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Testing one, two, three.

Testing one, two.

Testing, testing,
testing,

testing, testing,
test, test, test.

We rise
to greet the State,

to confront the State.

When I was diagnosed
with this virus,

it didn't take me long
to realize

I'd contracted
a diseased society as well.

It could be construed
as critical,

but if you're doing
a show of AIDS,

there's absolutely no way
that you can separate

politics from AIDS.

For six years,
what's happening

as we update our top stories.

East Germany today
took down the Berlin Wall.

Bottom line
is I may be dying of AIDS

in America in 1989.

Isn't that political?

I don't have health insurance
and that I don't have

economic access
to adequate healthcare.

Isn't that political?

And to try to pretend
that the subject of AIDS

cannot have a political tinge
to it is ridiculous.

Who was that?

John McKenzie
is putting this up together

for Peter something
of World News tonight.

- Peter Jennings?
- Yeah.

- You mean like national news?
- Yeah.

Oh, shit. I didn't...
I should've had that recorded.

Are you recording
all of this today?

- Yeah.
- You're gonna make art

- out of it, huh?
- Yup.

Tonight,
a Manhattan art exhibit

about AIDS is losing
a lot of federal money

because of what will be shown
in the exhibit.

The chairman
of the NEA states,

"We find that a large portion
of the content

is political rather than
artistic in nature."

Some of the content
includes criticism

of Cardinal O'Connor,
Senator William Dannemeyer

of California,
and Senator Jesse Helms

for their support
of the new restrictive law.

Thank you. This weather
is certainly no work of art.

So are you gonna do
Nightline tonight?

Uh, I somehow just can't
see it. I mean, I...

Do you think you'd put on
a shirt if you did?

Well, that's what
I was thinking of already,

my wardrobe.

I mean, I... if I did,
I might wear a ski mask

and I'll, you know,

carry a bucket of gasoline.

From Philadelphia,
I'm Terry Gross with Fresh Air.

The art
of David Wojnarowicz

has recently been
at the center of controversy

because the subject matter
deals with sexuality and AIDS.

Let's talk about
how you started making art.

Now, you came from a really
rough family background.

Your father abused your mother.

You ended up in an orphanage
for a while.

Then your father kidnapped you
from the orphanage.

And you've written
that you later threw yourself

into sex and you became
a hustler for a while.

How did you start
making art?

Whatever work I've done,
it's always been informed

by what I experienced
as an American in this country,

as a homosexual
in this country,

as a person who's legislated
into silence in this country.

One, two, three, four,
civil rights or civil war?

I'm not gonna be polite,
and fuck these people

that want me
to be courageous.

There's no expression
in that other than silence.

As each T cell
disappears from my body,

it's replaced by 10 pounds
of pressure, 10 pounds of rage.

I tried very hard to be normal

and tried very hard
to be accepted.

On some level,
it's a terrific waste of time.

- Wojnarowicz?
- Wojnarowicz.

- Wojnarowicz.
- Wojnarowicz.

Fuck you faggot fucker.

David was two years younger

than me, and Pat
was sort of the big girl.

I don't remember him
ever aspiring to do art,

or to be a doctor,
or a lawyer,

or anything else.

I think we were probably
too consumed

with trying to survive
in any given moment

than to be worried about
what was going down the road.

Dave and I
used to go out in the woods.

We'd get away from my father.

He was horrific
when he was drunk.

I grew up in a tiny
version of hell

called the suburbs.

I had a father who brutalized
both his first and second wives

with physical violence.

Any signs of life
in the family he supported

with his paycheck
from his job as a sailor

was met with extreme violence.

In the universe of the forest,

I didn't think of what it felt
like as a five or six-year-old

being dragged
down a basement stair,

to have my head and body
hit with a dog chain

or a sawed-off chunk of 2x4.

In my home, one cannot laugh,
one cannot express boredom,

one cannot cry, one cannot
play, one cannot explore,

one cannot engage
in any activity

that showed development
or growth that was independent.

This life on the streets

got really rough and David
ended up in a halfway house.

He had not graduated
from high school at that point.

When he finally went back
to school

was when he discovered
Rimbaud and Genet.

They both
are outlaws and rebels.

and he always identified
with outsiders his whole life

and these
were the outsider writers.

Testing tape journal,
one, two, three.

So, it looks like
we ended up

in Jamestown, North Dakota.

That's the halfway mark
between east and west.

Feels like something
out of an old west picture,

dusty roads
and old board buildings,

little family houses
all around you,

great stretches of sky,
long lines of trains.

The tracks, when you look
at them, just shimmer.

It looks like thousands of
little animals running across.

Then there's the constant
flapping of bird wings

like.

Occasionally, you hear a train
whistling miles away,

but the trains
never seem to get here.

That was doggie French
for, "Hi, pinheads."

I'm just sitting here
in my sister's apartment

using her tape recorder,
trying to figure out

what the hell to say.

As far as publishing,
forget it.

The last woman
that I sent the manuscript to,

this woman in Black Sun,
Le Soleil Noir,

called me up like after a month
and told me

she wanted to return
my manuscript.

You know, she said that
the people in the monologues

are wasted lives
and it was a waste of time

to write about them.

I mean, everything she said

just reinforced my belief
of its importance.

It's like that. I mean,
it's like the galleries, too.

The stuff that I work on
takes so long to do

that the price
that I'd have to ask

if I was gonna make a living
off is just too much

especially
since her tastes gravitate

towards Woolworthian prints.

I've been having,
like, just tons and tons

of dreams of America
and American road and highways.

I really miss
the energy in New York.

Paris gives you a sense
of strange security,

which does make me happy.

So, I guess
I'll say goodbye here.

Bye-bye.

I was doing a series
of photographs

of Arthur Rimbaud
in New York.

I got a job
in an ad agency

for all of
two and a half weeks,

operating a stat machine.

Then I ended up
doing all my own work.

I statted this face of
Arthur Rimbaud, blew it up,

and made a flat mask,
I'm riding subways

wandering all through
the warehouses,

hustling in Times Square.

David was taking Rimbaud

through what was his world
in New York.

Come on, man. Come on.

I grew up as a hustler.

I grew up hustling
in Times Square

and all sorts of places
all around New York.

Men of all different
descriptions.

By the time I got
off the streets

when I was about 17 or 18,
I had to turn to making things

because I basically
could never find a place

to ever express
what I had experienced.

I remember one of
the most emotional experiences

was one day being picked up
by this guy who was very creepy

and I remember lying
on this dirty bed.

It was one of these
cheap hotels.

And this guy
was sucking my dick,

his mouth was sticky,
and that he would kiss my leg

and there would be
like this gummy

kind of stuff on my leg.

And it was all this stuff
that I was really repulsed by

and not enough to not have
a hard on.

I remember feeling all this

incredible emotion
for this guy.

I just felt so sad for him.

At some point, I, like,
reached under his arms,

and pulled him up to me,
and kissed him on the mouth,

which is the thing
that I least wanted to do.

He started weeping
and just said,

"Nobody's ever done that."
And ended up giving me

extra money, whatever,
which I was quite happy with.

It's like a whole
experience

living on the streets

when I ran away from home
of feeling the world's setup

in such a way that it seems
that I'm constantly working

against it
rather than alongside.

Most guys that I meet,

their lives are just
so completely different.

You know,
there's no real communication

where I can feel totally free
in expressing my ideas

or my desires
or my experiences.

My experience
as a hustler seems to be

one thing that sits
on the back of my shoulder.

One thing that's
incredibly hard to convey

to people is the level
of promiscuity of that era.

This is something
that's really hard

to describe to people
who are younger.

We thought sex
was good for you.

That what was bad for you
is not having sex.

And then what was bad for you
is repression of sexuality,

that was bad.

This is before AIDS or before
we were aware of AIDS.

I grew up
in North Carolina.

And when I first moved
to the East Village...

Smoke, smoke.

...it was cliche things
you see in the movies

of drug-dealing places,
dealers standing around

selling coke and dope,
coke and dope, C&D, C&D.

- real slow, brother.
I said real slow.

- I'll sell that bullshit.
- That is bullshit.

People forget
how much the rest

of America hated New York.

We were a bunch of junkies
and cocksuckers

as far as America
was concerned, and, you know,

there's a real sense
of culture decline.

There had been
this huge shift

between the kind of idealisms
of the '60s

and the first
Civil Rights Movement,

the anti-war movement.

All these things
had derailed by the mid-70s.

And so we were responding
to that in different ways.

I walked up to the park,
and the streets

were completely empty,
and traffic was nonexistent.

I had opened up my pants

and I walked up
and down the pathways,

and there's just, like,
this really quiet

sort of loneliness there.

I mean, I felt like
I was, like,

you know, back where
I'd started from.

I've been filled
with this sense

of, uh, of anxiousness,

and the fact that I'm 26,
I'm thinking about myself

and my values, my actions,
and thinking about the effect

of people on people,
wondering if any

of it's meaningful,
if it's futile,

trying to figure out what it is
that my life is,

and where I've been going.

This is a man
whose time has come,

a man whose principles
have been familiar to Americans

for 30 years,
a man whose accomplishments

make him the natural choice

for president
of the United States.

We will make
America great again.

Thank you very much.

Reagan, as the president
of this country now,

going through a time in my life
that seems desperate,

surreal, awful, and slightly
wondrous all simultaneously.

Met a fellow a month
or so ago, Peter Hujar,

photographer who,
in some interesting ways,

is like a mirror
of scenes I'm entering.

He has the same desperate
and at times confused outlook,

but minus the one seed
of hope that I have in me.

The relationship
between Peter and David

is one of the most
interesting relationships

between artists
in a very long time.

More interesting
than van Gogh and Gauguin,

very, very special
and unique.

When Peter
started his career

as a photographer
in the '50s,

it was not considered
a real art form.

His photographs
were mostly portraits,

mostly of people he knew,
but he did know

some rather famous people,
you know.

He's truly an artist,
but Peter was very difficult,

and in terms
of having a career,

he was not very good at it.

These works were very small.

The New York Art World
fit in one restaurant.

One restaurant, okay?

I heard of Peter
before I met him.

The number of people
who would have heard of Peter,

you know, 12?

He may have been a saint
on Avenue A,

but it was underground fame.

He did not have
that standing in the quote,

"real art world."
He was stranded.

Nothing was going nowhere.

Howdy-do,
howdy-do.

This is Hujarino again.

I was wondering if David
Steamed Vegetable was there?

This is Peter Fast Juice.

Peter last night
in the bar when I told him

about doing a portfolio
and throwing out

all the drawings
that I thought were

aggressive or upsetting

told me not to throw out
any drawings.

No matter what my taste is
and what my ideas are,

if I feel it's good,
there will be somebody

who will pick up on it,

I shouldn't start compromising

and trying to adapt
to other people's taste.

And last night, I was standing
around here 5:00,

6:00 in the morning,
looking through the portfolio,

looking at my photographs.

I was really startled,
it was like the first time

that I sat down
and really looked at them

in ages since I did them.

And I realized
that they are good.

And there's absolutely
no reason for me

to deny them or throw them
away, they're my life.

And I don't owe it to anybody
to distort that

just for their comfort.

I think that everything
David thought an artist could

and should be was embodied
by Peter.

And Peter was the purest
of the lot.

Peter had tremendous
respect for anyone else

who had that same drive,
called them "those people."

And "those people"
were special.

He was a tough judge.

And when he discovered David,
he realized he's one of them.

This guy is one of them.

He's talented in a chaotic way.

And Peter saw right away
both the talent and the chaos.

When Peter first met David
and talked about him,

I paid zero attention to Peter
about this. Zero.

I don't pay that much attention
to people I was sleeping with,

I don't know
why I should pay attention

to people that Peter
was sleeping with.

I was under the impression
that he was a teenager

because he had that band
called, like,

4 Teens Kill 3
or 3 Teens Kill 4,

which, of course,
I've never heard of.

♪ Give me all your bibles ♪

♪ Give me all your money,
give me all your bibles ♪

♪ Give me all your money ♪

The story about 3 Teens

playing for the first time,
it has to do with Danceteria

being shut down for not having
a liquor license.

David and I were busboys
at Danceteria.

We worked together.

It was an interesting crowd
of people.

Keith Haring
was a busboy there too,

and Madonna was hanging out.

They advertised
having a full bar

until 8:00 in the morning.

In the time, mind you,
totally a mob operation.

♪ This is a hold up, hold up ♪

♪ hold up, hold up - ♪

We were raided,
and a bunch of us went to jail.

David escaped.

And then he had concocted
a Molotov cocktail,

somehow he was gonna blow up
the police vehicle.

But he couldn't
figure out how to do it

without, you know,
hurting people.

We spent the night
in jail

and then glamorized that event,
you know, we put on a show.

Now, I don't know
why we felt we needed a benefit

for funds because the mob
paid for fucking lawyers

who got our cases dismissed.

Jerry?

A little more volume
on the drums.

And anyway,
we had a benefit

so we threw together a band,
3 Teens Kill 4.

Uno, dos, tres, quatro.

♪ Hear the man whisper,
see the man twistin' ♪

♪ Louie, Louie, Louie,
Louie, Louie ♪

♪ Louie, Louie, Louie,
Louie ♪

Then after we played
the first gig,

Jesse and I and David
wanted to continue it.

I knew
their drummer had fallen out.

I went and bought
a rhythm machine

because I didn't know
how to play anything.

I thought,
"Well, I can push buttons,

so I did that."

I don't think any of us
were very proficient,

but it wasn't really the point.

It was an effort to not
really necessarily make music,

but to have a film almost
for your ears.

We ended up calling it
the Cacophonic Barrage.

As opposed to music.

We were really ahead
of our time

with the use of samples, and
that was David's instrument.

David would come up
to a mic with his handheld

tape recorder and blast sounds.

Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes.

Yes. Because the guns
and the grenade,

are great equalizers.
It used to be said

that a revolver
made all men six feet tall.

I heard a rumor
that Frank Zappa

was in the audience one time
when we played,

and he said that we used
the tapes like lead guitar,

which I thought
was a great comment.

There was a time in America,

that if a, "glory hole"
appears,

the police would throw them

in jail on morals charges.

Limp-wristed sissies.

David wasn't really
of the art world.

At that point in time,
he was just an individual

that was doing his thing.

He used to come over
to my house to make art

because there was more room
in my house than in his house,

which is funny, because I had
a tiny East Village apartment

with a bathtub in the kitchen,
and a toilet in the hallway.

We would get on the floor
and make stencils,

and posters for the band.

We made 12 posters,
put them up in the street,

most of them are ripped down
immediately.

So we started thinking
about more permanent things,

so I started going out
in the street.

I would put up images around
Astor Place along 8th Street.

But I didn't
have any intention

of being a street artist.

I was just being provocative.

Ready on the firing line.

One night,
I went downtown,

did every gallery door
I could find with images

of the burning house,
the plane, and the figure.

It was an aggressive thing.

This idea of New York City
streets filled with soldiers,

that kind of tense atmosphere.

Halt, left flank, halt.

I was just a rabid fan
of David.

He was pretty obscure
at that time.

But I knew about the piece him
and Julie Hair did

on the Leo Castelli building,

the shrine to contemporary art
at that time.

Julie and I wanted to do
a series

of action installations,
which were basically

uninvited installations.

We wanted to open up
what culture was to us

as opposed to what was handled
by rich white people.

I don't really remember
any planning stages of this,

but we went to the west side

where all the butchers were.

The Meatpacking District,
which used to be

a meat packing district,
you would never wanna go there

because of the smell of blood

from the actually butchering
and packing meat.

There were big cans
outside of the butchers'

with giant cow bones in them.

So, we got a bunch of bones,

we put them
in this little wagon.

We brought
a couple hundred pounds

of bloody cow bones,
dumped them into the staircase.

Did a stencil painting with
spray paint of the empty plate,

a knife, and a fork.

Left, right, halt.

And then military bombers,

houses, and planes,

and figures
recoiling on the wall,

and then left.

They stenciled
the despair of New York

at that time,
and then they poured gallons

and gallons of cow's blood
down the stairs.

Nobody seemed to think
anything was amiss.

They had thought it was just
part of the art world.

Left, right, halt.

Six months later,

I was still doing stuff
on the street.

That's when somebody
approached me

from one of the galleries,

asked me if I wanted to put
a painting

in one of the shows,
so I said sure.

David ends up
in a show with people

like Julian Schnabel
and David Hockney,

and lots of people
who were famous.

He was completely unknown.

A lot of artists
were doing graffiti

in the East Village.
Keith Haring and Basquiat,

and David was doing it.

There were
no resources like now

where you can go down
to the Lower East Side

and there's like a dozen
young galleries

you've never heard
of that are showing stuff.

There was nothing.

There was SoHo,
and there was Uptown,

and there were
these established galleries.

We didn't feel
we had any entree into there

so we created space so we could
show our work and have fun.

Dean Savard and I
started the gallery

through a series
of one-night parties.

There was no real intention
of making any money.

We would put the art up
for one night,

we'd invite friends,
we'd sat around on the floor

drinking beer and smoking pot,
talking about art.

When my gallery
first started,

I had gotten I think
$200 back from my taxes.

And I thought, oh,
let's have a party.

I had photographs
in my bathroom

and my bathroom was a toilet
and three walls

because
the bathtub was in the kitchen.

Never did I think that anybody
would show up after the party.

Eventually,
we decided that, oh,

we'll leave the art up
for a little longer.

We were really drawn to David's
militaristic imagery.

We decided that we would
put him into a group show.

We put this really
large painting that David did.

It was one of the most unusual
things I had seen an artist do,

expressing what was going on
around us at the time,

where mankind stood
at that point

where self-annihilation
could occur.

We were actually trying
to sell the work.

I'm trying to remember
how much we were asking for it.

I think probably around $5,000.

Of course we didn't sell it
because nobody was coming

into the gallery with that kind
of money back then.

The interesting thing
about the East Village though,

when there were artists
that were really

kind of special,
everybody knew about it

or there'd be this buzz
about it.

So, there was a little bit
of buzz about David.

He had that book,
Sounds in the Distance,

which came out.

And I was so impressed
because on the back

it had a blurb
by William Burroughs.

And I was like, oh, my God,
this artist

must be really incredible
because William Burroughs

wrote something about it.

When we did the Famous Show,
which was in '82,

we were looking for portraits
of famous people

by famous
and soon to be famous artists.

David brought in this painting,
Peter Hujar

Dreaming about Yukio Mishima
in Saint Sebastian

at the last minute
after everything

was already up on the wall.

- Typical.
- Typical.

There was like no space

because there were
so many people

and he had a really big piece.

So, where are you gonna put
a really big piece?

You hang it from the ceiling.

That's why
I love this photograph

of the opening where you can't
really see any of the art

but you can see David's piece
because it's on the ceiling.

The early images
were all very simple imagines.

But I just wanted
to record things

that I didn't see
people recording

and painting at that time.

You know, I wanted to record
my own history

or different history.

And that's what painting
originally was for me.

All the paintings are diaries
that I always thought

as proof of my own existence.

Welcome 3 Teens Kill 4.

Official
from the Reagan White House

confirmed a short time later

that the President
had indeed been shot.

The President was shot
once in the left chest.

The bullet
entered from the left side.

He is in stable condition.

Mrs. Reagan
rushed to the hospital

and the President
jokingly told her,

"Honey, I forgot to duck."

It could be
misconstrued

that one is celebrating
Reagan's assassination attempt.

It's media critique.

He was wheeled
into surgery and he quipped

to his doctors, "I hope
you're all republicans."

♪ We are
non-essential laborers ♪

♪ Laborers, laborers ♪

3 Teens Kill 4
had a song called Hunger

which was about the underclass
and disparity

of wealth in this country.

♪ I see these things
every day ♪

♪ Every day, every day ♪

♪ Television candidates
with singular vision ♪

♪ Vision,
vision, vision, vision ♪

♪ Grey images
of freezing homes ♪

♪ Homes, homes, homes, homes ♪

♪ People combing through
garbage reefs ♪

♪ Garbage reefs,
garbage reefs ♪

♪ So we continue,
so we consume ♪

♪ So we
continue, so we consume ♪

♪ So we continue,
so we consume ♪

♪ So we
continue, so we consume ♪

Last night,
I ran into Brian and Jesse,

discovered them to be
in a big discussion

about the politics of clubs
and politics of bands.

I just did not wanna
hear it.

When you're trying to do
a fucking job

and support yourself
and be able to do things

that you feel
are really important.

There were lots
of different reasons

why he wanted to leave
the band.

He wanted to do painting.

He wanted to have more control
over what he was doing.

I remember having an argument
with David.

He said to me,
"I can't really be friends

with someone who doesn't like
what I do artistically."

I said, "Well, David.

There's a lot of your art
that I don't like

and there's a lot of that anger
that I don't relate to

and don't necessarily
wanna collaborate with."

Hi.
This is Helen of Troy

calling from Poughkeepsie.

Oh, I got you on that one.
Ha-ha. Good-bye.

Hi. This is Hujar.

- Bye.
- David

came over to our place
early one morning.

He said, "You guys
got to come to this huge pier

with all these walls
and there's nobody there."

We had to slip
under a chain-link fence,

got into the building,
and it was a really impressive,

remarkable space,
for years had been abandoned

like a couple football fields
in size.

The idea was for artists

to make work there
surreptitiously.

It was very adventurous
and illegal.

And that was very much
connected

to David's knowledge
of the piers

as a place for sexual tryst
and that whole subculture

around it and in a way
they kind of spoiled that spot.

And no one could go there
for their acts anymore

because there were too many
people traipsing through.

The ground floor
was thousands of square feet

with very high ceilings.

And upstairs there were rooms.

David and I found

piles of discarded files

and psychological evaluations
from Bellevue.

They had them draw
pictures of men and women

and, yeah, most were
very, very loose, you know.

It's like how you drew

in elementary school
or something like that.

And then others were sort of
more you would say like

in quote "sophisticated,"
or this or that.

But they were very emotional

and had a great deal
of resonance in them.

Hi. David, this is Kiki.

I think you've got my squeegee

for silkscreening
and I need it.

Okay. Bye-bye.

So, I was doing
a lot of silkscreening then

and I taught him
how to make silkscreens.

So we decided
to use these images

and make a collaboration.

The first time I met David,

it wasn't physically.

It was more mind to mind,
like vibration.

It was summer '83.

I wasn't involved
in the art scene.

But one day,
there's a French photographer

who came to visit New York
and he said,

"Did you hear about
the abandoned pier

where all these artists go

and paint on the walls
and do things?"

And I said, "No."

He took me there.

I fell in love with that place,
you know.

It was like
so deathly romantic.

One day, somebody told me
the story of this artist,

David Wojnarowicz,
who opened the place.

And I remember right away
I had a crush on this guy.

I thought this guy
must really be great, you know,

to open a place like that,

to call people to come
and collaborate and paint.

For me, he was already
somebody special.

In the end, you know,
hundreds of artists

were doing things there
and French fashion magazines

were doing shoots in there.

It got so big that police came.

They closed it down.

The whole magic was lost.

They started tearing it down

and I have a picture
of the Gagging Cow of David's

while the pier
is being pulled down.

And then the pier disappeared
into the river and was gone.

I think the East Village scene
exploded at the same time.

It wasn't until David had

his first solo exhibition
for us

that everything broke loose.

The first exhibition
was very interesting

in a sense
that it was something

nobody had really seen before,

painting things
that weren't really intended

to be painted on.

He'd stencil images
over supermarket posters,

trashcan lids, driftwood.

Everything was about
something that was found

and didn't cost anything
because, again,

nobody had any money.

It was that exhibition
that Grace Glueck,

the New York Times art critic
rode up on her bicycle,

started looking
at the artwork,

asking us about the artist

and asked for a photograph
of one of David's pieces.

Grace Glueck showed up,
and it was really a joke to us

that she wanted
to write something.

And so for us,
it was very tongue-in-cheek,

you know, did the very
serious interviews.

And she went around
to other galleries

like Gracie's
and suddenly boom.

An article appeared
in the Sunday Lifestyle section

of the New York Times.

It talked about the galleries
in the East Village,

David's artwork.

It was after
that the collectors

really started coming down.

This limousine pulls up
in front of our little gritty

drug-infested street.

Robert Pincus-Witten, who was
an art critic in New York,

and a very elegant woman,

comes into the gallery.

They looked at
each piece, examining.

Robert's whispering
in her ear.

Soon after he said,
"We'll take this one,

this one, this one,
and this one.

We'll take that one
over there."

And it was like, oh, my God.

I practically
ran over to The Pyramid

and David and Dean
were having a beer.

I said, "Oh, my God.
We sold so much work."

It was such a euphoric feeling.

All of a sudden,
the art worlds gave

this East Village scene
its 15 minutes fame.

Our neighborhood
now all of a sudden

had 60 galleries in it

and that people were coming
by in limousines.

"Fuck You Faggot Fucker."

We were going
around the gallery

putting the names on these
little stickers on the wall.

"And what's the name
of this one?"

And David said,
"Fuck You Faggot Fucker."

It's a piece of torn paper
that David found on the street

that somebody had written
this homophobic slur on.

And I said,
"David, that's so offensive.

Do we have to call it that?"

David was like, "That's
the name, it's gonna stick."

"Fuck Faggot Fucker."

I walked in and the painting
just riveted me.

It's two boys kissing
over a map.

And then on the four corners,

there is Brian Butterick
posing as Saint Sebastian

and there was David
posing in the Christodora.

I said,
"I'll give you $3,000."

And he said, "Sure."

Back then 1984,
that was a lot of money.

But it's been a prized
possession since then.

Hi, David. It's Marissa.

Prison Rape is back.

It just walked in the door
from Montreal.

So could you come and pick
it up as soon as possible?

Thank you. Bye-bye.

I think a lot of the reason
David is important now

is because people recognized

emergent queer sensibility
in David.

"I'm not gay
as in I love you.

I'm queer as in fuck off."

Everything I did
with David was collaboration.

But the concept of it
has always been David.

He proposed to make a poster
about being queer in America.

David knew a place
under the Brooklyn Bridge.

We went there with a truck.

I put some blood
on David's face.

We lit the scene
with the lights of the truck

and we took the photo.

When I went to the darkroom

and I started printing
the photo, it scared me.

It really scared me
to see this image of David

beat up
coming under the chemicals.

It looked so real.

A number of months ago,

I read in the newspaper
that there was

a Supreme Court ruling

which states
that homosexuals in America

have no constitutional rights

against the government's
invasion of their privacy.

The paper stated only people
who are heterosexual,

or married, or have families

can expect
these constitutional rights.

And realizing I got nothing
left to lose in my actions,

I let my hands become weapons,
my teeth become weapons,

every bone,
and muscle, and fiber,

and ounce of blood
become weapons,

and I feel prepared
for the rest of my life.

Hi, David, it's Gracie.

Can you give me a call at home?

About the Whitney.

'85 was a big year.

David had two major pieces
in the Whitney Biennial.

I mean, that's amazing.

Everything happened
really fast.

Hi, I want to make sure
somebody told you

you made the front page
of the Washington Post

on Sunday for the Biennial.

A big reproduction
of your piece, bye-bye.

It was major for all of us
to be accepted

in the bigger art world

but David wasn't, like,

"Oh, my God, I got
into the Whitney Biennial."

- Not at all.
- No.

No, I mean,
he really thought about

whether he wanted to do it.

David has a certain kind

of political consciousness

that plays into his work,
who owns it,

where it's shown,
the whole thing.

He was not
particularly thrilled

about a bunch of rich money
capitalist people

in the Whitney
thinking that he was great.

There's no gratification
for that in him

and those people are very
classist and judgmental.

He wanted
to be recognized by people

that would appreciate his work,

but the right people
for the right reasons.

You know, Peter Hujar
had a lot of the same attitude.

Yeah,
it's only been recently

that there's art stars,
there's people

who make tremendous
amounts of money overnight.

I agree.

That's it, I mean,

it's like they turned
into little mini factories.

- There's...
- Yeah, I got...

...nothing human about it.

There's no odor,
there's no stink.

Hey, David, did you know
you're in New York Magazine?

They did a review
at the Biennial

and they reproduced your piece

but I also wanted to talk
to you about the Mnuchin.

Okay, bye-bye.

Adrian and Robert Mnuchin
were two collectors.

He was on Wall Street
and she had a cashmere store

and her name was Adrian.

Now it's like Adriana
or something.

But anyway,
at that time she was Adrian.

They commissioned David
and it was the most money

that David had ever gotten
for anything to do

this big installation
in their basement.

He needed the money
so he was glad

that I had made this sale
but a part of him

really was very unhappy
about it.

David didn't really like
rich people.

So he took all this garbage
off of the street

and put it
into the installation.

They were scouring
all the vacant lots

to grab the nastiest shit
they could.

You know, it looked like
the plague had descended

upon their place,
basically filled it with trash

and made a beautiful
installation out of it

but so much of it
just looked like tetanus.

And it had bugs.

Adrian was like freaked out

these bugs were being brought

into her pristine brownstone.

Of course David loved it,
he brought in more.

David, hi, it's Gracie.

I'm just checking in,
seeing how everything's

going with the installation,

if you need any help,
and what's up?

Basically just
a what's up call.

Um, okay.

I wanted to talk to you,
okay, bye-bye.

So when you look at
the photographs Peter Hujar

took of that installation,
it was all garbage,

it was great like
a lot of figures.

There was the burning child

and there was the big mural
in the background,

there was a tree
and a lot of cow skulls.

It was an incredible
installation.

Well, in retrospect,
that was Mnuchin.

The A-hole dealer
whose son Steve Mnuchin

is part of Trump's cabinet.

I got really angry
of that sudden attention,

- money being thrown at me.
- Yeah.

I was starving
for years earlier,

and then it suddenly crossed
a line where what I make

is feeding me, is...
it's giving me all this stuff

but then I have all this hate
about the structure of that

- because it's so full of shit.
- Yeah.

And this is something
that rattled me.

I realized that
I came out of a totally violent

fucked-up background
growing up as a kid,

came to New York,
went onto the streets,

almost died on the streets,

but once your economics
are taken care of,

once you no longer
have to struggle

to pay rent or eat,
any shit that's underneath

goes to the surface.

Hi Dave, it's Pat.

I don't know if you're home
or maybe you're sleeping,

well, the first thing
I wanna say

is that your paintings
are fantastic.

I'm so impressed,
I'm so proud of you,

I tried to take pictures
but they wouldn't

let me use the flash and I...

Patty
was always close to David.

I love you a lot, bye.

Even after we grew up,
we were completely split up.

So the first time I ever
learned about his artwork,

I picked up some magazines

and there was David
in Life Magazine.

I was so much in awe with...
I was like,

"Wow, look where this guy
is at," you know.

I finally found a way
to get in touch with him,

it was an interesting thing
to sit down with him,

I came to New York
and he started spewing off

about he was
a child prostitute, he's gay.

And I get the feeling
that he was testing me.

I think he was afraid

that I would never accept him
being gay.

I just was glad
that he was okay.

David, this is Steve calling,

I don't know if you need maps
for your artwork

but I just threw out
about 5,000 of them today.

I worked for AAA
so he had free maps

whenever he needed them,
I'd make sure he got them.

Maybe I can save you
some money.

Okay. Bye-bye.

Hey David,
this is Richard, you know,

I just wanted to get together
with you and talk about

making a movie
or something like that.

I'm up, give me a buzz, bye.

It was one of those nights

David and I
wanted to get high.

I said, "Hey, why don't we
try shooting ecstasy?

I've got some of that."

David and I got into this deep,
deep conversation, I said,

"Let's make a movie
where we try to figure out

why young people
are the way they are,

the punks and all that stuff,"
and just shot a quick movie.

I think we did it in a day.

David played the father,
Karen Finley played the mother,

it ended up being
a lot of things

from David's childhood
and he definitely had

the most fucked-up stories.

- Don't get away...
- Stop playing with your food.

Do you call this food?

Look, it isn't even fucking
cooked, it's all bloody.

Shut up.

David said that
when he was a kid,

they had a rabbit.

My father got us rabbits

and he said
he gave away the rabbits

and then Patty
found out somehow

that he had them butchered
and we winded up

eating our pet rabbit
which I think was horrific.

And it really
bothered David too.

- You know what this is?
- No.

See that?

That's my bunny,
what are doing to it?

And you know what this is?

No, no, no.

David finally
was starting to deal

with what had happened to him
during his childhood.

He started using heroin.

It was almost a social drug
in the East Village.

I got some junk
that I had lying around,

so I did it in the bathroom.

The light and everything just
started making me feel sick.

David took drugs in a way

that Peter was sure
would destroy him.

And Peter knew too much
about the way artists

can sabotage themselves
to let that

go one step further.

At some point, Peter said,

"David, what are those marks
on your arm?"

He said, "Oh, it's nothing."

He said,
"Don't tell me it's nothing

and you're going to stop
taking heroin today, right now.

You will never take it again
as long as you live

and if you do, I will
never speak to you again,

you will be dead to me."

David started crying
and he'd stopped heroin.

He never took it again
because Peter was the most

important relationship
in his life.

They first had an affair

but I don't think
that lasted that long.

And then they were friends
but at a certain point,

I really thought of David
as Peter's son.

Peter didn't think of him
as Peter's son

and probably David didn't
but to me,

that's what it seemed like.

I met David
at the Bijou Theater

which was a gay porn theater.

Our eyes met and we went
to the bathroom

and had a little bit of sex
and I said,

"Why don't you come over
to my apartment?"

Which I rarely did with people
that I met there,

but I was just fascinated
with this guy.

We left and I asked David
what he did and he said

he was a painter and I said,

"What, of houses?"
And he said,

"No, no, no, no,
I paint things."

And apparently
he was quite well-known

in the East Village
and I didn't know who he was,

I had no idea.

So he came over and we had
a really sweet night.

He left me a little painting

that he did for me
that I really loved.

And we started
seeing each other.

I felt my world was very
different after I met David.

I was totally swept up
with him.

So here I am, heading out
into the cold winds

of the canyon streets,
walking down and across

Avenue C towards my home,

with the smell
and the taste of him

wrapped around my neck and jaw
like some scarf.

And how it follows me
in and out of restaurants

and past cops,
and early morning children,

and past bakery windows
filled with brides and grooms

on rows, and rows, and rows
of endless wedding cakes.

Hey, juicy lips,
are you there?

It's about 12:00...

David kept talking
about this best friend of his

that he had in the East Village
and we had to go see him,

and his name was Peter
and then Peter,

and all of a sudden I said,

"Are you talking about
Peter Hujar?"

And he said,
"Well, how did you know that?"

Howdy-do, howdy-do?

I said, "Well,
I had a little affair

in the '70s with Peter
for a month,"

and I kept thinking,
"Oh, great,

Peter's gonna tell him
I'm an asshole."

But Peter thought actually
that I was good for David,

you know,
that I could help David,

I could be a settling
kind of thing for him

which actually
probably is true.

But they were so close
that it was...

I couldn't even describe
what that was,

much different
than our relationship

and I was just
trying to figure out

where I fit in his life.

He said,
"I have three priorities,

in this order, Peter,
my art, and you."

And I had to find
that to be okay,

it was hard at first
but as I looked at it,

I realized
there was no threat there.

This was a whole other thing.

Hi David,
this is Carlo

wishing you a Happy New Year.

Hi David,
this is Bridgette,

I wanted to wish you
Happy New Year.

Howdy-do, howdy-do?

It's the nufter.

And the monks last night
were great,

you would've actually
loved them.

I think there were 10 of them

and they sang in voices
that was like, "Whoa."

You know, deeper than that.

"Oh, uh." No, I can't do it.

"Oh, hmm, uh."

It was really nice,

they did a healing ceremony.

Well, anyway, that's all
I have to say, goodbye.

I took Peter to the doctor.

I don't remember
what was wrong with Peter

or how Peter felt
that made him have that test.

They didn't tell you there.

It took two weeks
for this test to come back.

And I remember very much
that Peter called me,

and I can't describe to you.

I said, "What... how are you?"
And he goes, "Fran,"

and then he made the sound
like, um, like a...

not a scream
but kind of a scream.

It more sounded to me
like an animal sound,

not like a human.

He said his test
came back positive.

When Peter
was diagnosed with AIDS,

I came over 10 minutes later.

He went to meet me at the door

and there was some
mail that had arrived

and it fell on the floor and I
remember him picking it up

and turning
and just saying,

"Even something like
getting a piece of mail

has an entirely
different meaning."

And from that,
I constructed something

of what this man is facing.

And I felt very sad.

I felt angry. I felt fear.

I felt the possibility
of my own diagnosis.

David was sitting
at the table

and he was crying
and I didn't know

what was going on
and he told me

that Peter
had been diagnosed with AIDS.

He was destroyed.

I mean,
it was so emotional for him.

It was so upsetting.

When Peter was diagnosed,

David asked me
if I could help him

because Peter
really had no income.

He had no money.
He had no... he had nothing

and he didn't wanna lose
his apartment.

I worked as Director of
New York City's AIDS Program.

And it was through Tom
that I met David.

This was an epidemic
of great proportions.

And the city ignored it
for quite a while.

In fact, everyone ignored it.

People with AIDS
who were getting sick

and losing their jobs,
were coming to apply

for public assistance.

Because AIDS had
a stigma already,

none of the traditional systems
in place

wanted anything
to do with them.

The staff wouldn't touch
their paperwork.

They often died before
they got any benefits at all.

Mayor Koch finally decided that
something needed to be done.

He started a very little
program and I have to say,

we probably broke every rule
in the book

in order to get people
what they needed.

So I went over
like a good caseworker,

and I fell in love with him.

I mean,
he was an amazing person.

I could certainly ease
a lot of his fears,

he couldn't believe that
he wouldn't lose his apartment

and he'd have
some kind of income.

Hippity-hoppity
happy Easter eggs.

This is Peter Cottontail.

This is the
ex-Peter Cottontail.

Are you there?

Hello? Howdy-do?

Peter was prone
to great depression,

I mean, he never took a photo
after his diagnosis.

He gave it up entirely.

A couple of times,
I did confront him

because I thought he was stuck.

And that was the only time
I allowed myself

to confront him
when I thought that he was just

shutting down
and so full of rage

and not strong enough
to express it.

And I remember him
threatening to throw himself

in front of a car
because he was mad.

But he didn't have the strength
to walk to the curb

and throw himself
in front of the car.

He talked about killing himself
endlessly, brutally.

"I wanna go to that building
across the street

and jump off the roof"
and he would say,

"I'm gonna do it.
I'm gonna do it."

And he would say it every day
until one day we gave him

a number of a doctor
who would give medicine

to kill himself.

And once I gave him the number,

he tucked it away
and never spoke

about killing himself again.

David had like a huge career,

then when I did
The Four Elements,

we didn't sell a thing.
It was over.

The art world
if very fickle like that.

Once you start getting
a certain amount of something,

you have to keep it going,
or it fizzles out.

I had this naive sense
that once people supported work

then, that doesn't
just disappear that, you know,

that they'll watch what you do

and they'll take interest
and they'll follow it,

which isn't the case at all.

It was the end
of the East Village scene

and the so-called
East Village art

had just gone out of style.

Hi, this is Hujar.

I'm on my way
to the horse pistol

to stay there for a while.

I guess you can find my number
by calling Cabrini Hospital.

Goodbye.

He lost weight.

He had the beginnings
of dementia.

He just was kind of
fading away.

I'm sitting
in his hospital room

so high up in the upper
reaches of the building

and leaning against the glass
to the window of his room

where I can see dizzily down
into the street.

It's a gradual turn of
the Earth outside the windows.

I wonder what it is to fall
such distances.

I'm afraid he's really dying.

And he barely opens his eyes
for more than a few seconds.

And his breath was coming

in rapid fire bursts
like machine gun.

I turn from the silence
in the window and look at him

and an iris appears
beneath one half-lifted eyelid

and its strength bores
right through me.

And I turn away
almost embarrassed,

having as much life in me
as he has.

- Stand up and fight.
- Okay.

It was Thanksgiving
and I met David

in Peter's room
at the hospital.

Ethyl Eichelberger was there
and Peter was in a coma.

I mean, he really
wasn't responsive

in any kind of way.

We're all sitting there
and Ethyl says very quietly,

"He's not breathing anymore.

His chest
isn't going up and down."

We called the nurse in.

And the nurse said,
"Yes, he had passed."

And then David says,

"Could you all
leave me alone with him?"

If I could attach
our blood vessels

so that we would become
each other, I would.

If I could attach
our blood vessels

in order to anchor you
to the Earth,

to this present time, to me,
I would.

It makes me weep
to feel the history of you,

of your flesh beneath my hands,

in a time of so much loss.

It makes me weep,
all these moments

will be lost in time
like tears in rain.

Smell the flowers
while you can.

When Peter died,
I went out to dinner with Anita

and this nurse,
he was talking about,

sometimes you could tell
somebody was infected

because they'd get
a string of pearls

along your neck which was
glands that would swell up.

So while I'm sitting there,

I run the fingers down
my neck and sure enough

I have a string of pearls,
swollen glands.

I decided to get tested.

It came back positive.

I had pretty good T cell
at that point.

I wasn't sick or anything.

David, he was very sympathetic
and very supportive

but then at some point,
I said,

"You know,
you're being very supportive,

but you don't know
your status."

The first time I saw David,

David had markers of infection,

oral candidiasis, thrush.

He didn't have a competent
immune system.

I don't think this came
as a shock to David.

Hi, I just woke up.

Waking up every hour

for the last,

I don't know,
three or four hours.

So I was diagnosed with ARC

sometime in the summer.

Now near the end of November,

I'm living at Peter's house,
Peter Hujar,

because I couldn't afford
the other apartment that I had.

David came back positive

but his T cells
were really ravaged.

David asked Dr. Friedman,

"Do I have so few
that I can name them?"

Back then,
the magic number

was 200 T cells.

If you could keep the patient
at 200 T cells or higher,

there'd be less
opportunistic infections.

He had less than a hundred
when he was tested

so he was already in bad shape.

Peter, hi.

It's... oh, Peter, oh, my God.

I'm looking at the name,
what a...

unbelievable
psychological slur.

This is Gracie calling
for David.

He came in to the gallery
and told us.

He was very quiet about it.

I mean, he came in and he said
that he'd just been tested

and he found out
that he had it.

It was devastating for me.

I mean, I felt very protective
of David.

When Keith Haring came out
about having AIDS,

it just seemed like
everybody had to run,

buy something of his because
he was gonna die of AIDS.

He had AIDS
and he was gonna die.

It was so gross
how Keith was treated

and how everything around him,
what that was all about,

and I didn't want that
for David.

I mean,
I knew how private David was

and so when he told me,
my first reaction was

that we shouldn't tell anyone.

Which of course
is the wrong response

to have with David.

That's when I picked up
the phone

and called Barry Blinderman
and said,

"You have to do this
retrospective now,

like, now."

She was right
and that this is what I do,

books and retrospectives
and...

I was an avid fan
of his work.

I bought the painting,
Fuck You Faggot Fucker,

back in 1984.

There was an urgency
to do the show

while he was alive.

I wrote a grant to the NEA,

got the grant worth $15,000

and started working with David
planning the exhibition,

then the catalogue.

I thought the phrase
"Tongues of Flame"

was very appropriate.
It's a biblical reference.

It's a reference to a play.
It's a reference

to a silent movie.

But mostly, Tongues of Flame,

I'm thinking what a...
an amazing orator he was.

I was thinking
about the Burning Child,

I was thinking
about the Burning House,

the incendiary aspect of it,
the passion.

And it just seemed like
everything that was connected

with David was on fire.

One of the things
that happened

after my diagnosis
is this thing

of this may be the last work
I do. So it's, like,

trying to focus everything
and channel it into the square,

or into this photograph,
or into this thing

that it's all got to go in,
all the anger,

all the emotions,
all the thoughts.

I'm working on a series
of sex images

that take environments
like the sky,

the ocean, an airplane,

train movements, a forest,

and I'll superimpose

a circle that has
a very explicit sex act.

And most of them
are homosexual acts.

Outside of the sex series,

I placed these circular images
inside the field of painting

and so for me the circles
are like cells

and they contain information.

And I see them
as microscopic views

so it's like looking
into the interior of something,

like looking at a spot of blood
and seeing the cells.

And I also see them
as telescopic views

so that you could be looking
through a telescope

and then that says something
to me about surveillance,

seeing something
from a distance.

I like the suggestions
of all those things.

It's about discovery.

And I use dreams in my work.

Dreams are very important
to me.

I usually write them down
all the time.

The dreams are an example
of how the imagination

can break all boundaries.

His iconography is based off

this profound sense he had
that he could try

to look at the universe.

Everything organic,

and everything manmade,

all the delights,
and all the horrors,

and trying to put them
together.

But every aspect of it
would be deeply personal.

When Peter died,

David took photographs
of the head,

the hands, and the feet.

There's a tradition
of taking death masks

of someone important.

Hands are important
because they're how

you physically interact
with the world.

And then the feet,
I think are very important.

And that goes back
to the Old Testament

and the New Testament.

How do you read people,
you watch their hands

but it's more important
you watch their feet

because that's what's
anchoring you to the world.

And you find that
all the way through

classic spiritual literature.

That iconic letting out
of those images,

incorporating them into
Peter Hujar Dead

with that text
is really a call to arms.

I was diagnosed with ARC
recently

and this was after
the last few years

of losing count of the friends
and neighbors

who've been dying slow,
vicious, unnecessary deaths

because fags, and dykes,
and junkies

are expendable in this country.
And at the moment,

at the moment
I'm a 37-foot tall,

1,172-pound man
inside this six-foot body,

and all I could feel
is the pressure.

All I can feel is the pressure
and the need for relief.

David? It's Pat.

It's been too long
and I want you to know

that I think of you
and I love you a lot,

and I hope all is well.

Last night
I talked to my sister

for the first time
in seven months I think.

I told her about my diagnosis
and...

it was rough for me anyway.

I thought she handled it
pretty well.

But then who knows.

I remember Pat
once saying to me,

she will never get AIDS
or something like that because,

"I'm not one of those people
that run around

to have sex with everybody."

Then I remember
I didn't correct her.

I mean, how do you begin?

Dave, you home?

It's Steve calling again.

Okay.

Bye-bye.

After he had AIDS,
we were fine

but there came that day
when I called him on the phone

when I told him our Aunt Helen
was coming to visit.

Boy, that set him off.

Look, if it comes up
whether about my girlfriend

or we have girlfriends,

I'm gonna tell him
I'm homosexual.

And if it comes up,
I'll tell him

that I have this virus.

If it goes far enough,
I'll fucking confront him

and ask him why the fuck
they let the psychotic

do this damage to us
all these fucking years

and-and not do
a fucking thing about it,

and like talk about their God
and all this other shit

when they watched this guy,
what he did to us.

I'm tired of living these lies
with these people

and I'm tired of hiding
from these people

because I'm afraid of who I am

or because I have problems
with who I am.

And I'm not gonna
go through it anymore.

"This is not the place,"
I said,

"if you wanna confront
Aunt Helen,

then go to Detroit
and confront her.

But you're not coming here."

He went into a rage
that frightened me.

Don't insult me
by inviting me to come

after the relatives leave.

That's right.
Out of sight, okay?

Get the fuck out of our sight
until it's comfortable,

until we can deal with you
sitting here

with your homosexuality,
with your AIDS.

Yeah, right, sorry for myself.

I'm the one
who's fucking dying, asshole.

I'm the one who's got
to fucking confront things

before I go,
and that's what I wanna do.

I wanna clear the fear
out of my head.

It was so painful to me,

the way that he and I
interacted.

If I could do it
all over again,

I-I'd tried to do it
a little differently.

So, are you afraid to
tell your children I have AIDS?

And then he starts
saying, "Oh, your kids know

that you have a faggot
for a brother?"

That's not what I said.
I said, "Are you afraid

to tell your kids I have AIDS?"

And I said,
"David, they're young."

One's three years old,
the other one's six.

It's too messy for me
to be in your fucking life,

so save it. Save it, Steven.

I don't need this from you.

I don't need
this kind of insult.

I fucking face this every day

and I don't need it
from "family."

You understand?

Well, let the conversation end,
Steve.

We never see each other again.
Goodbye.

And then,
I never saw him again.

I'm just feeling
pretty crazy recently,

lot of anxiety.

At some point I realize
I was just afraid of dying.

Throughout all my life
I've tried to maintain

some kind of complete control
of myself

and where I've come from.

All the scenes
as a kid hustling

and all the scenes
in the streets.

Sometimes I came close
to death,

and the times
that I nearly starved,

maybe a need for self-control,
this... to mask,

this enormous rage that I carry
or may carry

from all those experiences.

I guess I fear loss of
control, let that rage,

It'll spill
and become indiscriminate

in terms of what it attacks.

But really and truly I think
I'm afraid of losing my mind

at some point
to some degenerative disease

like meningitis, or seizures,
or whatever.

I don't wanna lose touch
with words.

I wanna be able to provoke
some change

in whatever limited fashion

in people, in a person.

And I always had this fantasy

that if I were
to ever become ill

and if I were to become so weak
that I couldn't leave the house

which is another fear for me,

or at least be able to tap
at a fucking keyboard

even if it's with a pencil
held between my teeth

touching each key
letter for letter,

despite rage, despite illness,

despite pain,
I hope that my mind...

...continues.

AIDS was revealing exactly

what society was about.

That was already there
in his work,

he knew already
what the world was about.

He knew the structure
that sustained power.

He knew in the manipulation
of people

who would like
to live differently.

So the illness became a weapon

against politics
of the society.

When I was diagnosed
with this virus,

it didn't take me long
to realize

I contracted a diseased
society as well.

Stand tough, stand tall,

it's time to march
on city hall.

Thousands
of demonstrators demand

that New York City
do more to help

those suffering from AIDS.

Healthcare is a right.
Healthcare is a right.

The scene
evoked memories of the '60s.

Civil rights or civil war?

David and I
went to Act Up meetings.

We marched with Act Up.

The city is dying.

In some level,
the most interesting thing

that they have is information

of what was happening
in the hospitals.

They were strapping
minority babies to beds

and giving half of them
placebos.

Basically,
they're stealing these babies

from their parents saying,

"This is the only way
your baby can get treatment.

Sign this form,"

killing half of them purposely
with placebos.

That alone I thought
was so outrageous.

And all these
information packages

were given to the media,
I thought,

"Well, Jesus,
this will change everything."

I mean, how naive I was.

Forty something death
per day.

Where was the help?

♪ Don't treat me
like a science toy ♪

We went down to Washington
when Act Up demonstrated

at the FDA.

Hundreds
of angry demonstrators

effectively shut down
the FDA today.

First in his land.

Demonstrators say the AIDS
crisis and the anger over it

continue to grow every day.

Charging that the government
response to the AIDS disease

is woefully inadequate,

they say the demonstrations
will continue.

Until I die.

Our group made these tombstones

and then laid down
like we were dying.

Fight until we die.

Behind the barricade.

Behind the barricade.

And so they arrested us.

But it got headlines.

Photographs of the tombstones
came up many times.

One, two, three, four.

Civil rights or civil war.

David got arrested
a couple more times.

Civil rights or civil war.

For my own taste,
I wish they

would get a little bit
more violent,

express it a little stronger.

That was one of the few things
that people will respond to.

And I'm waking up more and more
from daydreams

of tipping Amazonian blowdarts
in 'infected blood'

and spitting them
at the exposed necklines

of certain politicians.

I'm not gonna be polite,
and fuck these people

that want me to be courageous.

You know, I resent that,
"Oh, how great he was,

how courageous he was."

All the way up to the end.

There's no expression in that
other than silence.

Somebody once said to me
that if you spit

a piece of gum on the sidewalk,
it's nothing,

but if ten people
or a hundred people,

or a thousand people
spit their gum

onto the same sidewalk
people have to deal with it,

they become stuck in it
when they walk through it.

And I see that as part
of a relationship

with art.

When people put themselves
on the line in their work,

whether it's music, writing,
photography, painting,

or whatever in terms of Culture
with a capital C,

they apply a tiny amount
of pressure

against the system of control

that would willingly jump
into fascism

if there wasn't enough pressure
on its throat.

We are born
into a pre-invented existence

within a tribal nation
of zombies.

The government
has a day-to-day job,

maintaining an illusion
of a one-tribe nation.

And inside
of that one-tribe nation,

there's actually millions
of tribes.

Historically, minorities
have always been expendable

in this country.

Historically, art was made

by certain classes of people

for certain classes
of people.

What I make in my work
is a record of things

that challenges the record
that we're given daily,

whether it's in the newspapers,
through the television,

or through the politicians.

I've chosen to stay
and fight.

I've chosen to stay and fight.

If I were a violent person,

I would go
into the nation's capital

and start annihilating
the people that I believe

responsible for this
pre-invented existence,

but the originators
are long dead.

The way things
are set in motion

in terms of society,

it's like a machine
that runs itself

that can't stop.
It can run by itself,

think by itself,
police enforce it,

schools enforce it.

Government officials
enforce it.

Even the stupidity
of large populations

enforce it.

Raise all the glory
while we do it to them again.

Cardinal O'Connor
has helped tens of thousands

of people
to their unnecessary deaths

through the denial of pertinent
safe sex information.

He obviously prefers coffins
to condoms.

- Safe sex information.
- Find out why we're here today.

This is Jesus Christ.

I am in front of St. Patrick's
Cathedral on Sunday.

We're here reporting
on a major AIDS activist

and abortion rights activist
demonstration.

Inside, Cardinal O'Connor

is busy spreading his lies
and rumors

about the position
of lesbians and gays.

They act as if...
because there's this

abstract idea
of what religion is,

of what God is,

that this man is untouchable
and he's not.

And this church
can be shut down

the same way he shuts down
abortion clinics,

the same way he prevents people
getting information

or making personal decisions
about their life,

he can be shut down.

Is the green light on?

Green light's not on
but, uh...

- Let's see this.
- Yeah.

- The green light's on.
- Yeah. So it's on.

- It's rolling?
- Yeah.

East Germany today
took down the Berlin Wall.

Back at that time,
David had a big body of work

and it was really strong stuff
but his career,

kind of, flattened out.

The publicity from his
contribution to the catalogue

for Witnesses:
Against Our Vanishing.

And Artists Space
was what brought him

to the national stage,

and it wasn't for an artwork,
it was for an essay

that he wrote in the catalogue.

I...

I wouldn't say derogatory,
you know,

I don't think
I'm-I'm being that critical.

I asked David
to write for the catalogue.

There aren't such
intense people

in the world anymore.
But he was a genius

which I don't use
for anyone else I can think of.

David's essay
was talking about

how the imagination
was the last frontier

for creative freedom,

that in his imagination

he can douse Jesse Helms
with gasoline

and set his putrid ass on fire,
I quote,

or throw William Dannemeyer
off the Empire State Building

and made a reference
to Cardinal O'Connor,

total enemy of the state,

called him that fat cannibal
in skirts

in the house
of walking swastikas.

Now, this didn't play well

with the establishment.

Tonight, a Manhattan art
exhibit about AIDS

is losing a lot
of federal money

because of what
will be shown in the exhibit.

The chairman of the NEA states,

"We find that a large portion
of the content

is political rather than
artistic in nature."

It's a fact that I maybe
dying of AIDS in 1989.

Is that not political?

It's a fact that I don't have
health insurance

and I don't have access
to adequate healthcare.

Is that not political?

And I, you know,
I think that says it clearly.

This is Washington
and Helms was on a rampage.

He'd already racked up
Mapplethorpe,

gotten the Corcoran
to cancel their show.

He'd already racked up
Piss Christ.

I mean, this was the time

and they were looking
for the trifecta,

the third thing,
and David Wojnarowicz

was perfect for this.

This senator is unwilling
to spend one penny.

I'm saddened to see that, um,

Congress might not feel
that this show

should be supported
by the American taxpayer.

Is this about homophobia
or what is it about?

I... I'm confused by it.

What are you thinking about?

I mean, no. Just that,
uh, you know,

I'm talking to this
journalist from the Times,

you know, he said that the NEA
is claiming

that what I said was horrible,
monstrous,

you know,
inflammatory, this, that.

The most terrible things that
they can't even repeat them.

And I said like, "A study done
on violence

in America found that
there was increasing numbers

of homosexual teenagers
that were murdered

or beaten up.

And that Dannemeyer
tried to suppress

that part of the study

because it contained
the word homosexual.

Therefore, William Dannemeyer
condones the murder

and terrorizing
of homosexual teenagers

and no gesture
I could make could

even approximate the violence
of what these people have done.

I'm not gonna sit still
and be silent about it.

How heroic.

To the barricades!

But what's happening now?

Uh, Susan called up,

and it turns out that, uh,

the NEA approached Susan

and now they're doing
a joint press conference

issuing statements
and Susan does this paltry

liberal motherfucking stance
of here,

"I think there are
certain issues

that are not resolved here."

And I said,
"What the fuck are you doing?"

I said, "These assholes have
themselves against the wall

over all these issues,
over homophobia,

legislative silence
of homosexuals

and lesbians in this country.

What you're doing is you're
avoiding the whole fucking thing

for your funding. I said,
"You're a collaborator.

You and your board
and it's indicative

of the whole
fucking art world."

David was more skeptical

and more negative
about the art world

than he was about Jesse Helms

because he thought
that curators of the art world

hid art with queer ideas

and just anything that was out
of the White one-tribe nation

as he said was being censored
by the museums.

You didn't need Jesse Helms
and people like that

because the museums were
already doing the job for you.

Okay, thanks.

Okay.

Okay.

What happened?

She's fine.
She's, like, uh...

She said that she could say
in her statement

that this is a failure
of the government

to confront homophobia
in the society,

it's the legislation
into silence of homosexuals.

And it's the failure to provide
safe sex information

to people with AIDS so that... uh,

so they can make
informed decisions.

Did she say that
to the press?

This is her statement.

She's... and that she's gonna
thank me, uh,

from the bottom of her heart,

uh, for what she's learned.

I feel, you know, I feel
pretty emotional about it.

Oh, man.

This show does contain
10 years of work

starting with David's
early street stencil pieces

to work that was
just made yesterday

especially for this gallery.

So without further ado,

I like to introduce
David Wojnarowicz.

Thanks a lot for coming tonight.

I don't think anybody expected
a crowd this big.

This is kind of strange
and emotional for me

to be standing in a room

filled with artifacts
of my life.

Each painting, photograph,
and sculpture

has built into it
a particular frame of mind

that only I can know

given that I've always
felt alien

in this country
we call America.

If I say I'm homosexual,
is that something new to you?

Does that make you nervous?

Do you think
it would be a crime,

the denial of information
only killed people

that you didn't feel
comfortable with?

Do you stop to get to know
the person

you sit or walk next to
in this school?

Do you make it comfortable
for that person

to express ideas that
might change your ideas?

And I wake up every morning.

I wake up every morning

to this killing machine
called America.

And I'm carrying this rage
like a blood-filled egg

as each T cell disappears
from my body

and is replaced by
10 pounds of pressure,

10 pounds of rage.

And I focus that rage
into non-violent resistance

but the focus
is starting to slip

and the egg
is starting to crack.

Thank you.

David became the local hero

in a town that needed a voice
like this so badly.

When I first went out there,

I knew that it was like
a fairly conservative town.

I mean, I had fantasies
of people with pitchforks

storming the gallery.

In the days that followed,

people would come running over
to talk to me

when they spotted me.

It was an extremely emotional
positive response.

I should probably tell you

how the controversy happened

about a month into the show.

There was one page in the book.
It was a black and white,

homage to Jean Genet
who is one of David's heroes.

I didn't know it was in color.

He just gave us the black
and white

when we put it in the book.

Jean Genet has a plate over his
head that looks like a halo.

There's angels with Tommy Guns,

and in the right-hand corner,

there's a picture
of Jesus Christ

with a hypodermic in his arm.

It didn't make
no never mind to me,

but one of the people
that got a hold of the book

was Dana Rohrabacher,

the right wing politician

from Orange County, California.

Rohrabacher put together
a screed

with a Xerox image of Christ
with the injectable

talking about,

"Do you know what your NEA
money is going for?

15,000 went to a show

that has anal
and oral homosexual sex,

it's like a circus.

This exhibition,
Tongues of Flame,

is an orgy
of degenerate depravity."

Then I started getting
letters and threats

from people
to the university saying,

"We hear you have
this exhibition

that is morally unacceptable."

People would come to the show.

And I'd end up
having contests with them

about who can quote
the Bible better,

me or them.

I'm trying to explain to them

that Jesus was
the man of sorrows

and he was here to cleanse us
of our sins.

And if that meant
taking on the pain of a junky,

then that's what Christ
would have to do.

Then all of a sudden,

I get a copy
of a two-page pamphlet

that has excerpts
of David's greatest hits

from Donald Wildmon

and the American Family
Association.

Donald Wildmon got Pepsi
to stop using Madonna

as a spokesperson because
of cones that she was wearing

and she was being
anti-religious

and evidently
that had been sent

to thousands of church-goers

and any senator or congressman

who hadn't gotten it
from Rohrabacher.

I sent that to David
and I said,

"Look at this."

And that's when the shit
hit the fan.

Coming up,
Wojnarowicz explains

why he's suing a group
that's trying to cut off

government funding
of the arts.

Donald Wildmon went
through a catalogue,

went through it
with a pair of scissors.

He searched out
what he perceived to be

tiny details of paintings
or photographs

that involved in the portrayal
of sexual activity.

Sometimes, using less than two
percent of a single painting.

He represented these mutilated
fragments as my work.

This week, Wojnarowicz
took Wildmon to court

for violating his copyright

and distorting his work
by taking it out of context.

What I remember
was the whole courtroom

completely full of artists
and friends of David,

and Reverend Wildmon
sitting there

like he was in hell,
like in his mind

in the most awful place

that the Lord
could have possibly put him

there was... full of sinners
and Sodomites

and blasphemers all around him.

And people dressed in black.

And everyone's
dressed in black

and he looked tortured.

This is something
that I argued with David about

numerous times.
And David was sick.

I said to him, "You know, you
don't have this time to waste.

You're not gonna change
their minds.

They don't have minds.

The so-called ideas
of these people like Wildmon,

they're not ideas.

They are aspects of bigotry.

There are always people
like this.

Sometimes they're more powerful
than others."

That was a moment of power
for those kind of churches

and those kind of people.
We're in one now, again.

But in between,
they lost power.

And in the end, they never have
the power as an artist.

David Wojnarowicz
is more valuable

than every one of these
preachers that ever lived

as a person and as what
he put into the world.

David was being cast
as that angry young man

who was just screaming
all the time.

And people had told him
that he was not a good painter.

So, he was challenging himself

to make beautiful paintings
of flowers.

But within that, of course,
he put his writing.

And he did it in a way
that melded with the pictures.

But as you read the works,

you realized
he was telling stories

of death and politics.

I mean, it's just a really sad,
beautiful show.

I wonder what this
little bug does in the world,

what his job is.

And if this little bug dies,

if the world feels it,

I mean,
does the Earth feel it?

Does the world get a little
lighter in the rotation?

There's another one here.

So, you think they're married?

Or are they homosexuals
on vacation?

David was HIV-positive in '88.

I went to New York a lot,
a lot of the time,

to work with him until 1991.

I mean, for me, he wasn't sick.

You couldn't see on his face,
on his body he was sick.

Until the last trip we did,

there's one moment where I felt
this virus took his mind.

May 1991, we did
this trip in the Southwest.

We were in Death Valley driving

and I said to David,
"Let's stop here.

I would like to take photos."

David said, "Look,
I'm not really feeling good.

I stay in the car. Go on.

I just want to stay here."

I don't know.
Maybe I left half hour.

Then I came back to the car

and David was laying down
with the seat down.

He was, like...

white, completely white.

I said, "David."
And he didn't answer to me.

He wasn't sleeping.

His eyes were open.

And then he looked at me

and he wasn't there.

He was somewhere.
I don't know where.

I started getting scared.

I touched his face saying,
"David, David, David, David."

And then he came back slowly
to consciousness

and then he started laughing
like nothing happened,

like he was nowhere,
like he has been here.

That's the moment
I felt that, uh,

something was shifting
in his mind.

Actually,
I blanked and I,

you know,
my memory seems to come and go.

I... I forget so many things,
uh, these days

where it just seems
huge blocks of time

are suddenly gone and then...

- David.
- ...they come back.

The same trip David
took his camera and he said,

"I would like you
to take a photo of me,

like, if I was buried."

So, we silently start digging

and I cover him with sand
and earth.

I took different photos.
I took photos from behind.

It was very strong,
very strong.

And that was the last
trip we did together.

We never met again.

We spoke over the phone,
but we never met again.

I guess it was about
September of '91.

He called me
in the middle of the night,

probably around 2:00
in the morning.

He said that he had a fever
and he was shaking.

And so, I came over.

I put him under a quilt

and he was just
really shivering,

like, he couldn't stop.

And that was
the beginning of it.

That was the start of it.

From then on,
things started to slowly

but surely go downhill.

He was hospitalized
for eight to ten days.

They did tests,
but then he went home.

And literally, from then on,

he was never really much
out of bed.

Hi, David,
Penny Arcade.

I have a friend
who's on the board of directors

for The Museum of Modern Art.

He's interested in getting
Peter into the museum.

Call me
so I can talk to you, okay?

Bye.

When U2 did a concert
out at the Meadowlands

in New Jersey,
they sent a limousine for us.

And before the concert,
we met with them.

Bono wanted to know
if we wanted to pray with them.

We said, "No.
I think we'll pass on that.

Thank you."

But it was just so special.

I mean, he was thrilled.

He was really,
truly thrilled.

Hi, David. It's Kiki.

Siobhan says that you went back
in the hospital.

So, I hope you're okay.

He was in
and out of Cabrini

a number of times.

And after one of them,
he said,

"I'm never going back again."

Homecare was established
in that loft

of the movie theater for him.

That became a hospital room.

And most patients
didn't have that at that time.

David was one
of the first people

to have that level of homecare.

And probably that was the force
of his personality

and Tom's
organizational skills.

If not for Tom,
that wouldn't have happened.

David? Dave?

Hello?

It's Pat.

I just want to let you know,
I talked to Tom

and I told him when
I'm coming in.

I'm worried about you.
I hope...

I just hope that
you have someone around you

and, uh, well, I'll talk to you
tomorrow, okay?

Big kiss. Bye-bye.

His decline was speeding up.

Dementia was setting in.

It was in and out.

It was getting
more and more difficult

and he was more and more
tired.

Things were happening
for David.

And you could tell David
that MoMA had just bought Fire

and he was just kind of like,

"That's wonderful."

And you could tell him
five minutes later

and he would not remember.
It was like Groundhog Day,

you could just absolutely
tell him the same thing over.

And he had absolute happiness.

It was a very beautiful
wide-eyed David.

It wasn't like it wasn't him.

But he was joyous.

Dr. Bob said,
"A real person comes out

when they get into dementia.

If they're nasty at core,
they'll be nasty."

But David was as sweet
as he could be.

It was heartbreaking for me.

He didn't think anybody
would stick around

if he got sick
or he was dying.

He was very much afraid
of that

and I think as a result of how
badly he was treated as a kid.

You know, there was
a tremendous sadness and fear

for me worrying about him

and knowing he was just
getting worse and worse.

But at the same time,
I felt grateful

that I could be there for him.

Looking out the windows,
I can place myself

somewhere out in that sky,

lie down in that texture

and dream of years
and years of sleep.

And I... and I talk.

And I talk inside
my head of change

and of peace for this body
beside me.

Smell the flowers
while you can.

July 22nd,
he died at the apartment.

And there were like
12 of us there,

all of his friends,
his sister.

The nurse said to Tom,
"I think he's gone."

And, um...

that was it.

It's no one thing
that took David's life,

it was the burden of carrying

all those illnesses
in that one body

that was just too much
for one body to bear.

There were a lot of tears
during that time.

There were a lot of tears then.

But I've gained a great deal
of distance now, of course.

And you know, in some ways,
it's even hard to remember him

which I don't like.

It's what time does to you.

But he's always here.

You know, he's always here
no matter what.

I know he's here.

Oh, my God. Here we are.

I said I wasn't going to cry
and I'm already tearing up.

It has been so long coming.

Here it is.

It's a little overwhelming,
isn't it?

Wow.

Look at all of this.

All the Peter Hujar
dreaming photos.

- Yeah.
- Peter was quite

an extraordinary character
and they were so connected.

Yeah.

Anita, there's your monkey.

There's your monkey, sweetie.

Oh. Yes, it is.

David painted it for Peter.

And it was over his bed
while he was sick.

- Yes.
- And when he died,

they... he gave it to Anita.

- Kept it for 20 years.
- Yeah.

And I'm so sorry
I needed to sell it.

If I could buy it back
from that woman, I would.

Peter would always say
that the monkey was carrying

the weight of the world
on his shoulders

the way David did it.

This has always
been a favorite.

When I first saw it,

it really kind of
moved me a lot.

At that point,
David was not feeling very well

and I just kept thinking
of extinction and Wojnarowicz.

He's so clever.
He really was.

He had such a great
childish imagination.

Imagination is the key
to breaking through

the borders of countries.

We can break through existing
structures of government.

The work that anybody
does as an artist,

if it doesn't
reflect resistance

then they're helping

a system of control
become more perfect.

We rise to greet
the state,

to confront the state.

♪ And you thought
I was just no strength ♪

♪ You thought
I was just photos ♪

♪ You thought I was just
words and pictures ♪

♪ You've seen a thousand times ♪

♪ Lies they tell us,
lies they live ♪

♪ What is it
that lies can give? ♪

♪ Peace or hatred,
love or fear? ♪

♪ Who will lie
the most this year? ♪

♪ Lies they tell us,
lies they live ♪

♪ What is it that lies
can give? ♪

♪ Peace or hatred,
love or fear? ♪

♪ Who will lie the most
this year? ♪

This is Hujar
at noon on Sunday,

you wanna hear some Italian?

Listen.

Did you like that?

Oh, she's been imitating
an American.

How about that?
Anyway, goodbye.

See you later, gator.

♪ ...your heart ♪

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