay. Let's do it. I was laying with my legs intertwined with my partner at the time on the couch watching TV, and I randomly asked him what he thought was non-binary about me, a question I had never posed to another person before. He paused for a moment and looked at me in an adoring way that made me feel so beautiful and said that it was in the way that I moved about the world,

that there was an air about me that is non-binary in nature. I blushed with love and the joy of being seen in that moment. That description, while so apt to me, remains ambiguous for many, I realize. The impermanence, the non-definitive nature of my gender is indeed quite challenging for many to understand. And sadly, that sometimes leads to fear. And when people fear things, sometimes they want to destroy them. For me, being queer is one of the most liberating and freeing things a human can be. But it requires a person to accept that there are often no absolutes in life, and that things and you can change. The world is set up and obsessed with

binaries. Male, female, black, white, straight, gay, left, right, you're wrong, I'm right I feel that life and we just aren't that simple And anyone who thinks so is probably struggling with themselves internally I feel like this has been a constant narrative in so much art, so much literature And certainly so much film The narrative of non-conforming Or to put it another way, allowing ourselves to exist outside of some kind of box, some kind of preordained nature, allowing yourself to move

about the world with an air of your own making, even if that hasn't been defined for you. I've worked with loved and guided artists whose practice doesn't have a point of reference in history because our existence has, until relatively recently in time, been illegal and covert. Our access to writing the narrative of knowledge that defines humanity has been really limited, so it feels sometimes like we're out on a limb in the public sphere. To these people, I have often said, well, babe, it looks like you're the first. You better make it up.

Whilst all of that sounds really amazing, I also have to acknowledge that in the first stages, at least, it's terrifying to do this in practice because it means being vulnerable. And that isn't something that comes naturally to people, especially when you're staring down the barrel of a microphone. This keynote came to happen out of a conversation I had with the director of Monash Gallery as we were walking down Sixth Avenue in Manhattan about a year before the pandemic began, which is where we seem to measure time from now. I read Anushka a letter that I wrote to my 16-year-old self. It contained guidance to my younger person on how to deal with the complexities I was about

to face with being queer in the world. I did this for two reasons. To cater to my own personal context and because of a phenomenon that happens to the majority of queer people. Personally, at 16, I had to leave my family home and town because it wasn't safe for me to grow there any further. And I think that I've spent a lot of my life since trying to maintain an environment that is safe. I travelled 1,000 kilometres from regional WA to the closest city I could find to rent and finish high school.

As you can imagine, a lot of shit went down. I could have benefited from the guidance of a kind older queer person with an affinity for wearing socks and sandals at the time. Regarding the one major shared experience that queer people have, it has to do with the fact that more often than not, we are born to non-queer parents, which I feel is one of the hardest things about being born queer. Its consequence is that your parents don't have the lived experience in your queerness. There's empathy, there's love, there's compassion, there's good parenting, but when it comes to guiding you through life as a queer person, as a trans person, as a lesbian, many parents are woefully underprepared for what they have to do. They need to learn how to be good for you, and they haven't been taught about it. Having myself been thrust upon the world with no more

guidance than the late night episodes of Queer as Folk and the catty comedy of Will and Grace, and knowing that this was a common experience, I decided to sit down and write some things that I know to be true about being queer after spending my adulthood living and working within our deeply moving, complex and incredible community. Some housekeeping before I go any further. I have been subjected to countless talks by queer people explaining queerness to straight people. Whilst that work is vitally important for the social justice of our communities, this will not be my text for you today. I would like to speak to our queer audience

with us. To the wonderful artists who have contributed to this exhibition, I write this with you in heart and mind. I'd also like to preface that what I have to say comes with the context that I identify as a non-binary queer person, and this talk has to do with my personal experience and observations of the world. This brings me to the first of the six things I know about being queer. Number one, you need to learn how to be a good ally to people who aren't like you, and it's really important not to speak on behalf of other communities, even your own at times. Whilst the broader community that you belong to is banded together through a shared and historical effort to achieve equality, it's made up by a diverse intersection of individuals and groupings of people. The culture of white gay men

and trans women of colour in Australia alone could not be more different. A drag queen trying to participate in a community voguing ball is akin to wearing a Native American hairdresser at a music festival. It's just weird and insensitive. We get flattened and homogenized as queer people. We get presented as a grouping of sameness when we are in fact a lot of different and wonderful cultures. We learn how to be better humans when we take the time to listen and understand the different letters in the rainbow acronym. Lesbian, gay, transgender, queer, intersex, gender diverse, queer women, queer people

of color are all at different stages in their arduous path towards achieving equality in the world. Queer people in regional Australia where I grew up face different challenges to the ones that live in the gay ghettos of the cities. Understanding your own privilege and simply when to shut the fuck up is one of the most redeeming qualities of good social workers and something we should all personally aspire to understand deeply. There is a great First Nations saying that encompasses this perfectly, nothing about us without us, and I live my curatorial practice by that standard. Number two, you're going to be forced to be an activist, but you don't need to do this all the

time. As a queer person, you're going to be told that you are radical, socialist, Marxist, liberal, abnormal, feminist, a fetish, unholy, leftist, different, a minority, that your marriage is responsible for hurricanes and essentially you're something that needs to be changed. None of this is true. And none of this has anything to do with your sexuality or gender identity. You might be surprised about how many gay men work for the Liberal Party. It's a paradox because politics and your queerness are hard things to separate. Your very existence is one of the most politicised things in the world today. But it's important for your own health not to engage with the politics and just exist sometimes.

Remember that your experience of joy in of itself is an act of resistance. Be joyful and savour that joy. And sharing those stories and experiences of joy helps queer people who come after us to know that they can envision a good life. You're allowed to decline being political at the dinner table or pub when someone is demanding that you educate them on you. There is also no shame in hiding when it's not safe. This is an unfortunate reality to this day, but you don't need to put yourself in harm's way for the sake of the cause. No one expects this of you as an individual. Being a voice for your community, participating in the practice of visibility,

doesn't mean compromising on your emotional or physical safety. And it's the responsibility of institutions to ensure the protection when we do that work. We're lucky enough to live in a country where there are institutions and laws in place that can defend you, so use them. Number three, gay men are not the authority on good taste. We exist in a world of fantastic myths and expectations on our shoulders before we've even decided what we want to be. It's impossibly difficult and really expensive to live up to these ideals of beauty and style in our community. We're exactly the same as the rest of the human population. Some of us are gorgeous bogans, lesbians wear lipstick, poor dental hygiene is consistent with the general

population, some of us are jerks and we're not all woke. We're growing up now with queers on film in the mainstream and we face the same unachievable tropes as non-queer people. It's a magnified microcosm of beautiful people who are chronic overachievers. It's okay not to be the best at something. It's fine not to be buff and rich and if you spend your life trying to achieve those things, you'll end up being so miserable and confused about what contentment looks like by the time you're 40 that you'll have a breakdown. Twitter isn't reality and it's fine not to participate in Instagram. Be mediocre. The pants are way comfier. Agreed. Number four, queerphobia is about them, not about you. And it's irrational. Trans writer A-Lock, who is in Melbourne today, I think, once said on the

organization of queerphobia in an interview, why are these people so oppressed by us? And then I realized that this offers them a sense of belonging. They don't have a community out of who they love. They have a community out of who they hate. They are unified by fear and we are unified by love. So when we remove homophobia and transphobia and racism, they worry because they don't know who they are outside of them. They mistake disassociation as a personality, pain as a virtue and homophobia as an identity. So they're afraid they won't belong in this new world where LGBTQ people have equality.

And that's where we have to say, baby, you belong regardless. And that's the hard part. Bringing queerphobic people into the real world with compassion and saying, it's okay that you thought that awful stuff. You didn't know any better. You're welcome here with us because they're not the majority. The majority of people are not queerphobic. I would add to this that telling our stories is one of the most powerful ways that we can tackle prejudice because it smashes the dehumanising way in which we are painted with reality. This is the labour of the queer equality movement and it's something that every one of the artists in this exhibition has done.

You've shared your stories with the world and shown in your own way what the queer experience is and it's powerful and beautiful and I'm grateful. Number five, you have sovereignty over your own body, period. This in my view is the essence of the queer and many other social justice movements, having the authority to make decisions about what happens to our own bodies without fear of retribution, discrimination or mutilation. It extends to people of colour, people living with a disability, women, and sometimes that control that is exhibited over our bodies is masked by the guise of help. American Vice President Kamala Harris was debating abortion rights recently and posed this question to an opposition

senator. She said, can you think of any laws that give the government the power to make decisions over the male body? And there aren't any. Remember that no matter what anyone might say, how you define yourself, how you define your love, how you define your gender is yours to choose and yours alone. And it's okay not to know. If someone is pestering you with all their unhelpful help, it's okay to set a boundary and say, you're being really patronizing. Lastly, number six, you belong to the most extraordinary community in the world. We are in every country, every religion, every culture, every workplace, every sport, and have been so throughout all of time. It's actually really

incredible when you think about it. The history of our community is something bestowed upon us not through family lineage but through the community that we find through life. We learn about our history from the elders in our community, value them and respect them because I guarantee you they've fought some battles for your freedom. They deserve to take up space on the dance floor. They built it. If you haven't, you'll find your chosen family, the other queer people in your life that become more than friends. And when you find those people in your life, hold onto them, support them, because they will be your family forever, and know that you've chosen each other. That's what we call community. It's never been a better time to be queer in Australia.

There are difficulties to face. Social change is a really long game. It's generational. But I can honestly say that I think things are getting better slowly but surely, and that's something to be proud of. Those are the things I know about being queer. If I think of anything else, I'll let you know. Oh, I feel like I need a giant round of applause with, like, a whole lot of people and then some, like, fireworks or something.

But it's just me. So I'll just say thank you so much for sharing that and for reading all of that because it's a personal and be a big thing to do and see how do you feel reading that it's very personal I'm not I'm not you know very used to talking personally about things but when Anushka asked me to do this keynote I mean mean, I write stuff for myself. Like I'm a massive nerd. I write essays for fun sometimes or, you know, things that piss me off or things that I feel about social justice and about being queer. I write something.

I write some stuff down. And Anushka, the director of Monash Gallery, was doing this exhibition called Being a Voice, which invited the young queer people from Monash to submit photographs. And it was a stunning exhibition, beautiful work, beautiful contemporary works. And I knew that I was speaking to queer people aged kind of 16 to 20 and their family and their friends. And I just went, you know, if I'm going to talk about being a voice, I've got to talk about my own experience because that's really, that's all we can share is our own personal experience. And I just thought about

what I needed at that age, what I needed to hear at that age, because it can be a really confusing space. We make a lot of mistakes coming out, you know, we have to grow up again, coming out queer. And I guess one of my biggest gripes in life and one of my biggest gripes about being queer in Australia is that we're not allowed to be queer when we're kids. You know, it's kind of this, the rules are different when we're in high school. You know, you get to university, you turn 18, you go to the workplace, you've got workplace protections, anti-discrimination laws are in place, you've got to be respected, there's pride networks, you have to be respected, you can't be fired for being gay, you can't be fired for being trans. can't be fired for being trans but in school it's highly politicized and it's just

not not talked about so when we're kids we're in this you know especially at my age when I was a kid we're in this vacuum of information and dying to get connection and dying to get understanding about who we are and what these feelings are and to be able to have that articulated for us. I think it's really important that, you know, there's space for that for young people. Where did you grow up? So, you know, when you were a really little kid before you left to go and finish school? So we moved around a lot. I lived in a patriarchal family. My mum's a country nurse, was a director of nursing,

and they kind of, you know, bought country homes and dad built them up. Dad's a builder and they did them up and flipped them, you know. And so I grew up in like really country towns, like the end of Nullarbor in Norseman and Kalgoorlie and Esperance and Derby right up the north coast of Western Australia in remote communities. And it was dusty. I lived in the middle of the salt lakes, mudflats, really, really regional places. And there were places that it was okay to be queer, you know, especially non-binary. Like I didn't even know what non-binary was back then. And I just knew it wasn't safe as well.

Like as a teenager, it wasn't safe. And I knew I had to go to the city. I knew that I wanted to go to university. I knew that that was what was going to get me out of impoverishment in life was I just had to finish my education, had to go to university, had to get out of impoverishment. And I knew that I had to go to the city to get an education, to get into university. But the other layer on that was this deep, deep need to have community and to meet other queer people. When did you sense that you were different? Like what kind of kid were you when you were sort of, you know, five, six?

I was always non-binary. Wow. I was a very androgynous child who liked wearing drapey things and, you know, gender fucked with clothing. And, but I wasn't allowed to do that. You know, you learn, it got beaten into you that you had to be masculine. It got beaten into you that you had to be a man and you had to emulate certain things. But I was always a queer person. I've always been a non-binary person, you know, which is, you know,

this complexity around youth, us being growing up and not being able to have that agency is because we were always, I've always been non-binary. Trans people have always been trans, you know. We didn't just, it just didn't. It wasn't like a light bulb. It wasn't like a light bulb moment there, mate. It just kind of always, I was always like that.

And I was, you know, viewed as strange. And I was a very introverted child because I had to mask a lot of things that I, you know, I had to unlearn how to mask those things as an adult, you know, even my voice. You know, I know I sound queer. That's okay. You know, I had to be comfortable with the way that my body moves again and I had to reprogram my body to allow myself to be the natural way that I am as an adult because of what what we have to grow up in we shouldn't have to do that I should

have just been allowed to I wonder sometimes it's bit sad, but I wonder what I would be like if I didn't have to go through that as a kid. I wonder what kind of person I would be or what my nature would be like if I didn't have to mask things. And that's a bit, you know, probably need some therapy about that. And I think perhaps that's the thing that a lot of people struggle with. Is there a specific memory where you have thought to yourself as a kid, I've got to hide that? Like, do you have a particular memory that's quite strong? Yeah, I remember probably, I was probably about five or six and I got my mum to buy me this really, you know, it was a target outfit, but it was like, I know it was a bit

stage show and it was kind of this matching top bottom situation. I was very, always very into fashion and I wanted to wear this kind of shawl scarf with it because my mother wore shawls and beautiful drapey silks. And I got her to pin this kind of shawl on me in a way that I'd liked for it to be drapey. And I felt really proud about what I was wearing. Like, you know, I was like, I look really great. I love my outfit. And I went to this birthday party and everybody thought I was just so strange.

You know, and I suddenly felt very self-conscious about the fact, I became very aware that I was effeminate, in inverted commas, effeminate. And that was, I think that, you know, I haven't thought about that in a really long time, but that's how young it happens. Yeah. And then from there, did you start to feel like you needed to change the way you spoke or the way you dressed or hide that part of you to survive? Or did you kind of keep going anyway?

I've still got to hide stuff to survive. It's all queer people do. It's reality. We, it, there's some environments where we can be natural, our natural selves, and there's environments where it's unsafe for us to do so. I cannot, you know, I cannot be my natural self in certain settings in Australia. You know, I run a company, I, I meet politicians, I speak on stages and they're, you know, I have this, it I meet politicians, I speak on stages and, you know, I have this, it's this kind of weird, bizarre reality that I can have so much respect and agency in a city context because we live in the liberal bubble of Melbourne and I live in

a North Melbourne where it's safe and where queers live and where you can walk down the street and hold hands. It's a different story in Kalgoorlie. I couldn't wear what I'm wearing today probably walking down the street in Kalgoorlie or Esperance. You know, it would be a different story. And that's reality for queer people. So it's all the time. But, I mean, you know, it's women experience. You know, you're women and politicians and, you know,

you're told to lower your voice and, you know, you've got to talk commandingly and you've got to, you know, give a speech like that. Like, you know, we're programmed into only seeing intelligence, authority, power, all these things as being masculine. That is so true. And because I have got a high voice, I always have, very loud, very high. A gorgeous voice.

I'll take that. So do you. But I have noticed that even in podcasting and radio that you get comments about the way you are in the world. And it is about suppressing something about you. Particularly if you're a kind of theatrical person. It's like be less, be smaller. Be small, yeah. Yeah. Who would you be if you didn't have all of that, if you didn't have those messages, if you didn't grow up in a patriarchal home?

And, by the way, I've been to Derby and I remember when I first met you, I lost my shit when you told me you grew up there because I thought, holy hell, that is probably, I would say, one of the hardest places to grow up anyway. Oh, first day of primary school walking in there, some guy literally walked up to me and split my eyebrow open. Yes. It was hardcore.

It was a really hardcore school. Yeah, even if you are Seuss and straight, whatever. It was really beautiful though. There were other great qualities of that place, you know. We lived deeply ingrained with First Nations culture and with First Nations people. I went to school with asylum seekers, the kids of asylum seekers who were in detention as well. So, you know, there were kids in there who didn't speak any English as well. And, you know, we made friends with and so it was a really, you know, it was a,

it was an interesting community to grow up in, but, yeah, it was rough as guts, absolutely. And, gosh, it was hot. Yeah, dusty. And dusty. And, you know, I worked my first job there. I worked in a Woolworths and my first memorable job was being a kitchen hand at the local pub. And that's where I saved up money to move away. Like I kind of knew it.

I think I knew at about 13 I was like I've got to save up as much money as I can to get out of these places. And I just worked and worked and worked. And I think I saved up about $6,000 over about three years. And then I got out of there, like literally the day I turned 16. Wow. You say in your speech, a lot of shit went down. What do you mean? What do you mean by that when you moved away? Because you moved to the city. Yeah, I moved to the city and I rented and, you know, I was a 16-year-old going to high school and working nights in hospo and, you know, studying. And, you know, I was a good kid and I wanted to, I tried to get good grades and I wanted, but I just,

I didn't know how to pay a power bill. I didn't know how to cook food for myself. I didn't, I was literally a 16 year old kid kind of, who just kind of went out and did all this stuff on the first time. And I made a lot of mistakes and, you know, I'm surprised I got through. I couldn't, you couldn't do it now. Like you couldn't financially do that now as a 16 year old kid, you just couldn't afford to do what you did back then. You couldn't afford to rent on a student allowance or living at a home allowance as a kid. It was absolutely impossible.

But I was one of those. I'm just a statistic in that regard. You know, there's so many homeless and there's so many homeless kids who are queer still. There's so many kids who have to leave violent families. There's so many kids who have to leave religious persecution for being queer in their cultural and family context and try and make it because their families don't accept them or the communities don't accept them. It's a big proportion of homeless kids.

So I was one of those statistics in a certain manner of speaking. It's not as cut and dry as that. But I'm also, I was really lucky that I could get through high school and go to university too. You must have been so driven or still so driven. What motivates you? Cause that's brave. It's so brave, you know, to do that as that 16 and keep doing what you're doing now. Yeah. I don't know. I don't, I don't, I don't know how I feel about that word brave. It doesn't

really kind of, I, maybe I'm too bashful about it. Some people say like, I've been called resilient before. I just, you know, I just kind of wanted to get on with it. And I wanted, it was about, I knew who I was and I knew what I knew that I was queer. And I knew that I was an intelligent person and I knew that this was going to be a good thing for me. And I had good parenting to a good extent. And, you know, I had, did have family support in some ways, but an encouragement, especially from my mom. And I've got a really good relationship with my family now.

Love, love, love my family. But it was just a drive to have a life that I wanted to have and live and work and be happy and be safe. And you write in your speech that being queer is liberating and freeing. Do you remember the first time you felt like that, like liberated and free? I think it's always just, you know, if you've got a confidence about it, you've accepted it and you love it, there's no rules, you know, it's kind of like, oh, like, I don't even want, it's like clubs. I don't want to be

a member of a club. You know, it's like Groucho Marx saying, you know, like I wouldn't be a member of any club that would have me. But it's not like that. It's kind of like, well, the club doesn't matter because I was never going to be part of it anyway. You know, when I was growing up, I didn't think I could get married or have kids. It was never on the cards. You know, I didn't think I could do that. There's barriers to doing that still. But I can do that now.

I can, you know, I can get married now. I still don't know how to define that relationship. I'm a non-binary person who dates men. Like, you know, what is that called? There's still not some language around it's queer, you know. But there was never a box for me to fit in, really. And the boxes that I think were preordained around being queer were just gay men. It was a very white, gay, male-centric thing and this kind of catty gay men, Will and Grace kind of style thing.

And that just doesn't, it's not, that's not a box that I belong to. It's not culture that I aspire to or really, you know, I guess it's kind of part of my, it's part of my community, but it's not what I identify with. So I think that freedom of kind of choosing where you, you fit in that gender spectrum and what your love looks like and what your relationships look like is really freeing for people. you fit in that gender spectrum and what your love looks like and what your relationships look like is really freeing for people.

And I think all people need to have that freedom. You know, all people deserve to have this freedom and autonomy over our bodies and autonomy over our own sex and our love lives and who we love and who we can enjoy. Because without it, it's just what it actually is, is a pressing joy. God, that is so big. God, that is so big. Yes, that is so true. It's just oppressing joy. Yes.

It's oppressing love. It's oppressing connection. It's oppressing pleasure. Let's talk about it, people. Like, you know, like that's what it is. That's what subjugation of queer people is, is oppression of joy and oppression of true nature. And it's what the work of the Australian Christian lobby is. It's their institution set up in Australia, all over the world, that do the work of this oppression. Some of them are government funded, some of them are registered charities. It's organized oppression. Freedom of

that and liberation of that is a period that I think we're going through as a society and a culture at the moment. You know, we're talking about Australian culture here, very different around the world, very different in different contexts. But we'll talk about Australia. We're going through a period at the moment of feminism's coming, having another wave, the queer liberation movement's having another wave, POC community's having another wave, and we're having a deeper conversation now. And I'm really grateful for this conversation that's happening because the communities are saying, no, actually, you're oppressing my joy and my identity. And it's, you know, this is about human rights now, and let's be really serious here. And don't you think, it sounds like a long bow to draw, but I don't think it is.

It's human rights, but it's also care of our land, care of our earth, connection, as you said, that is such a hugely powerful word when we really start to think about it. Because when we really deeply connect into our bodies, it also means really deeply connecting into the land we walk on. It's being hyper aware of the fact that we're creatures on a rock through space, you know? Yeah. And, you know, everything matters and nothing matters and we need to express who we are. But, you know, animals don't walk around oppressing themselves for being who they are.

They just are. Yeah. Like, just let us be. Yeah. Let folks be folks, please. Yes. And stop worrying about it because we're okay, you know? Yeah.

I was thinking on the way here about this, you know, it's a complex conversation. People saying like, oh, you know, I just wish for a simpler time or, you know, it's so confusing with social media at the moment and there's so many, you know, it's a very binary discussion again, this kind of work against right-wing kind of discussion. And it's really lazy. You know, it's not a complicated time.

People just have a voice. People have microphones now. Queer people have microphones. People of colour have microphones. First Nations people have microphones. Get used to it, you know. And it's lazy not to listen. It's lazy not to listen and understand instead of just attacking.

Yeah. And because what you said at the other side of it is actually more joy, more freedom, more connection with possibly your kids, with your loved ones, with yourself. Yeah. You know, and isn't that where we want to get to? I don't know if you can answer this. Why do you think that there is that level of oppression?

Like why do they, they in inverted commas, want to oppress joy, want to restrict freedom of expression and identity and all of those things? It's cultural and it's systematic. I remember when I was working in women's violence prevention a while back, one of the kind of lead policy people said to me, very, very intelligent woman who worked in women's violence prevention policy in Australia, said to me, you know, if the system's oppressive, it was probably designed that way.

That blew my mind. And it's so simple. But I think that we've got a patriarchal society that is very disturbed about the loss of power, perceived loss of power that they're having in relation to other people, to, you know, other communities, women, the Me Too movement, you know, there's this perceived loss of power because we're getting our agency now and we're saying, no, this is not okay. This abuse is not all right. This is not good. And we're not going to stand for it. And so, you know, we've got a male dominance that is

feeling really threatened about that perceived loss of power, and they're reacting really hard. And this is natural. This is what was going to happen. This is what happens in social justice movements. And when people become liberated and communities become liberated, is that those oppressors feel really, really threatened, and they will react harsher. And it's, you know, the visibility is only just happening. You know, trans people have been around forever. But trans people have only just started having visibility in the world as authors on TV, as actors, you know, as academics, as parents, because previously you'd be killed for it, you know, or you'd be put in prison. So relatively in history, this is very new. You

know, we've got to realise how young these things are in a historical context. And it's really wonderful, but we're getting the backlash at the moment. So I think that's where we're at a little bit in politics. What advice do you have for people who are finding that really challenging or in this really exciting time, but also it strikes me that there's a need to look

after ourselves, right, and for you to look after yourself. Yeah. What advice do you have for people? I get overwhelmed all the time by, you know, I have to have hiatuses from social media and the news and the commentary. And I think the importance of fostering that healthy community and knowing that you can have refuge in that community, knowing, okay, that it's not to participate in the work of social justice all the time, the work of visibility.

You know, I mean, I do it as a job in some ways. I work in arts organisations, but, you know, I work in queer arts organisations, so there's an overlayer of, it's not just, you know, artwork, there's a social justice movement and a politic that is inherent and undercurrent and a base for all of this stuff in a way in queer arts. But I still need a break from it. And, like, I have boundaries because it's my job and I, you know, go home at 5pm or try and switch off.

But I think that it's okay to switch off. That's what I would say is, like, it's okay to switch those things off. It's okay to just participate and be joyful in life and have a positive time. And, you know, I think there is refuge for community and you can feel so much weight a lot of the time. I think some queer people sometimes feel so much weight on our shoulders to have to be part of that movement and keep going. You're allowed to have a break from it.

You know, go to the beach, go to the movies. Put your trackies on. Put your trackie-dacks on, you know. Just, you know, go to the pub, have a dance. You're allowed to have some fun. Yeah. And have a break from it. And also, you know, that Twitter storm is not real.

That's not real life. There's some really shouty voices shouting at each other in there. It's actually, you know, it is a little bit of a bubble in itself. You don't have to engage with it all the time. And isn't that kind of activism in a way in and of itself, just by allowing yourself to be who you are and just walk around the world just being you, not having to be like a big shouty social justice warrior necessarily or whatever, just walking around, just enjoying yourself,

being who you are, you know. What's about being a well-rounded human being? You know, you've got to, there's serious sides of things, there's love, there's fun times, there's joy. You've got to curate a life for yourself and experiences for yourself that you are nourished by. And social justice is, you know, we nourish that need to be heard be seen be respected that's a need in the world as a human being to be respected there's other needs though that you

need to foster as well yeah does that make sense yeah it does make sense completely I want to ask you about art because your career is incredibly impressive And I've talked about to our listeners all the things that you've done in the intro. How did you land in art? So where did you go from university? How did you get to be in this world? I went to a specialist arts high school and I studied visual art. I was a cellist. I wanted to be an actor at one point.

Like I was a real dilettante of a kid. And I just, you know, I think my mum really actor at one point. Like I was a real dilettante of a kid. Yeah. And I just, you know, I think my mum really encouraged that in me and my art practice was this kind of introvert safe space where I could explore the gentler side of life and the gentler side of my nature and paint. And I love visual art and I love the intelligence of contemporary art and the gentleness of the politic of contemporary art and film and music. I've loved, I just love a lot of art forms. And when I was in university for the

first time, I just, it was just, it was just random. My friend got a job at the West Australian Ballet through another queer kid, basically a placement through a youth support organization for queer kids. And there was another position going and he said, you should apply for this. And I was, you know, studying comms. And I got a job at the West Australian Ballet in the fundraising department. And I kind of fell into arts administration in a way. I'm an arts worker, arts administrator, we used to call it. And it's an environment in which you can be safe as a queer person.

There's certain, you know, there's tropes around queer people about, you know, we work in airlines, we work in hospitality, we're hairdressers, we're ballet dancers. It's not that we're actually kind of attracted to those things, it's that they are places in which the community is abundant and it's safe for us to work. There are spaces which are safe for women to work. There are spaces which are safe for women to work. There are spaces where, you know, construction, mining,

you know, the terribly masculine ones, we don't, you know, gravitate to those areas because it's not safe. So I gravitated to an area of life that, A, I had passion in because I like, I love art, but also because it was a safe environment and there were other queer people there. And I'm good at what I do, you know. Yeah, you're bloody good at it, mate. Honestly.

And I just, you know, I like working and I work in the non-profit industry. You know, I think I get a lot of joy and satisfaction out of what I do for work because it is a community, cultural thing to do and there's a deeper meaning to it in the work at the moment I get to support this platform or run this platform that shares international queer stories it's a queer film festival yeah exactly so you know I really see that as being a platform for queer voices and I love that I absolutely love that about what I do um so there's definitely passion behind it.

On the outside of passion and all those kind of things and what you don't say in a job interview is like, I worked really hard because I didn't want to be broke anymore. You know, I just, yeah, I wanted to have a successful life and a comfortable life for myself after going through this period of childhood that was really, I was really broke. So I do have an ingrained sense of, like, fear of not being poor. That's part of my drive as well, which, you know,

probably explains to where I got to. Yeah, that's a very long explanation of your question. Here's a question. What are some things that you have now because you've got that financial stability and freedom that you just love? Because I can imagine from being that kid now having the means to just buy some shit like what gives you joy ah you know like I still have anxiety about spending more than a hundred dollars really yeah I bought a car for the I bought like yeah I bought

a second-hand car a year ago and that was like, yeah, I felt like, oh, I've got my big human pants on now, even though I do what I do. But that was like, I think mobility was having a lot of freedom for me and being able to travel is one thing that's really exciting. Being able to feed myself properly was an experience that I had in my late 20s, you know, like just kind of that was the level that I went through in high school. Part of that moving out of 16 and no guidance situation was nobody told me how to financially manage anything. I had to learn that stuff later in life. I guess why I'm asking is because I think this journey that you have been on, I hate that word, but it's so impressive who you are and that progression in your life. Like that's, it's so impressive.

It's so deeply impressive and so powerful for other kids in all different situations, whether they're non-binary, whether they're just growing up in a really rough spot. Yeah. I think what I would say is that, you know, this journey was out of necessity, you know, it wasn't some kind of weird drive or anything like that. Like it's just, it was in some points, literal survival. So that's the drive behind it in some ways. And, you know, I have a career of a personal life that I had to foster as well, but it was, you know, I don't feel special in it. I think this kind of comes back to,

it comes back to like, I'm a queer person too. Like I am subject to what I just said in that keynote of like being a chronic overachiever. You know, queer people, like we feel this pressure to be the best of something. There's this book called The Velvet Rage that talks about this, which is an interesting read. And it's this drive that you have as a queer person to be the best, the wealthiest, the most educated, the best at whatever we do. Chronic overachievers, like we're a community of chronic overachievers because it's about validation. It's about having to compensate for the shame that we experience through life. So my life has taken that trajectory as well. And those are things that I realized in my thirties, like, you know, coming, adulting and realizing that, that overachieving stuff

needs to have balance and that it's not real. And, you know, you need to foster quieter parts of life in order to have fulfillment and to be happy. And I'm a CEO now of a institution, a public institution, and that's a title. But I need to also foster a personal life and a quiet part of life that I enjoy as well that involves baking and dogs and, you know, road trips to see people that I love and go swimming. And life isn't all about being glamorous or doing interviews. And I feel really privileged that I can now get invited to do things like this and I get invited to do keynotes. I'm very, I feel very honored to do these sort of things and talk about my story.

But I think that, you know, as I said in that keynote, it's not necessarily the path that you think you should. I thought I had to do that in order to be successful as a younger person. I'm now realising that, you know, fulfilment in life really comes from the quieter things. There's been so many tweetable moments. It's very Oprah thing to say, isn't it? I'm just going to listen back immediately.

I'm going to write that down. Remember that. Oh, my goodness. Okay, here's a question. You talk about queer parenting, right, and growing up as a queer person with straight parents. For parents who are parenting queer kids, what do you want them to know? Oh, gosh, this is hard because I'm not a parent, you know,

and it's like, oh, it's the parent space. I think, you know, it depends on what generation you're talking about as well. And my parents are boomers and they just, it wasn't about not talking about being queer. It just was about not talking about sex. Oh yeah. You know, you're like, you can't talk about sex because being gay or being lesbian is about sex, who you're romantically involved with. And I mean, that's hard enough for, you know, a parent to talk to their kid about it. They're straight. Gender's another topic as well. I think

participating in culture with your kids is really important. And there's ways to let your child know they're going to come out to you. You know, you want to create a safe space for your kid to come out to you and have that conversation. And it's the biggest thing they'll ever do at that stage of life. And coming out to your parents is like, it's the biggest thing you ever do. You know, some people never do it. Some people never tell their parents. They come out after their parents die. Wow.

You know, they transition after their parents die. And so it's really important to create a safe space for your kid to be able to tell you something like that, for starters. But also, you know, participate in the joy and celebration of the community that your child belongs to, you know. And it's not all like Mardi Gras parties and things like that. You know, there's film and there's art and there's culture and there's politics and there's writing and literature and there's so much great stuff out there made by queer folk

throughout history forever go participate in it with your kid it'll be that's that's creating a safe space and that's learning that you can learn as well that's the best advice i've heard really it's going out there and experiencing it with your child it's fun yeah looks fun we're a bloody fun community totally you've talked a bit about it but what do you love about being part of the queer community? The lack of sameness, just how interesting it is and how diverse it is and how beautifully intelligent it is as well.

I think that like all oppressed communities, we tend to be pretty kind folk as well certainly trauma informed in a lot of ways so it's a beautiful self-expression environment and there's that freedom that comes with it um as well is is a really beautiful thing to see play out you know and there's you know so much beautiful art comes out of that so many beautiful experiences you know and euphoria comes out of that and the freedom to dance comes out of that, so many beautiful experiences, you know, and euphoria comes out of that and the freedom to dance comes out of that in that as well. That's a big part of I think queer culture is dancing

and the dance floor because, you know, we're allowed to be in clubs. Yeah, that's what I love about it. What was it like to be behind the scenes of the West Australian Ballet? It was lots of chill. Beautiful. Beautiful. Lots of very painful feet. Oh, that was, you know, it was my first arts administrator job, but yeah, I've got a

really soft spot for that. It was a really fun environment and they're Olympians. You're working with Olympic athletes when you're working with ballet dancers. But it was just, I was running behind the scenes of His Majesty's Theatre in Perth in secret corridors and to do things for my bosses. And you'd have very glamorous opening nights. And it was a really beautiful culture sharing experience. I kind of gotten older and I kind of like, don't really like traditional ballet anymore.

Like, you know, I'm not really into the tropes that kind of get repeated in it from a cultural perspective. But it was a really fun, supportive, lovely family environment to kind of work in. Yeah. What are some of your favourite art to see now? What do you love to go to at the moment? I know you work in the space, but is there stuff that you like to see yourself? I like the pandemic just kind of smashed

so much of the industry and the culture sharing. I feel like I'm only just starting to kind of get back really into it. Films, I mean, I've still been watching film like crazy. It's been one of the most accessible things you can do is to continue to watch films. So I'm still into that. I mean, the opening night piece of the Melbourne International Film Festival was really beautiful of age. But I do have a soft spot for contemporary visual art still. I think what I've seen happen kind of just pre-pandemic, I went on this big overseas trip and I went to London, Paris and New York and really kind of went to all the major cultural institution galleries in those cities. And queer art was finally coming to a forefront, even gender diverse stuff in the major galleries, which is radical.

You know, I think people don't realise how radical queer art in major institutions is because it's not really happened before. And, you know, the pandemic happened. Nobody went to an exhibition because we weren't allowed to go outside. The next kind of biggest thing that I saw was NGV Queer that happened, which was this deep investigation into the NGV collection, which I hope they do more work on and I hope they do more commissioning on. That was an interesting investigation.

There were some people in that exhibition I didn't know were queer. I think that the outside of the queer institutions and the major institutions, they're still kind of figuring it out. They're still figuring out the agency of working with community, especially non-binary folk maybe and gender diverse folk. You know, there's got to be a lot of agency in that practice. That's what I'm seeing emerging now is a lot of this importance of agency in arts practice around different communities and about us you know nothing about us without us yeah that practice coming in and it's about power sharing and it's

about control sharing it's about curatorial sharing and it's interesting seeing that kind of playing out in the non-queer institutions and that politic coming out in the non-queer institutions as well because it's challenging a lot of institutions, these big cultural institutions, to actually do that deeper cultural work. Do you mean by agency, do you mean consultation, like having more diversity in voices who are curating things? Is that what you mean? Yeah, totally.

You know, and it's about working with communities in a non-tokenistic way. And there's artist-led practices coming in. I mean, that's not new, but it's prolific right across the industry. And, you know, we're talking about, let's take it to queer film, for example. Brokeback Mountain, highly problematic, you know, highly problematic shows, depressing as hell anyway. But you've got, you know, it's about's about you know it's about the problems of cis people paying trans people or non-queer people paying queer people or not having you know having

these kind of like male hetero cis gazers of what the queer experience is that isn't actually that and so it doesn't actually it's talking about queer stories but like it's not with queer actors it's not with queer writers it's not written with queer writers, it's not written by queer people. Those kind of things are what are really important when it comes to this kind of representation stuff and with community, I think, from a curatorial and art production, cultural production point of view, that this conversation now is really proliferating across institutions and practices right across the art world, I think,

in a really, really big way. Yeah, people with disabilities as well, I think, in a really, really big way. Yeah. People with disabilities as well, I would say exactly the same thing. Yeah. You know, people with disabilities playing themselves. 100%. You know? Yeah.

And women as well. I know that's another conversation for another day, but I've noticed the shows that I gravitate to now are written by women, produced by women, and the types of complexity and almost grossness in the characters I love. Like I was watching this show Bad Sisters created by Sharon Horgan last night and it's all about sisters and one of them farts and someone else says,

ouch, my tits hurt or something. And I was like, I love this because that's how women can talk to each other. Yeah. And I almost hadn't realized, and this is so far, I'm very conscious. I'm just speaking into my experience now, but I didn't even realize growing up, you know, straight and white as well, but a woman, how much art I was consuming that was written about me, but not by anyone that was me, you know, as in a woman.

And did you reach that moment where you're like hang on a second how much of this is is this influencing my world view you know and I think coming up like taking back to a queer perspective it's it's a very historically it's been a very flat and boring rep sameness representation for so long that didn't really I couldn't there was something that didn't identify with. And then, you know, we're only now kind of seeing that stuff come out and, you know, there's just this, there's a huge history of depressing stories for queer people where we die, we get AIDS, we get bashed, you know, these really depressing things. It's like, where do we get joyful story? Can we have some joyful stories that are just kind of everyday life for a moment? Like,

I love that stuff. Friendship circles, you know, normal neurotic conversations or, you know, like we have more complexity than these, you know, tragedy tropes. And those things are coming out now because of agency in practice for lots of different communities. And that's, this is, I think that's a super exciting development in culture. Oh, yeah. Yes. Actually, not even just on a personal note, but in culture, because we're just getting better, more interesting art. Yeah.

And we're getting, we're actually getting different stories because like how, we cannot rehash Shakespeare anymore, people. Like, we just can't do it anymore. Like, we just, you know, how many times do we need to hear a Shakespearean story? I love, like, you know, love Bell Shakespeare, love what they're doing. But I mean, like we need new narratives, new narratives need to come through. And those are the things that are really fascinating in culture at the moment are the queer stories, the black stories, the trans stories.

Those are the things and the narratives that are, I think, the most fascinating. Right. Do you think there's also something about having autonomy and the financial freedom to be able to create art? Oh yeah. I mean, yeah, this is an interesting topic, which I have very strong opinions about. Cultural production is certainly a privileged game in a lot of cases. You know, you've got to be very lucky or come from a very wealthy background to be a classical musician, to be a dancer, to take that risk in life, to put everything into your artwork and become an artist,

that's a risk, financial risk. And you've got to have some, generally speaking, you've got to have some backing. And it goes into this question around who gets access to cultural production and who gets access to education, you know. And we set this, I think sometimes in culture and academia and lots of different parts of life, we set this bar of access to writing and talking and the mode of historical production only really gets given to those people who can afford to go through those systems, those university systems, those education systems, those private schools. So we only, you know, get the, it's not that we only do that, it's not that cut and dry, but there's an inequality there

that means that there is an access to cultural production. And just because somebody hasn't gone through the education, inverted commas, to master the English language and grammar to a certain level doesn't mean that their story is not valid and doesn't mean that their story shouldn't be told. Also, that story doesn't have to be about them being impoverished either. It doesn't have to be a trauma or rags to riches trope that we like seeing all the time as well. What about those other stories? What about the everyday life of people who aren't that privileged? And, you know,

you see that kind of, I mean, one of the reasons why I was so, I became so disillusioned when I was working in really upper class, the upper echelon of art, I was working for the Sydney Symphony Orchestra, and I found it really classist. I found the environment really classist. And I found working around and with people who were that privileged quite daunting. And I found I wanted to go back to a community organisation, a smaller organisation that was working on a community level, because that's where I come from. And that's where I felt most comfortable. But I thought I needed to get right up there. I was like, oh, I made this big job. I'm working at the Sydney Symphony Orchestra. And I was like, I was, you know, I became very unhappy very quickly, I think, because,

you know, I love classical music, but I wasn't part of that society. I never was. And I didn't feel comfy there. So I guess that's a really complex way of answering your question around who gets access to cultural production. But it's not unproblematic. We'll put it that way. Absolutely. I think that you've done a beautiful job then of articulating an answer to my question,

because I've reflected on that a lot recently, that we often get art from privileged people because it is a privilege to make art, because you, exactly as you say, you don't have to make it your living necessarily if you've got or it's less of a risk for you to do it full time and the amount of hours that you need to invest without making any money from it to really get to that point. And then there's the snobbery around it as well. I'm a musician but I stopped making music for a long time for that reason

because I felt like, A, I guess I need to make a living as well. But also I felt like there's so much pressure. And I think Australia particularly has a culture of that, that either you're going to be the best of the best or don't do it. Yeah, exactly. You've got to be right at the top or don't even bother. And it's not reality. It's not how most people can afford to make art or practice in art. You know, it's very much, you know, it's a hobby for a reason for a lot of people because you just can't afford to do it. Can't afford to take that risk.

You'd be really, really fortunate to be able to take that risk, I think. Totally. And don't you think as well, actually, art isn't something we could just achieve, like get to the point where it's got value in terms of monetary things, but isn't it also just a way of being? Like you were talking about as a kid playing cello, painting, that's just a way of being in the world. Yeah. It's a practice that you, writing. I mean, my primary art form at the moment is probably writing outside of my work. It's a practice of self-evolvement, I think,

sometimes for a lot of artists. Well, I feel like my practice is like that, my personal practice is like that. It's not for anybody else. And, you know, there's so many artists who come at it really later in life who, you know, their careers kind of kick off in their 50s or 60s. They're never known before then. Sharon Jones, for crying out loud, people like, you know, came at it really like had beautiful, very short career, got taken away by cancer way too early. As an example, I think it's a really great thing for everybody to learn how to do as a practice because it can be like therapy

you know it's it's self-expression teaching us about emotions teaching us about gosh if so many more men learned how to make art as kids like i think that we would have a much more relaxed society you know and allowing us to engage with the feminine, with the unknown, the conceptual, the emotional, those kind of things that you get through art and that desire that we have as human beings to be moved. We have a desire to be moved as human beings, I think. And we get that through art practice, whether you're experiencing it or you're creating it, massive emotional outlet that I think is really healthy for people.

Really? Because it's sort of putting your own self out there and then someone walks past and goes, oh, that's me. Yeah, but you don't even need to do it for anybody else. You don't need to make art to show other people. You don't need to write things down to show other people to put in galleries and put on display and get validation from. If you want to make art, just go do it.

And the best art tools that you have are the ones that are at your disposal right now. Two more minutes. Yep. Mic drop. Mic drop. Oh, thank you. Thank you so much, David. This has been the most beautiful conversation and I really appreciate you taking the time to come on.

Is there anything else you'd like to say? Like, is there anything else that you would like to say, particularly I'm thinking for young queer people who might be listening to this? Just keep going. And again, I think be joyful. I know that sounds a little bit trite. No, I loved that be joyful. I think that that's so simple and actually so complex because it's defiant in a way, in a weird way, which is like I feel like as a woman being joyful is defiant too. Yeah, yeah. It's weird. Yeah, exactly.

Yeah, be joyful and be radical in your joyfulness as well. Go for gold. Go for gold. Yeah, mate. Yeah. I don't know why I said it like that. Be your best queer. Be your best queer. I love it. Absolutely. Lean in. All right. Thank you so much. My pleasure. Thanks for having me on. You're welcome. You've been listening to a podcast with me, Claire Twente,

and this week, the incredible David Martin Harris. For more from David, you can head on over to their Instagram at David Martin Harris. And for more from me, you can go to at Claire 20 on Instagram or at my website, claire20.com. Thank you as always to Royal Collings for editing this week's episode. If you like this episode, please share it with a friend. That's the best thing. I love to share podcasts that I get something out of with my friends. And I think this one is a really special one. Also, if you happen to be a parent of a queer kid, I think that there's so much great advice and support here too in this episode. If you like podcasts and you're looking for some recommendations, I also do another podcast with my wonderful husband, man, James Clement. It's called Suggestible, where we recommend you things to watch, read and listen to, just

like your own little personal Netflix recommendation show. And that comes out every Thursday. I have loved this conversation. I felt really privileged to sit down with David to do it. So I hope you love it just as much as me. And I'll talk to you soon. Bye.