While the obvious basis for a metamorphosis would have something to do with representation, Hurd wasn’t quite sure how to begin. Should he pursue more abstract or hyper-detailed approaches, as in the cases of previous work? Rather than start with an answer in mind, he simply went giddy-up, letting the process guide him towards its natural conclusion. Texture and color remained, while the rest filtered into a crystallized vision. “What started off as playful and messy became more romantic and loving. I started to sit with the idea of my old work where I’d catch myself making moves to make it different, or unique, something I hadn’t seen before. With this new work I wanted to get rid of all those extra efforts, the thoughts,
the thinking, the trying. I wanted to listen to what felt good instead of what I thought would be new or different. I honestly just grew very tired of trying to be different. It’s exhausting.”
Ultimately, listening to his heart was the ingredient that landed him where he is today—painting direct, sentimental scenes amidst vibrant desert backdrops. Moments of honest, non-sexualized tenderness. Moments which reflect our basic human need for love, as part of an age-old tradition in the arts. So, why should these paintings be considered different than any that came before?
For an audience accustomed to fiery skulls, depictions of queer couples holding and kissing were unwelcome to say the least. From the get-go, Hurd wasn’t naïve to the fact that such a sharp turn would result in the loss of support, and surely attract some haters. “The harassment was slow and steady at first, passing comments, the occasional messages about how I’m pushing my agenda on people, how I’ve tricked people.” None of this a surprise, he did his best to remain emotionally detached, even during the most disheartening reactions, on which he particularly notes, “When I got married last year, I posted a picture of my husband and I in the mountains on our modest little wedding day, essentially reenacting what many of my paintings had been portraying. While the majority of the comments were love and supportive, I lost over three thousand followers from that post alone.”
As if programmed for drama, the algorithm machine oddly began showing this work to those who weren’t even regularly exposed to his posts—those who would immediately bash it, even though Hurd had always addressed queer identity, albeit less directly. Yet with haters and trolls also came lovers, people who adore creativity regardless of orientation, or those craving representation on personal levels.
IF I DON’T FEEL LIKE PAINTING, I’M TIRED OR OVERWHELMED, I STILL SHOW UP, I CLEAN THE STUDIO, I PUSH PAINT AROUND, I EXPERIMENT, AND FIND JOY IN THE LITTLE THINGS.”
“It’s a heavy feeling when you are reminded how much hate and ignorance exists and thrives in the world. The main thing I do to combat it is to remind myself that the good by far outweighs the bad. I get messages from people every day with beautiful stories of how they feel seen and free by viewing my work—that they feel the love and kindness I’m trying to portray. It warms my heart every day.”
Hurd is a refreshing example of someone who stoically stands their ground despite public backlash, knowing that in the end, listening to one’s creative urges is worth far more than any number of “followers” in the digital domain. In this light, gratification may often arrive much later down the line, yet spiritual fulfillment shall be everlasting. And let us not forget, too, that the often toxic realm of social media never provides a true reflection of artistic merit:
“It’s crazy to me that something I started doing to heal a piece of myself could touch so many other people. No fag joke can change my perspective on that. When I think back to the harassment and nonsense at the beginning of this, I don’t remember all the details now because I didn’t put the importance on it, I focused on all the good things happening. It’s taught me a lot about focus and letting go.”*
This article was first published in H-Fructose Issue 72, which is available in print here.