I n 2006 I’d just graduated film school at the Victorian College of the Arts and was working at the ABC in Melbourne. It was a pretty tumultuous time of my life. I had just broken up with my best friend and high school sweetheart – whom I adored – and was in the process of coming out.
I was drinking too much and in breaks from the chaos I’d find myself drawn to the local video store. That’s where I first saw Garrett behind the counter. I had an instant crush on him and spent a lot of time perusing the art house section, so he would see how creative and cultured I was.
I never had the guts to talk to him but one night in spring we ran into each other at a party. We hit it off and arranged a date at a cafe in the city.
I was obsessed with Kate Bush and Wuthering Heights, and Garrett struck me as this sort of Heathcliff type; he was a dark, handsome artist with very dramatic, gothic vibes. That day we talked about art and the things that we love. I was so excited that he shared my passion for Kate Bush, and listening to Hounds of Love on repeat. We talked about John Waters and Cindy Sherman and all these artists that were really formative for us.
But that coming-out period was really intense for me. Growing up, my father had enforced this notion that being gay was this dark, shameful, lonely experience. I was so scared of my truth and deep down I felt as if I didn’t deserve to be loved because of it.
Garrett is nine years older than me, and was comfortable with himself in a way I thought was so brave and found so inspiring. Still, my coming-out summer was messy.
I’d get hideously drunk and perform these outrageous stripteases to Tina Turner’s Private Dancer, or Sade’s Smooth Operator for him. They were ridiculous and borderline grotesque – usually involving me tearing my underwear and wearing an assortment of cheap wigs. Instead of running away in fear – like most people would – Garrett would just sit there and smile and enjoy it. He encouraged the wildness.
His patience and kindness during that time is something I will never forget and always be grateful for. It undid years of self-loathing and made me see that having a beautiful, loving relationship with a man was possible.
By February we were celebrating our first Valentine’s Day together. As a gift, Garrett presented me with an ornate box. Inside I was shocked to discover a real life cow’s heart he’d procured from a butcher, covered in fake blood. It was so dramatic and macabre. I couldn’t believe the audacity! I felt like Divine, in the John Waters film Pink Flamingoes when she receives a bowel movement in the mail – simultaneously appalled and thrilled. We both love John Waters – but we’re also lifelong vegetarians and huge animal lovers – which made it all the more potent.
He told me later it was a test to see if I could deal. If this really overly wrought gesture of romance would spook me. If I was horrified, he said, he’d have known I wasn’t the right person for him.
Garrett’s artwork at the time was drenched in this sort of visceral imagery of hearts beating and bodies coming together. This gruesome offering was outrageous but it perfectly captured Garrett’s theatricality, which I loved, and the intensity of that time for me. After that we began to connect even more through our art.
For two decades we’ve been working, living and creating together. Our life’s work is conjuring our own queer utopia, as we call it. It’s all about queer romance and joy, because for both of us growing up, we didn’t have access to that.
Learning about his First Nations heritage and the pride it brings him has also been a real honour. Sharing that, along with the queerness that I hid for so long, through our art is so healing and so beautiful.
Like any couple we have our moments, but our fights are more likely to be about which heels are suitable for traversing our inflatable vulva sculptures and the best way to attach fake eyelashes in a windstorm than who’s doing the dishes.
The Huxleys’ Bloodlines exhibition will show at the Brisbane Powerhouse from 21 October to 8 November as part of Melt festival
