Quil Lemons Explores Own Identity in New Photography Series 'Quiladelphia'
Quil Lemons unpacks his own identity as a Black gay man, while also dissecting what it means to be one’s fully authentic self.
Quil Lemons has photographed megastars like Billie Eilish, Lorde, and Pamela Anderson; directed campaigns for Calvin Klein and Gucci; and seen his work included in Gagosian director Antwaun Sargent’s book The New Black Vanguard. But A-list names aren’t the heart of the photographer’s work. His new photo series Quiladelphia, on view at the Hannah Traore Gallery this fall, takes its name from Lemons’ hometown of Philadelphia. “City of Brotherly Love,” he muses. “I think it extends to loving thy neighbor. My interpretation of that is loving my queer family.” The 26-year-old photographer describes Quiladelphia as “a manifesto of radical queerness but also Black queerness.”
L’OFFICIEL: Quiladelphia is quite personal. It feels like a self-portrait of sorts. Can you talk us through the process of creating it?
QUIL LEMONS: In the past year, I felt like the only way I could really express myself was really just going for it. Radical honesty, radical love. It felt so free and liberating. When I started thinking about sharing it, that brought up ideas of shame and made me a little nervous, but I think that’s the whole point of the series. It places a mirror in front of morality—my own, and yours. I think most people are going to see it like, Oh my god, you’re so brave, you’re so fearless. I don’t think anyone really knows what it means, other than people who live the same experiences as I do, how daunting it could be, but there’s no other option. Because then if you’re not that free and that brave, then you’re not seen—you’re not seen for your full self.
L’O: The show hones in on the Black queer experience and the vulnerability of Black men. As a Black queer man, do you feel art has given you that space to be vulnerable? Or did you have to create that space for yourself?
QL: I definitely had to create it and also fight for it. There are so many Black queer creators that are doing the same thing. I think, historically, the art world and just the world at large has completely ignored Black queer experiences and attached them to things that would other us and shame us for wanting to live freely and to be seen. When it comes to my approach to dismantling masculinity, I feel, as a Black man, to have a sense of vulnerability is kind of unheard of. I think that a lot of people don’t even associate Black masculinity with the word vulnerability. There’s such an expectation to be hyper-masculine. I don’t think that I’m not masculine. I completely engage with masculinity daily, but I think because it doesn’t appear to other people in that way, femininity is something that’s always been thrust onto me. And I love it, definitely. I’m somebody who is very in tune with femininity, but I always found it really interesting that there is such a monolithic view of Black masculinity that femininity can’t exist with it. It would exist in any person. There’s duality. I don’t like to be heavy-handed with explanations when it comes to the work. I think the work explains itself. For you to properly understand, you have to come down the rabbit hole with me and fully dive in. But I feel like that directness pushes you to think forward, and it pushes me to be vulnerable. When people approach my work, they always use words like soft and tender. I don’t think that that’s necessarily what’s happening, especially in this show. I don’t think that anything is really soft about it. A younger me would probably look at this and definitely clutch their pearls, but I’m 26 now. My thoughts have a lot more nuance, and my understanding of Black masculinity and Black queer masculinity is loaded and nuanced and fun.
Another thing that came up in my own personal exploration was this idea of what it means to be punk and to really understand that subculture. I think that vulnerability is punk. That’s why I go back to the topic of radical love and honesty. I feel like those are two things that the patriarchy and colonialism have always tried to eradicate. I think I’m, in some ways, a bit of a queer communist. [Laughs.] Because everything that I want for myself and everybody that looks like me are things that I want for the world. I think that’s the underlying message of all of my work.
L’O: Another main element of this series is exploring vulnerability through the lens of kink and sexuality in this very intimate way. As the photographer, there has to be trust between you and your subjects if you want to really, as you said, “go there.”
QL: I’ve been thinking about that for a bit. I’m generally a pretty open person. I’m a Gemini and an air sign. So my thoughts are always fluid, but also once I’m on something and indoctrinated, it’s just a part of my life now. I think the first time I started exploring nudity within my photographic work was whenI was in college. I had three other friends who are artists: Chella Man, Myles Loftin, and MaryV. We would all just get naked, and not in a sexual way. It was like, Wow, you have a body. I have a body. And they exist in the same space. I think that was the first time I actually was able to photograph another person nude and then be nude in front of someone and not have it be attached to sex, but still be aware of sexuality, sensuality, and intimacy. Most people I shoot end up becoming a friend. When it came to shooting this show in particular, it all became a really active conversation. I just met this person, and then we’re naked in front of each other, or they’re naked in front of me, and it’s really normal for me. I see how to other people that might be strange, but maybe people need to be more mature in their understanding of art and sexuality. Just like stop being so in the box. I think about the quote by Uma Thurman [in Pulp Fiction]: “Don’t be a square.” Keep expanding your mind past that point. I don’t ever want to limit myself from experiences.
L’O: What do you want people to take away from this series?
QL: I think ultimately what I was trying to do is to keep carving out a space for Black queer people to be safe and hyper-visible. I don’t want people to look at this and only step away like, Oh my god, it was so much nudity. I’m trying to destigmatize Black queer sexuality, [and I want people] to understand that we are just humans living an experience.
