Tag: queer

Shadow Play: A Pop-Up First Friday Event


Shadow Play – Where bodies and cities meet in light and dark.

This exhibition brings together two queer artists who use shadow as both material and metaphor. Leslie Keith Shaw traces fleeting figures cast on sidewalks and streets, while Todd Fuqua creates digitally projected performances on the body itself. Together, their work transforms shadow into a space of queer joy, resistance, and play – blurring the line between public and intimate, concrete and flesh.

Finding Beauty in Unexpected Places

Art has always been a way to make sense of the world, to capture what might otherwise go unnoticed, and to transform struggle into something meaningful. For both artists featured in Shadow Play, creating images is not just about aesthetics. It is about survival, resilience, and finding joy where others might not think to look.

Leslie Keith Shaw has been making art in Indianapolis for more than two decades. His practice blends photography, scanography, and digital manipulation to transform everyday textures into vibrant, layered compositions. Sidewalk cracks, overlooked objects, and even items placed on a flatbed scanner become portals to hidden beauty. Living with HIV since 1987—a time when long-term survival was rarely imagined—Leslie approaches art as both sanctuary and celebration. Every piece is proof that life continues to hold mystery, meaning, and joy.

Todd Fuqua is a queer, non-binary photographer and visual storyteller based in Indianapolis who is also living with HIV. Their practice lives at the intersection of art and advocacy – what they call artivism. Through projects like #BLOOM, #CelebrateUU, and #ShadoWORK, Todd uses photography to explore identity, resilience, and liberation. Their imagery combines shadows, textures, and layered storytelling, with a strong emphasis on collaboration. Todd’s work challenges stigma, sparks dialogue about U=U and HIV criminalization, and celebrates the fullness of queer and marginalized lives.

What ties their practices together is a shared belief: that beauty and truth are always present, even if hidden at first glance. It could be a patch of sidewalk transformed into radiant abstraction. It could be a portrait layered with resilience and shadow. Both artists invite viewers to see differently. They encourage us to notice, to question, and to feel.

Together, their work affirms that art isn’t only about what is seen. It’s about what is discovered.

Call to Action

Join us for Shadow Play, a one-night pop-up exhibition on First Friday, October 4th, at 862 Virginia Avenue, Indianapolis. Step into an evening of light, shadow, and layered storytelling—an exploration of resilience, identity, and beauty in unexpected places. Don’t just see the art—experience the transformation.

RSVP

Media Kit

Shadow Play Press ReleaseDownload

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE

Shadow Play: Where Bodies and Cities Meet in Light and Dark
One-Night Pop-Up Exhibition | First Friday, October 3, 2025 | Indianapolis

Indianapolis, IN — This October, two Indianapolis-based queer artists will bring light, shadow, and layered storytelling to life in a one-night-only pop-up exhibition. Shadow Play opens Friday, October 3, 2025, at 862 Virginia Avenue (Mass Ave Knit Shop) in Fountain Square, as part of Indy’s First Friday gallery walk.

Shadow Play brings together the work of Leslie Keith Shaw and Todd Fuqua, two artists who use shadow as both material and metaphor. Shaw traces fleeting figures cast on sidewalks and streets, while Fuqua creates digitally projected performances on the body itself. Together, their practices transform shadow into a space of queer joy, resistance, and play – blurring the line between public and intimate, concrete and flesh.

For Shaw, who has been creating art in Indianapolis for more than two decades, overlooked textures – sidewalk cracks, discarded objects, even items placed on a scanner – become radiant abstractions. Diagnosed with HIV in 1987, Shaw’s practice is both sanctuary and celebration, proof that life continues to hold meaning, mystery, and joy.

Fuqua, a queer non-binary photographer and storyteller also living with HIV, works at the intersection of art and advocacy – what they call artivism. Through community-driven projects such as #BLOOM, #CelebrateUU, and #ShadoWORK, Fuqua layers photography, shadow, and texture to spark dialogue around stigma, resilience, and liberation.

What unites their work is a shared belief: that beauty & truth are always present, even if hidden at first glance. Whether drawn from the cracks of a city sidewalk or from the resilience etched on the human body, Shadow Play invites audiences to see differently—to notice, to question, to feel.


Event Details:

Shadow Play
First Friday, October 3, 2025
6:00 – 9:00 p.m.
Mass Ave Knit Shop: 862 Virginia Avenue, Indianapolis, IN 46203

Admission is free and open to the public.

The artists anticipate returning for November and December First Fridays, making Shadow Play an evolving installation across the fall season.

Press Contact:
C. Todd Fuqua
Email: todd@ctoddcreations.com | 317-847-1945
Event Website: https://bit.ly/ShadowPlayIndy
Media Kit: https://bit.ly/ShadowPlayMediaKit

Aging Out Loud: What Gay Culture Taught Me About Desire, Rejection, and Growing Older


There are moments I scroll through hookup apps and feel like a ghost in a room I used to be welcomed into.

I’m still here. Still queer. Still alive in this beautiful, ridiculous, aching body of mine. Still hungry for connection. Still flirting. Still hopeful. But something has shifted—and it’s not just the algorithm. It’s how I’m seen. And maybe, too, how I see myself.

I don’t write this with bitterness. I write it with curiosity. With a little heartache. And with a lot of honesty.

Because as much as I feel hurt by the way gay culture sidelines older queer men, I also have to admit – I’ve done the sidelining too.

I Was Ageist Before I Aged

I used to filter people out by age without a second thought. I thought it was just preference. I’d scroll past men who reminded me too much of my father, or who didn’t fit my fantasy. I didn’t stop to think about what that felt like on the receiving end. I didn’t have to think about it.

Back then, I was what the culture rewarded: younger, thinner, newer. Now, I’m on the other side of that invisible line. And I feel it.

The messages come slower. Or not at all. Sometimes, when I do get responses, they come with qualifiers: “you’re hot for your age” or “I usually don’t go this old, but…” You learn quickly how conditional your desirability becomes.

It’s a strange thing, being both hurt by something and complicit in it.

Desire Isn’t a Crime—But Conditioning Is Real

I’m not here to shame anyone’s attraction. Desire is weird, layered, deeply personal. But it’s also shaped by culture, and our culture – gay culture, hookup culture, digital queer spaces – is soaked in ageism. Youth is not just fetishized; it’s framed as the ideal. Everything else is a compromise.

Even now, I catch myself gravitating toward younger men. Sometimes I’m chasing vitality. Sometimes I’m chasing the version of myself I used to be. Sometimes I just want to feel wanted by someone who represents possibility, not limitation.

But what am I reinforcing when I do that? What mirror am I holding up for others—and for myself?

The Cost of Invisibility

It’s hard to talk about this stuff without sounding fragile. But the truth is, there’s grief in this. Not just about not getting laid as easily (though, yeah, that too), but about the quiet ways we’re taught that our worth expires with our youth.

And I think what hurts the most is not the rejection itself—it’s the accumulation of being unseen. Of being looked through, not looked at. Especially when I know I’m still vibrant, still sexy, still full of spark and stories and tenderness.

I want to be desired not despite my age, but with it. Because of it.

How Can We Do Better?

I don’t have a blueprint. But I think it starts with asking better questions. Of each other. Of ourselves.

Why do we equate youth with value?
Why do we treat older bodies as either comic relief or invisible burdens?
Why are we so afraid to look in the mirror and see time?

I think we can celebrate queerness across every age. I think we can uplift the beauty of experience, the dignity of survival, the sexiness of someone who knows their body and their mind.

And I think we can make space for intergenerational friendships, for mentorship, for flirtation that isn’t transactional, for community that isn’t just curated around desirability.

How Can I Do Better?

I can start by offering grace. To others, and to myself.

I can notice when I’m seeking youth as validation and pause.
I can stop ghosting people just because they’re older than my fantasy self.
I can consider my choice of models and seek out older representation in my art.
I can show up as fully myself, without apology. And trust that I’m not “less than” – just more lived-in.

I can remember that queerness isn’t a trend I’m aging out of. It’s a lifelong becoming.

So here I am, still swiping sometimes. Still showing up. Still believing in the possibility of being seen, felt, held. Not because I’m clinging to youth, but because I’m not done growing.

And maybe that’s what aging with pride really means.

Let’s Talk

Have you felt this too? Whether you’re 23 or 63, how has age shaped your experience of queer community and connection?

Drop a comment or share your story, I’d love to hear from you. Let’s talk about how we’re aging, desiring, and becoming… together.

Note: I used AI to make final edits to my ramblings and online journaling, including some formatting and organization to be more blog-friendly.