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Lane Speidel’s greatest fantasy for most of their childhood and early adulthood was to follow in the footsteps of the great suicidal faggot artists of our time. But what happens when you keep planning to die but remain alive?

Lane is a person with OCD who is not a perfectionist and a depressive who loves colors. With an aesthetic described by some as the “aesthetics of the first try,” Lane channels their sloppy flamboyance into creating large scale installations. Does the duct taped fountain leak on the floor? Yes. Did the artist stab themself in the leg while making it? Definitely. After school, they began a practice of collecting beautiful trash and relearning how to be an artist. They worked through their discovery of their transness in the zine “At What Point Does a Body Become Trash”, the moral being that trash are just things that have outlasted their intended use, but they can indeed be used again. Plastic bags became something between stained glass and a quilt, old pillows became a giant tongue to lounge on, thoughts were immediately painted on walls, time travel was explored, a giant hole was cut in the wall, hideous fabrics from the dumpster made strangely shaped clothing (a quote from a beaded shirt “each of my tears is one big dick”). Writing that had previously been private began leaking out in a variety of ways, through song in their band Saggy, through print in self published zines, and recently taking the form of deeply weird short science fiction stories. For their most recent solo show “I am a threshold, a place designed for a purpose”, they recreated the sky at sunset out of trash, they wrote their first play (cast with all transexuals) which played out on their dead grandmother’s carpet with her shit stains still visible. They covered the walls with communications from other realms, messages they were hearing. Drawings of windows from their stay in the psych ward were delicately tucked in one corner. Shortly after this show was the onset of the pandemic which dismantled a lot of public facing art practices. Lane continued making clothes, stories, gifts for friends. Away from the eyes of the world they began confronting their PTSD and exploring their sexuality which took the form of a video, zine and light sculpture called “A Slut is A Person Open to the Possibility of Every Living Thing”.


Lane consistently works to create opportunities and foster spheres for trans people to connect. They curated a series called Make A Space for Me to showcase trans artists. They hold their friends in fierce community and have been working with friends to raise funds for their friend Kaycee, a Black queer farmer, to purchase a tiny home and a plot of land. They believe in the craft of surviving, and the art of thriving. They know that their transness and disability are irrevocably intertwined and know that accessibility is love, is poetry, is art. They hold dear the knowledge that all trans people are teachers just by walking down the street.


Being a transexual is political. Being a faggot is political. It is our job to upend all systems that do not make possible or celebrate joy, abundance, family, community and celebration. That means no incarceration. Medical or otherwise. No borders. No presidents. No jobs. No housing insecurity. Yes to disagreement, yes to work, yes to community entanglements, yes to caring for strangers, yes to struggling to communicate until we understand each other. Yes to cruising, yes to queer people holding hands in public in every part of the world, yes to risking it all.


Currently they are sewing, training their cat, and seeking homes for their strange writings. If you see a florid piece of trash, hear a fragment of a bizarre statement whispered to you from someone unseen, find that your tween has drawn on and cut up all their clothes, or become overcome by the need to kiss leaves, that is a message from Lane, you’re welcome.