USA
— Dylan Scholinski is the kind of guy who leaves
a $1 tip on a $1.50 cup of coffee, the kind of guy that
has his 5-year-old nephew's signature tattooed on his
arm, the kind of guy who recognizes that the man babbling
incoherently on the street corner might not be so
crazy.
"I always say with all
these people on the street, instead of spending all this
money fixing them, we could give them a cell phone and
they'd look like everybody else," Scholinski
says.
Society's attempts to
control nonconformists are a familiar subject to
Scholinski.
Scholinski, now a
transgendered artist, once lived as a female with parents
who were concerned about his affinity for dressing in
boy's clothing and cutting classes. They sent Scholinski,
then named Daphne, to a mental institution from the time
he was 15 until his parents' insurance ran out when he
turned 18.
The story might sound
like something from the early half of the 20th century,
but Scholinski was sent to Chicago's Michael Reese
Hospital, an adolescent psychiatric treatment unit, in
1981. His diagnosis was gender identity
disorder.
While there, Scholinski
endured makeup lessons, forced hugs with male guards and
wardrobe overhauls, all in an attempt to compel him to
adhere to the female gender role. In his 1997 book about
his experiences, "The Last Time I Wore A Dress,"
Scholinski describes his interaction with a woman sent to
teach him to apply makeup.
"Donna saw me as a
challenge. My ignorance of makeup was like a secret sin.
We wouldn't mention it, we'd correct it," he
writes.
Scholinski says that
unnecessary "corrections" characterized his stay at
Michael Reese Hospital.
"I was being taught in
every single way to hate myself," Scholinski says. "My
treatment, when I think about it — I've had a lot of
time to think about it — was designed more to make
me more comfortable for [the psychiatrists]
instead of trying to make me more comfortable with
myself."
He chose art and writing
as a means of telling and coping with his
story.
When he exited the
hospital, his doctors informed him that he couldn't speak
about his experiences or he would be viewed as an
outcast. Scholinski's lies in an attempt to cover up his
three-year gap were frequently exposed, however, and he
began to withdraw.
"I was incredibly
suicidal. I was very depressed," Scholinski says.
"Basically, speaking out became my act of saving my life.
I can't lie anymore. I can't pretend. I can't say this
didn't happen. In my artwork, it's the same thing. I
can't lie in it."
Scholinzki's artwork
almost exclusively focuses on his past.
"I view all of my pieces
to be autobiographical … and all to be
self-portraits," he says.
Scholinzki's
"Thorazine (c)rush," a series of nine paintings created
in 1995, early in Scholinski's art career, illustrate his
experiences with the drug Thorazine, a sedative that he
says was administered frequently to him while he was
hospitalized.
"It's a drug that's used
primarily for control," Scholinski says. "Within seconds,
you're limp and you can't move and they can take you and
do whatever they want with you. Your mind is completely
functional. You wanna scream, you wanna kick, you wanna
bite, you wanna whatever and you have no control of
anything. You can't even speak. Some of the most painful
experiences of my life have been that."
"Thorazine (c)rush" and
other pieces by Scholinski will be shown at the Nevin
Kelly Gallery beginning Sept. 15.
Nevin
J. Kelly, the gallery's owner, first met Scholinski when
he walked into the gallery shortly after it opened in
2003.
"I'm interested both in
Dylan's work and in Dylan's story," Kelly says. "In
addition to having a compelling story, the art is very
good…in composition and balance of energy and color.
He uses humor to draw you into what is otherwise a very
uncomfortable topic."
Scholinski agrees that
his experiences in a mental institution can create
uncomfortable conversations.
"That's my high school
and there's a way that informs the rest of your life,"
Scholinski says. "I mean, everyone talks about high
school forever … more than anybody even realizes.
When you haven't really had high school, then you really
see how many times you go to a party and people are like,
`So, where'd you go to high school?' and you're like,
`Psych ward.' It doesn't always go over very
well."
