Labours of Love is a group exhibition exploring the nuanced relationship between love and labour within the queer community currently displayed at Treadgolds, the site of a former family-run ironmongery and blacksmith business in Portsmouth. The building that once housed this 19th-century business serves as backdrop for an exhibition exploring how for many LGBTQ+ people’s love – either platonic, romantic, or familial – requires active work in a society where love is often restricted by a heteronormative framework. Queer love is thus itself a radical act of resistance.
The exhibition features four artists: Boy Blue, Alana Lake, Daira Ronzoni, and Emily Witham — all from across the UK (Manchester, Glasgow, and London). They explore queer identity and love as revolutionary acts. For example, Alana Lake engages with biological and psychological themes through three-dimensional mediums such as glass, ceramic, and an expanded drawing. London-based painter Boy Blue explores queer desire and Asian representation through figurative painting. Daira Ronzoni is a multidisciplinary artist with Patagonian heritage who explores ecology, pre-Columbian mythology, and queer conceptualisation to create a three-dimensional sculpture paradise-scape, and Emily Witham explores dyke identity through visual, textile, and historical media. Each artist grounds their work in queer community building and the politics of expressing and receiving love.
The exhibition is curated by Gemma Rolls-Bentley, independent queer curator and author of Queer Art: From Canvas to Club, and the Spaces Between, and Ricardo Reveron Blanco, Curator and Program Manager at Aspex Portsmouth. Ahead of the exhibition’s opening, I sat down with Gemma and Ricardo to explore the politics and possibilities of queer love in art.
What led you both to explore ‘the labour of love’ in this exhibition? Was it specifically mentioned in the open call that preceded the show?
Ricardo: It emerged organically after visiting Treadgolds, the site where the exhibition takes place. It’s a historic Blacksmith site, and that was the catalyst for the idea of the open call. We thought reflecting on love and labour was very apt for thinking about how both intersect within queer lives, how love is forged, how it’s fought for, how it’s actively maintained. It is a sort of labour in itself. I’m thinking about how we’re fighting for our rights to love, about how those can happen openly, safely, proudly within the context of a heteronormative society. It feels like a really good way to not use the site as a blank space but actually respond to Portsmouth and its history and how we can reinterpret it in this new context.
Gemma: It feels constantly surprising to me that even in this increasingly hostile environment for LGBTQIA+ people, there is a real lack of awareness outside of the community around the labour that is involved in simply existing if you are queer or trans. Art is a brilliant way to communicate and create space for a dialogue around how the lived experiences of queer people are still very different from the social constructs and dominant narratives about how we should love and live.
Gemma: It feels constantly surprising to me that even in this increasingly hostile environment for LGBTQIA+ people, there is a real lack of awareness outside of the community around the labour that is involved in simply existing if you are queer or trans. Art is a brilliant way to communicate and create space for a dialogue around how the lived experiences of queer people are still very different from the social constructs and dominant narratives about how we should love and live.
By citing one work of art in the exhibition, how is queer love revolutionary? How is art a medium of resistance and documentation?
Gemma: All of the work in the show tackles this idea. Particularly, Emily Witham’s installation. Her practice is heavily research-based and she’s really engaged with dyke history. Through her own intergenerational community, she is personally connected to not too distant histories. Her interest in lesbian cultural history informs what I would call a ‘speculative futurism’. For this show, Emily is looking into a 1980s dyke motorcycle gang from London called the Black Widows, who feature in the Rebel Dykes film. They wore leather jackets with different symbols on the back and they rode around on their bikes, leading pride parades and dyke marches.
Emily is making her own versions of leather waistcoats and jackets with new crests and symbols on the back that she’s designed. She’s thinking about heraldry and what it can mean in terms of validating an identity or situating queers or underrepresented people within different power structures. The jackets will be suspended in the gallery space, creating quite ghostly figures. Dykes on Bikes are such an iconic symbol of lesbian culture, and Emily is creating a new, imagined futuristic version that channels the power of historic dykes to take us into a new realm. In doing so, she is creating a sense of community and solidarity across time and space.
Ricardo: Something that I’m very interested in is the idea of public and private spaces, and how when we’re thinking about queer love, we’re exploring what safer spaces might look like for us. Alana Lake’s Utopia is a perfect example to talk about this idea of resistance in these spaces. The work is made out of scratched bathroom tiles that are pieced together. The tiles have messages from the queer community that reflect longing, expressions of love, lust, and resistance, and I think it’s such a powerful piece because of how public restrooms are so often politically charged spaces for queer people. Alana reclaiming this space for connecting and for radical visibility feels remarkable.
I think it’s something that a lot of people have a universal experience with. We’ve all seen these messages in public restrooms, but I think platforming queer sentiments and voices feels a powerful reclamation for LGBTQIA+ folk. Also, the etchings and the graffiti-esque quality of it feels like an act of resistance in of itself. It serves as documentation where all these voices collide, so we end up with a cacophony of experiences that come in and out of the exhibition.
Emily is making her own versions of leather waistcoats and jackets with new crests and symbols on the back that she’s designed. She’s thinking about heraldry and what it can mean in terms of validating an identity or situating queers or underrepresented people within different power structures. The jackets will be suspended in the gallery space, creating quite ghostly figures. Dykes on Bikes are such an iconic symbol of lesbian culture, and Emily is creating a new, imagined futuristic version that channels the power of historic dykes to take us into a new realm. In doing so, she is creating a sense of community and solidarity across time and space.
Ricardo: Something that I’m very interested in is the idea of public and private spaces, and how when we’re thinking about queer love, we’re exploring what safer spaces might look like for us. Alana Lake’s Utopia is a perfect example to talk about this idea of resistance in these spaces. The work is made out of scratched bathroom tiles that are pieced together. The tiles have messages from the queer community that reflect longing, expressions of love, lust, and resistance, and I think it’s such a powerful piece because of how public restrooms are so often politically charged spaces for queer people. Alana reclaiming this space for connecting and for radical visibility feels remarkable.
I think it’s something that a lot of people have a universal experience with. We’ve all seen these messages in public restrooms, but I think platforming queer sentiments and voices feels a powerful reclamation for LGBTQIA+ folk. Also, the etchings and the graffiti-esque quality of it feels like an act of resistance in of itself. It serves as documentation where all these voices collide, so we end up with a cacophony of experiences that come in and out of the exhibition.
How is the queer love on display intersectional, and why is this intersectionality important?
Gemma: It’s highly important because there is no one way of being queer; everybody comes to where we are with their own experiences. All of the artists in the show have different experiences related to class, gender, migration, race, and all of that comes into the work, which makes it a really strong exhibition in terms of speaking to the multifaceted nature of queerness.
I also think that for the community that will visit this show, given that it is part of the UK Pride 2025 program, it has the power to reach a lot of people and perhaps even people who don't typically spend a lot of time looking at art. There truly is something in here for everyone. I think that everyone who identifies as queer has experienced otherness at some point. That otherness has so many different intersections and takes so many different shapes in the work.
Ricardo: Intersectionality speaks to our humanity. I think it’s about how as individuals we come from different backgrounds but still find empathy, understanding, and tolerance around how these things converge. Although we’re very much aware that this opportunity is only for four artists, which was very difficult to choose from the open call, we wanted to bring different experiences from different people that tackle queer love in completely different ways. It feels like a nice way to approach how expansive love is because it can be many different things.
I also think that for the community that will visit this show, given that it is part of the UK Pride 2025 program, it has the power to reach a lot of people and perhaps even people who don't typically spend a lot of time looking at art. There truly is something in here for everyone. I think that everyone who identifies as queer has experienced otherness at some point. That otherness has so many different intersections and takes so many different shapes in the work.
Ricardo: Intersectionality speaks to our humanity. I think it’s about how as individuals we come from different backgrounds but still find empathy, understanding, and tolerance around how these things converge. Although we’re very much aware that this opportunity is only for four artists, which was very difficult to choose from the open call, we wanted to bring different experiences from different people that tackle queer love in completely different ways. It feels like a nice way to approach how expansive love is because it can be many different things.
“Art can be very validating, so I would hope that through this show, there is a clear message of love and validation but also hope.” Gemma
The exhibition is pointedly intergenerational and features artists at different spaces and stages of life. Why is this important in selecting the artists from the open call?
Gemma: This exhibition very much considers past struggles, but it considers past triumphs as well, which the Black Widows are a great example of. Their actions paved the way for some of the freedoms that we experience now. The intergenerational element is something that we love. The team at UK Pride, the people supporting this exhibition, myself, Ricardo — we’re all different ages and we’ve all got different experiences, and so do the artists.
When it comes to the artist selection, we weren’t intentionally looking for an intergenerational group. We picked the work that we loved and thought had a strong voice and would come together to form a rich conversation. After we made our selections, we then looked at the artists and discovered that the age range is fairly broad, and the professional experience is pretty varied.
When it comes to the artist selection, we weren’t intentionally looking for an intergenerational group. We picked the work that we loved and thought had a strong voice and would come together to form a rich conversation. After we made our selections, we then looked at the artists and discovered that the age range is fairly broad, and the professional experience is pretty varied.
I love the idea of focusing on curatorial work, especially for this exhibition, and the power of the open call, that both formed how this exhibition but also was largely driven by what you were looking for and your own personal experiences. Why is it important to recall – I know you mentioned this, Gemma – queer history, mythologies, and materiality when exploring queer resistance, thinking through to past queer ancestors whose own relationships with love are complicated and nuanced?
Gemma: The further away we get from those histories, the harder it is to stay connected because we lose the people that can share the stories. It’s important that we stay connected to the past. As we are seeing right now, history repeats itself. That’s a fact of life. We know it will happen, and I think it’s very risky to get complacent and too comfortable, which is arguably part of the problem we are experiencing right now.
Ricardo: I completely agree. History is power. Finding ways of recalling ancestors and being able to reclaim those narratives, even through mythologies. I think you’re asking that question thinking about Daira Ronzoni’s work, which is reclaiming this mythological experience of agriculture and the Argentine way of labouring the land and how to reclaim to a more gender neutral or gender expansive reclamation of the gaucho. It feels like a powerful way of mitigating erasure or reinterpreting something that could be misrepresented. It's also very important to think that our own history and the history that has been taught to us is not the only way of existence.
Gemma: Artists play a very important role in reimagining those histories, whether it's in discovering untold stories or inserting stories that were never lived or never told, imagining alternatives or reframing the histories that we have. That’s an important role of artists.
Ricardo: Often, art is a great method for unlearning and thinking about how you question this reimagination of an issue, so this process of unlearning something that has been historically or repeatedly told or taught, it feels like a very psychosomatic experience. You have to process these emotions, whether that's issues around queerness or race.
Ricardo: I completely agree. History is power. Finding ways of recalling ancestors and being able to reclaim those narratives, even through mythologies. I think you’re asking that question thinking about Daira Ronzoni’s work, which is reclaiming this mythological experience of agriculture and the Argentine way of labouring the land and how to reclaim to a more gender neutral or gender expansive reclamation of the gaucho. It feels like a powerful way of mitigating erasure or reinterpreting something that could be misrepresented. It's also very important to think that our own history and the history that has been taught to us is not the only way of existence.
Gemma: Artists play a very important role in reimagining those histories, whether it's in discovering untold stories or inserting stories that were never lived or never told, imagining alternatives or reframing the histories that we have. That’s an important role of artists.
Ricardo: Often, art is a great method for unlearning and thinking about how you question this reimagination of an issue, so this process of unlearning something that has been historically or repeatedly told or taught, it feels like a very psychosomatic experience. You have to process these emotions, whether that's issues around queerness or race.
To me, this exhibition resonates as a love letter to every queer ancestor who fought to love as they were and every queer person today fighting still. I also want to highlight that, Ricardo, you are moving to Paris to live with your partner; and Gemma, on your arm, I see you have ‘Danielle’ [her wife’s name] tattooed for your art. What does this mean to you as queer people who experience love – platonic, romantic, sexual – within your communities?
Gemma: This is a beautiful question. I do hope that the show is a love letter to the whole community — past, present, future. There is a need to acknowledge that labour of love and to tell people that they are seen. Art can be very validating, so I would hope that through this show, there is a clear message of love and validation but also hope. Speaking to my own personal experience, the loving that I get to do and the love that I get to experience from my wife, my children, my cats, my chosen family, my extended community, feels like a huge privilege. Growing up, I didn't necessarily think it was something that was available to me. Through queer love I find unconditional acceptance, which I think is really all anyone is seeking.
Ricardo: I would love for the experience to also be a love letter to the community. For me, it’s also about hope. I feel privileged in terms of the queer love that I’m about to experience with my partner, with my chosen family, with my family. I feel hugely privileged, and I think amid the rising hostility where queer love is demonised or attacked, creating a sanctuary for people where empathy and resistance is at the forefront is necessary. I know that among the people I love and that are within my community, there's a lot of concern about what's happening at the moment. The changes in human rights laws. I think it's made people question what they want to prioritise. For me, this idea of love being a priority is the answer.
Ricardo: I would love for the experience to also be a love letter to the community. For me, it’s also about hope. I feel privileged in terms of the queer love that I’m about to experience with my partner, with my chosen family, with my family. I feel hugely privileged, and I think amid the rising hostility where queer love is demonised or attacked, creating a sanctuary for people where empathy and resistance is at the forefront is necessary. I know that among the people I love and that are within my community, there's a lot of concern about what's happening at the moment. The changes in human rights laws. I think it's made people question what they want to prioritise. For me, this idea of love being a priority is the answer.
“Amid the rising hostility where queer love is demonised or attacked, creating a sanctuary for people where empathy and resistance is at the forefront is necessary.” Ricardo
Why is it important to foreground queer love right now, when LGBTQ+ marriage equality is once again under threat?
Gemma: Firstly, it’s important to establish what we mean when we think about queer love. I think it probably means something slightly different to everybody, and it’s important to understand that love can exist in many different ways and take many different forms. I think a lot about self-love being a key part of queer love — being able to practice self-acceptance and gratitude. I do believe that through the experience of growing up with a marginalised identity, we tend to develop a very unique blend of resilience, determination, and, most importantly, compassion.
The shaping of those qualities, which are often hard won, involves labour and hard work. I believe those qualities are our superpower as a community. Right now, with us living in a very unstable environment, it feels more important than ever that we lean into those superpowers, that we practice love and compassion for ourselves, for our queer and trans siblings, for our community, and even, as hard as it might be, for the people who are coming for us because so much of it is misguided, misplaced.
Ricardo: I think it’s also good to remember that love is not just personal; it’s political. Public expressions of queer love defy systems of control. In the context in which we’re living, it’s these systems of control (such as passports or the bureaucracy around gender-affirming laws and rights) that are taken away. I think about using love as a way to combat that is important — insisting that queer love opens up freedom, and I think it becomes something that we need to keep fighting for. It’s a never-ending battle to fight for freedom.
The shaping of those qualities, which are often hard won, involves labour and hard work. I believe those qualities are our superpower as a community. Right now, with us living in a very unstable environment, it feels more important than ever that we lean into those superpowers, that we practice love and compassion for ourselves, for our queer and trans siblings, for our community, and even, as hard as it might be, for the people who are coming for us because so much of it is misguided, misplaced.
Ricardo: I think it’s also good to remember that love is not just personal; it’s political. Public expressions of queer love defy systems of control. In the context in which we’re living, it’s these systems of control (such as passports or the bureaucracy around gender-affirming laws and rights) that are taken away. I think about using love as a way to combat that is important — insisting that queer love opens up freedom, and I think it becomes something that we need to keep fighting for. It’s a never-ending battle to fight for freedom.
Why is visibility of queer love important more than ever?
Gemma: It's important to demonstrate the different forms that queer love can take, and everyone wants to see themselves reflected. That's validating, and I think that we need to demonstrate visually what queer love can look like so that people know it's available to them. It's a key driver for me because I didn't grow up with that visibility, and I found it very difficult in terms of my own self-discovery and self-acceptance. I also think that so much of the very divisive debate about queer and trans lives that we are experiencing globally comes from fear, and it's easy to fear something that you can't see or you don't understand. So to give people an opportunity to see what queer love looks like, that it isn’t something harmful or scary, feels important.
Ricardo: On top of that, having this be under the umbrella of UK Pride, which is coming to Portsmouth, feels like such a big pivotal moment for the city, which its naval history and patriarchal legacies has made it a struggle to queer visibility and acceptance. Hosting UK Pride here and thinking about how queer love can be visualised within this context and trying to think about the experiences of queer love that might have not been at the forefront in mainstream prides previously in this country, it feels very apt and positive — and great work from everyone at Portsmouth Pride, especially co-chairs CP Robinson and Tally Aslam.
Ricardo: On top of that, having this be under the umbrella of UK Pride, which is coming to Portsmouth, feels like such a big pivotal moment for the city, which its naval history and patriarchal legacies has made it a struggle to queer visibility and acceptance. Hosting UK Pride here and thinking about how queer love can be visualised within this context and trying to think about the experiences of queer love that might have not been at the forefront in mainstream prides previously in this country, it feels very apt and positive — and great work from everyone at Portsmouth Pride, especially co-chairs CP Robinson and Tally Aslam.
What do you hope visitors and Portsmouth residents walk away from this exhibition with? Is there a resonant idea, inspiration, or challenge at the heart of these works?
Gemma: A greater understanding of queer experience but also a strong feeling of community, a sense of belonging, and the hope that we’ve been speaking about. Ricardo is actually based in Portsmouth, so he knows more about the local community and what they need.
Ricardo: I’ve lived there for over two years now, and there’s a really active grassroots queer community, which I’ve been privileged to be part of. But it has been hard over the years. I do see that because it’s become a cultural priority place, as assigned by Arts Council England, there have been more opportunities and engagement in trying to think about what culture might look like in the city, so I hope that this exhibition leaves people with full hearts and a renewed commitment to queer love in all its forms.
Ricardo: I’ve lived there for over two years now, and there’s a really active grassroots queer community, which I’ve been privileged to be part of. But it has been hard over the years. I do see that because it’s become a cultural priority place, as assigned by Arts Council England, there have been more opportunities and engagement in trying to think about what culture might look like in the city, so I hope that this exhibition leaves people with full hearts and a renewed commitment to queer love in all its forms.
