QUEER LITTLE WONDERLAND: A VISIT TO “ENTITY CRAMMING” BY ERIC ANTHONY BERDIS & SOSO CAPALDI Written by ella fritz
It’s June. The city of Philadelphia is already sweltering. So hot that perspiration pours down the forehead, a thick sheen of sweat constantly flowing. The building where the installation is held is no different; a warehouse of sorts with no AC beside the tinny fan in the hallway, trying its best to pump out air that runs unfortunately warm.
I can feel my own reluctance, my internal world graying, the lack of desire in me to come to this exhibit. Until I step into Eric Anthony Berdis and Soso Capaldi’s collaboration, a whimsical wilderness titled: “Entity Cramming.”
It’s easy to forget the heat once inside the heart of the exhibit, standing in the middle of the windowless, white room. It helps to transition me into another world where the artists stand just beyond the threshold. It feels almost like entering a transparent cave that shelters a confectionary sweet tooth of color…
…It hits me like a cavity and to wonder, what is this place? It seems to breathe me to life.
Everything here seems to greet you in its own authenticity.
The internal glow from the sculptures feel personal, a room that exists in its own realm, radiating at a frequency that makes me consider staying here forever. The first thing I notice is on the left side of the room: a large piece constructed of fabric balls and pipe cleaners the consistency of a rainbow clouds my vision. It commands the space alongside other sculptures with its soft lines and warm presence. It is appropriately titled “Creature Home” (Capaldi). I could see myself cozying inside, wrapped in a sense of solace.
Pieces hang from the ceiling while others rest on the ground, a mixture of fabric, drawings, and mystical forms I can’t seem to peel my eyes from. After the monotony of college and the latest conflicts that come from adulthood, my childlike wonder sings a song I haven’t heard in a very long time, a song I didn’t realize had gone silent until now.
I spend a lot of time moving like clockwork, caught in a circadian rhythm: how to make money, what time I’ll go to the gym, and when to eat next. This is paired with my incessant phone checking, which causes my emotions to fluctuate from one moment to the next while swiping through Tinder and discovering fashion trends before reading about attacks on transgender rights and the separation of families. But in contrast to this summer’s turmoil, this place allows me to take a step back and consider the injustice that unrelentingly runs amok.
My physical shell floats away. Perhaps I am lucid…
…My mind explores this transparent cave and collection of creatures in this mythological place. I begin imagining it to be a playground for my own wishes to flourish. It’s nice to believe I can be anyone here without judgement, without the stagnation and burdens that so often accompanies growing up.
Could I perhaps shrink to a small-scale size and enter the rainbow-colored feline-formation called “Umbrella Creature” (Capaldi)? Its wide, melting mouth agape, its three eyes inviting me to come play. In a safe space like this, there would be no consequences or ramifications for exploring its cartoon-like kitten form. What could be found inside this toothless being? The idea circulates inside my head. I imagine crawling inside in hopes for a fixing of catnip and a well-needed belly-rub.
Or maybe I could swing on the pink ropes called “Stingray” (Berdis), which stare back at me with a multitude of shapes, suspended alongside a collection of anthropomorphic hands just out of reach. I can see myself grabbing a soft pink vine, extending my body to the next branch. A forestry-like playground to explore. The wind hits my face with fervor, curious about what lies below. I am a playful, curious child again, moving from branch to branch, a bird with no reason to fly.
And perhaps, while no one is looking, I begin shrinking, my adventure becoming similar to the well-beloved story by Lewis Carroll. My shoes are suddenly too big for my feet, my body inching toward the ground, melting in a way that feels strange and familiar. I am so tiny that the work I once towered over now obstructs my view, forced to look up, up, up. A sneaker’s sole hovers above me, almost squashes me plainly, so I run to where will shelter me, “Creature Home” calls me back.
Inside its soft, multicolored guts, I am greeted by a plushie-like being at the front desk with five fuzzy arms and seven eyes. The creature looks to me like she’s been waiting for my arrival, and I accept the invitation happily. I meander through the floors of the home and observe these beings embracing one another with warmth, holding each other closely with understanding and acceptance, in ways our world often forgets. It instills in me a sense of peace. As I’m leaving, a four-legged creature invites me to a tennis match in the evening, and I’m elated by this welcoming gesture.
I wander outside of “Creature Home” and move further into the fantastical village. I spot “Umbrella Creature,” with a cat seducing me to come inside. Dodging ankles, I make it to this haven, welcomed by a mewing of fat felines at the entrance. Their coats are a celebration of polka dots and stripes, pink and purple and some a spectacular silver. They invite me to sunbathe with them in the cat’s mouth, watching them play with their yarn balls and yawning at the enticing idea of a nap. They offer me a sliver of sardine before sending me back out into the world, purring at my rekindled sense of wonder.
Finding a bed of flowers on the floor, I am catapulted high into the sky. My hands find that familiar pink rope. A pair of bright blue eyes known as “Sailor Scout” (Berdis) stare back at me, maneuvering from rope to rope, feeling the muscles in my back exploding with excitement to be moving so primally: instinctively, a child on the monkey bars, a sweet scent rushing past as I swing with glee.
Fatigue from long days seems to follow me everywhere. Yet here in this tiny world, my mind and body feel endlessly energetic. I decide I never want to leave a little too late. I am growing again at an unnatural speed, slowly returning to my original height, my adult form, with a feeling of reflection. When will I ever return?
It is easy to imagine myself staying here forever, studying the intricacies of the artwork and the steady palms that transport me to a place where the heat can’t seem to get its hands on me. Instead, there is lightness in this room. A feeling of belonging. Rebelliously and generously in the face of the current administration and in contrast to this summer’s heated upheaval, I feel a sense of queer joy created by the artists. This is a space of constant exploration, always in motion.
I leave grinning ear to ear like a Cheshire cat. My love of play has been restored.
Writer Bio:
Ella Fritz is currently an undergraduate at the University of Iowa studying English and creative writing on the publishing track and screenwriting. She is an Acquisitions Editor for University of Iowa’s creative nonfiction magazine Catharsis. A nomad of sorts, she has split her time this year between Charleston, Dublin, Iowa City, and Philadelphia. She recently emerged from studying literature in Europe, and she will return to Iowa in the fall to finish her degree in the cornfields.
