When I first saw Nathan Vincent's artwork, it was strapped to the face of a naked man. As it turned out, the model was actually the artist, which was a nice surprise and inspired us to re-imagine that shoot for this interview, but what was most interesting was the artwork - a crocheted gas mask. It turns out that Nathan, for several years, has been crocheting his way through a discourse on gender roles, stereotypes, sexuality, homoeroticism and traditional tropes and trophies of masculinity, told through the filter of what has clearly been misrepresented as "women's work" for far too long.

Portraits of Nathan photographed for EVB by Axel Dupeux

Weston Bingham: I'm guessing you didn't start out with crochet as your medium of choice. How did you come to such a macho mode of expression?

Nathan Vincent: Well, my humble beginnings go all the way back to when I was a kid and my parents sent me to pastel classes. I learned to draw with pastels and I dare say I was pretty darn good for a kid. I still have one of those first drawings, framed, hanging in my kitchen. I then studied drawing and painting in college. It wasn't until my senior year - bored of drawing and painting and feeling as if I had nothing to say - that I started embroidering on my paintings a la Ghada Amer. It didn't take me long to realize I was just copying her and that I needed to find my own voice.

During a trip to visit friends in California, I picked up a crochet hook and started fooling around. I'd learned to crochet when I was about ten from my mother, but hadn't done much with it since then.  It occurred to me that I could make three-dimensional shapes with crochet and this started the wheels turning. I made a couple of things, including a crocheted penis, and my instructor forced me to bring them to class - painting class. I thought it was a good joke, but everyone else thought it made for interesting art. So, I pursued it. And here I am, seven years later, still crocheting my fingers off.
Weston: Interesting you started with a penis. Do you have any other personal pieces that you hide away from the public?

Vincent: [laughs] Well, that piece actually did make it to the public. There have been sketches and prints I made in college that haven't really seen much light, but that's more because I don't think they're that good. Generally, there's interest in showing my work, even if it is a bit risky.

Weston: You're not just subverting stereotypically masculine themes with a traditionally feminine medium, but you're also addressing gender roles and permissions - all typically very serious subjects, but you're doing it with humor.

Vincent: Yeah, I feel that humor can get through to people when other forms of communication can't. Plus, I often times think the art world is too full of itself. I can appreciate there's a time and place for seriousness, but I usually don't fit into that time or place.

For me, humor is the hook to get people interested. Once I've got their attention, there's a lot more I can make them think about. I find that people are either uncomfortable when talking about gender and social mores, or they don't have any experience with it. So, by engaging people on a level that's more comfortable to them, I'm allowed to push them a bit more and force them to think.
Weston: A lot of your recent work isn't just based on masculine themes, but also on subjects or objects that have become popular homoerotic or sexualized themes: locker rooms, gym showers, urinals. Are these pieces perhaps more personal? Do you see them more as ironic commentary or do you see them as sexual?

Vincent: Most of my work is pretty personal, as I imagine is the case with a majority of artists. I am gay, and I'm learning to be comfortable with exploring themes that are considered more homoerotic or sexualized. For a while I had this fear of being known as "the gay artist." I don't have that fear anymore. Number one, I'm not sure people would automatically think of me that way, and number two, I can't actually figure out why that would be negative.

As for the pieces I've done recently- there is indeed a lot of underlying homoeroticism. "The Locker Room" installation was born from my desire to create a space in which men are supposed to feel comfortable and confident in being masculine - letting it all hang out so to speak - in a way that points out the strange reality of those spaces. My experiences in locker rooms in the past have been fraught with insecurities, vulnerability, and a clear sense of being measured up. I attempted to intensify these feelings by making the lockers shorter than eye level, leaving spaces between the them, and setting the room up in such a way that you can see everything going on, no matter where you stand. Once you know that, it is obvious that there's some sexual tension there as well.

Weston: How do men, women, gay men, gay women react differently to your work.

Vincent: I don't really know that I have a concrete answer for this. I'd say that most people react similarly in that they take a look, then do a double take, they take a moment as the message sinks in, then they try to figure out how it was made. I can't say that one sexual orientation reacts much differently to my work than another, but I have found that a minority of straight men will sometimes say things like, "what a waste of yarn!" or "think of all the sweaters you could make with that".  That is, after they've finished laughing and trying to touch and interact with the work.
Weston: Some of your work riffs on trophies and symbols of status and power, but again, the medium has subverted their potency. Are you actively trying to emasculate them, or are you just going for a smile?

Vincent: A little bit of both really. I think that poking fun at something actually helps in deflating it. But, my intent isn't to knock these objects down a few notches, so much as I'm trying to force people to think about why these symbols represent masculinity to them.

Weston: What's the most butch thing about you?

Vincent: If I'm honest, this has been the hardest question to answer. I had to ask people as I had a hard time coming up with something. For quite some time I was a rather loose individual, and I think my appetite for all things sexual is probably the most "butch" thing about me. Oh, and I've used WD-40 to fix a squeaky door.

Weston: Your work looks so comforting - is it meant for for touching or looking?

Vincent: It is meant for looking, but that is one of the hardest things to enforce, mainly because people REALLY want to have a physical relationship with something so tactile. And I really don't like stopping people when their instinct is to cuddle up in a urinal. Who doesn't want to watch that?

Weston: Despite the richness of your more complex work, some of my favorite pieces are your doilies. Maybe it's because they're functional, more design than art, but you mount and frame them - are they not to be used?

Vincent: They aren't to be used. That's the beauty of art. It's this useless piece of crap that people put on their walls. I think that's why people like the doilies, actually - the fact that they can be hung on the wall easily. Frankly, once someone buys it, it's theirs and I guess they can do whatever they want with it. I have, however, been thinking of branching out into design a bit. Some of the designs I've created lend themselves to functional art in an almost effortless way, the doilies being one of those objects. There's something about the simplicity of them that attracts people. That, and it reminds them of a subverted grandmother, and that's just fun.

Weston: You recently created a black gas mask, which was certainly more sinister and fetishy than your previous work. Is there more of this direction in the works?

Vincent: Yeah, I'm working on a series of gas masks. There's something in there. I'm enjoying where it's going, and I'm finding I like exploring these "darker" issues with with such an innocent medium. It's pretty exciting and I'm really looking forward to seeing where it leads me. I crocheted a lavender butt plug some time ago and I think that's been sitting in the back of my mind for a while now.

Weston: Speaking of sinister, since your father is a pastor I'm curious how he feels about your life and career.

Vincent: I am no longer in touch with my biological parents, so I couldn't tell you. I can say that since they can't handle me being gay, so I doubt they'd be very happy with me making artwork about anything that questions social values, etc.

Weston: It's interesting given that as a pastor, questioning social values is exactly his job. Maybe you should crochet him a Bible cozy.

Vincent: I don't think he views what is is doing as questioning values as much as he is supporting, upholding, and prescribing "traditional" values. Something tells me he would not appreciate a Bible cozy. I might save my energies for something that would be more appreciated.

Weston: Your medium is easily adapted to fashion - any aspirations to get out of the gallery and onto the runway?

Vincent: You know, I've never even made a sweater. The only remotely complex piece of clothing I've made is a pair of mittens that I still wear from time to time. People are usually surprised when I tell them I have no idea how to make clothes. I'm sure I could figure it out, but have never taken the time, so I signed up to take a sweater knitting class this summer (what a horrible time to knit a sweater.) It'll be interesting to see if that sparks a new direction.

Weston: I guess I'm really fixated on USING your work. You've already done gas masks jockstraps and buttplugs so maybe accessories - hats, bags, underwear - make sense.

Vincent: I guess you are. Ironically, the gas masks and buttplugs are entirely unusable, given the material. At the moment hats, bags, underwear, etc. don't really strike my fancy for some reason. I guess I'm fixated on making things that are entirely unfunctional!

Weston: Is there an underground crochet scene we should know about?

Vincent: If I told you about it, it wouldn't be underground anymore.

Weston: Other than crochet, what are your other domestic skills?

Vincent: I make my bed every morning. Well, most mornings.