Mars Wright Dreams of Chaos
Mars Wright Dreams of Chaos
On trans spirituality, designing shirts to inspire queer joy, and living life to the fullest.
Dreams of Chaos is a series of Q&As with folks who are engaging with chaos in their work. Sometimes that means they love the chaos and use it as an engine for creativity. Sometimes it means they struggle with the chaos and are trying to harness it in whatever way they can. I’m interested in the ways in which we, as people, acknowledge the messiness of living in the world. And I’m excited to share conversations with those are thinking about this as well.
I first became aware of Mars Wright, artist and fashion designer, a little over a year ago. My friend modeled for one of Wright’s photoshoots and the photos ended up in my Instagram feed. As I swiped through the joyous faces of queer and trans models on a backdrop of what can only be described as a cerulean Los Angeles sky, I thought how incredible (and rare) it is to see this much beauty so boldly uninterested in being inside the box.
This is, essentially, what Wright’s work is about. He isn’t interested in being quiet about his zeal for life. Quite the opposite — his designs basically scream from every rooftop: TRANS JOY IS RESISTANCE! and I LOVE TRANS PEOPLE! in all caps. Always in all caps. Why the hell not? The colors are bold, the vibe is powerful party, and the models are all friends of Wright’s, happy and living their best queer lives.
So, of course I followed his Instagram. I became captivated by his reels — on how to style outfits with his designs, of course, but also on why it’s not masculinity that’s toxic, it’s the patriarchy. And a very vulnerable series on what he calls “Dorito Chip surgery,” dedicated to helping other trans-masculine folks understand what it’s like to undergo gender-affirming surgery.
I finally got the chance to sit down with Wright and chat about community, spirituality, and fashion. I’m so very excited to share this conversation with you!
Tell us a little about how you ended up in fashion.
When I was a kid, even as a baby, my parents noticed I was really uncomfortable in anything that was feminine. They bought me like all these little onesies and, even back then I would cry. When I got older, I was all about the sweatpants section of Kmart because it was the only one that was in the middle [in terms of gender], the only one with all the colors. So, from a really young age, clothes were really important to me. The other piece of this is how I’d always get in trouble in school for not wanting to do the activities they gave me. I only ever wanted a white piece of paper and a Sharpie. I think that was a kind of early transness — not wanting to be boxed in by anything, whether it be clothes or coloring books or whatever.
Looking at those two things, which are some of my earliest memories, a couple things are clear: I love the way that clothes make me feel and I love the way the art makes me feel. I understood I could do it all by myself, I could create these worlds that are just for me.
I went to college in 2017, studied graphic design, marketing and fine art, and started screen printing stuff on my own, just in my dorm. Since then I’ve been pushing and pushing, and now I have so many orders that I can’t screen print stuff myself anymore — it’s too much to handle — which is a really great problem to have. I work with a local screen print shop in LA, instead.
That’s so great! Fashion and art are such competitive markets, though. How do you find the self-assurance to keep it up?
Well, it took me a long time to get to this point. I still have moments where I think, “Am I gonna do this design on a shirt? Are people gonna like it?”, but it's gotten easier. When I first started experimenting with art and fashion I was so in my head and not at all confident. I don't think I have a lot of confidence in my art. It helps that people have always resonated with my art; it constantly surprises me. You know, a curator once told me that my art is not precious and that’s my favorite thing I've ever heard [about my work]. My paintings and designs can be rugged and used and stuff like that. They very much seem like they could be done by a child who got some crayons; that childlike joyousness I felt with the white paper and the Sharpie has stayed.
Yeah, that joy is everywhere. I especially see it in your chosen color palettes.
You know, It hasn’t always been that way. My early work is really sad stuff — a self portrait crying, all dark, all black and white. My big breaking piece was the one that says “Trans Joy is Resistance,” and that was when I started adding red into the mix. So it was all black, red, and white. Now, obviously, [my palette] has grown a lot, and you can see a lot of bright, vibrant colors everywhere.
My next step, after my recent gallery shows, is thinking about how to take up more space. So, I'm gonna start putting my work on freeways, on bridges, on walls, so more people can see them. I’ve been thinking about how I can create bigger, in-person physical experiences that create joy for folks. How do we get out of the algorithm? I think about a physical space where people can be in touch, and that is really inspiring. I think, overall, my work progresses towards more joy and happiness. Now we're going to be taking up space, using the joy and the anger of our transness to [be louder than the] crazy voice of the Republicans.
My biggest artistic inspiration is Keith Haring. He would just go on to subways and draw the exact same thing, and he actually created his own merch, too, because people were knocking him off. The funny thing is everybody in the fine art world thought he was tacky and lame for making $25 t-shirts, but he didn’t care about being in galleries. He cared about his art being seen by hundreds of thousands of people — that’s why the vehicle of clothing is so powerful.
I'm an artist first, but I have a message to get out there. The only way that everybody can see that in a real tangible way is to put it on clothing. Sure, I would love to be in galleries, but that’s not my end game. You know, every year for Pride I get tons of messages from people who send me photos of folks wearing a Trans Joy is Resistance shirt or something in public. And that's the point, right? I just want everybody to know it's a gift to feel that life is worth living. So, however I can get that message seen, that's the core of my art.
Sounds like you’re thinking a lot about whoever wears your designs less as a consumer and more as a community member.
My big hope is if a trans youth goes to the grocery store and sees somebody wearing a trans Trans Joy shirt, maybe it gives that person enough hope to keep going. Even if they don’t say anything to the person in the shirt, just seeing someone there in public, proudly wearing that shirt, gives strength. Because I know when I was not out, and I was that youth, there was very little that kept me going and believing that there was hope.
A huge core of my art is suicide prevention and awareness and community support. When shit’s hitting the fan and everything's so scary, what I have to do is ground myself in the one change that I can make, and the one thing I can do, the one way that I can really make an impact, is by helping trans youth and trans folks know that like life is worth living enough stay alive. As somebody who has attempted suicide, I want people to see how glad I am that I'm here.
Community is such a big part of everything I do. There's really high risk that [trans folks] are just not going to make it, because it's so hard out there and we have so little access to the care we need. So, anything I can do to keep a trans person alive, that's it. That’s my mission. That’s why community is the number one thing for me. I'm so privileged and lucky to live in Los Angeles, a place with so much queer and trans history. And I’m lucky to be able to donate some of my proceeds to the Unique Women's Coalition, which may be the largest black trans led organization in the United States
Being able to go and see trans elders… you know, they did the same thing as me, right? They stayed alive in the fucking ‘80s when shit was hitting the fan even harder, so that someone like me could be alive and keep the next generation going. We have to do this for each other and keep the cycle going. That's how we stay alive, and change the world, and trans people don't get treated like shit anymore.
I love that. I'm curious, you’ve said that one core of your work is masculinity. Can you talk a little bit about that and what that means to you?
Yeah, so this is some stuff that I'm working on and that really shows up in the newest collection, with statements like MY MASCULINITY IS NOT DEFINED BY THE PATRIARCHY. Which is a pretty bold statement, but I 100% believe it. I think that trans-masculine voices and trans men have constantly been erased in media, because for our voices to be heard would be a direct act of defiance against the patriarchy, and that shit does not fly.
I’m not saying that trans men can't embody patriarchal masculinity, of course, but it's way more common for us to be aware of and thoughtful about how to be masculine without being toxic. For me to be able to be a man who is soft, who cries, who is tender, who grew up as a woman and experienced a lot of the patriarchy as a woman, as a non binary person, as a lesbian — it’s very challenging to the status quo. That’s why trans masculine voices are so important. Trans men like me, who are white- passing and cis-passing, have the privilege of interacting with cis men in a way that allows them to maybe listen to me in ways that they wouldn't listen to other folks.
There have been so many times where I’ve gone to talk to cis men and heard them express such desperation to be allowed to have feelings, to be allowed to cry. I get messages on my videos from cisgendered heterosexual men, saying “I'm so grateful to see another man cry and tell me that it’s okay to cry.” I think that's the foundation for a ton of radical change that can happen in the world. If men had opportunities to feel and be human beings instead of resorting to the patriarchal toxicity, think how different things could be. I think trans-masculine voices could help end patriarchal masculinity, one on one.
You have a whole suite of pieces that say GOD IS TRANS. Can you tell me about queering spirituality?
I just think that we deserve to believe that there's something watching out for us. I know, for me, it's been extremely healing and very helpful for suicide prevention to believe that my trans ancestors watching out for me. I believe that. I fully have felt them. I feel like they're guiding me. The cool thing about these ancestors is someone like Marsha P. Johnson is going to be mad I had sex before marriage or anything like that. No, Marsha’s like, “It’s ok, figure life out, let's do it.” They get me. They're there for me. It's just been so helpful, and I do think a lot of my work is brought to me through my ancestors. They help me stay focused on the mission. They help em see that this is the thing that we need to say, they call on me to help tell the world these things. So that's my hope. And it helps me a lot to have a spirituality.
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Mars Wright is a trans artist and activist spreading joy by sharing his art with the world. He is a mixed media artist, interested in the beauty of imperfection and the strength of radical honesty. Wright hopes that, through sharing his life with honesty and vulnerability, he can help folks feel less alone.