Category: Queer Art & History

Gratitude on the Last Day of Pride

Bill Hendricks sitting on rocks overlooking the Pacific Ocean in San Francisco, 1976, wearing puka shell necklaces and smiling into the camera. The photograph accompanies a reflection on gratitude, authenticity, and Pride.
San Francisco, 1976. Looking back at a younger version of myself—and feeling grateful for all the people who helped me become the person I am today.

Nobody, but nobody can make it out here alone.

—Maya Angelou, Alone

On this last day of Pride, I’ve been thinking about gratitude.

Looking back at this photograph from San Francisco in 1976, it’s pretty obvious I wasn’t trying to blend in.

Over the years, so many people looked beyond appearances and gave me the chance to learn, to serve, to teach, to create, and simply to become myself.

I’m grateful to my parents, my sister, and especially the Reid family, who became part of my chosen family. I’m grateful to my commanding officers in the Air Force, my professors, employers, colleagues, students, volunteers, and friends. I’m grateful to Minneapolis College, MCAD, Minneapolis Friends Meeting, and to Michael, who has walked beside me through it all.

None of us gets where we are alone. My life has been shaped by people who chose encouragement over fear, curiosity over judgment, and kindness over assumption.

As Pride Month comes to a close, thank you. You helped make my life possible.

Related post: This reflection continues many of the themes I explored in my recent post, Reflections on Collective Z.

Reflections on Collective Z

Reflections on Collective Z

Bill Hendricks, Kaitlin Reid, and Michael Reid pose in front of Marsha P. during The Ordinary exhibition at Collective Z Gallery in Manhattan, June 4, 2026.
Bill Hendricks, Kaitlin Reid, and Michael Reid at The Ordinary, standing in front of Marsha P. at Collective Z Gallery in Manhattan, June 4, 2026.

My drawing, Marsha P., was recently included in The Ordinary, a Pride Month group exhibition at Collective Z Gallery in Manhattan.

I went to New York not knowing quite what to expect. It had been a long time since I had shown work in a setting like this, and I arrived with all the usual questions: How would the work look? How would people respond? Would I feel comfortable there?

What surprised me most was how interested I became in the other artists’ work. I arrived focused on my own piece, but quickly found myself drawn into the larger exhibition. The quality of the work impressed me, and I was proud to see Marsha P. holding its own among it.

There was another surprise.
Friends appeared. Some I had not seen in years. Others reached out online. Their support meant more to me than I expected.

Standing in the gallery, surrounded by artists, friends, and people engaging with the work, I felt something I hadn’t anticipated: a sense of belonging.

When I look back on the experience, I will remember the artwork, the conversations, and the people who showed up. But I will also remember realizing that, after many years, I still have something to contribute as an artist.

For that, I am grateful.

The Ordinary remains on view through the end of the month at Collective Z Gallery in Manhattan. Marsha P. is also available for purchase.

I am especially grateful to Alex Wang and Collective Z Gallery for creating the exhibition, bringing together such a diverse group of LGBTQ+ artists, and making space for these conversations.

The Ordinary — Pride Month Exhibition at Collective Z

Promotional collage for The Ordinary, a Pride Month group exhibition, featuring a grid of diverse mixed-media artworks including abstract drawings, figures, symbols, and contemporary visual narratives by participating artists.
The Ordinary — a Pride Month group exhibition at Collective Z Gallery featuring works by participating artists.

“Being queer is ordinary. So is making good work.”
— Collective Z, The Ordinary exhibition statement

When Collective Z announced The Ordinary, I immediately understood why the title mattered.

For many of us, simply living our lives has too often been treated as something unusual, controversial, or in need of explanation. Yet most of life is made up of ordinary things: friendships, work, love, loss, community, and the hope of being seen for who we are.

My piece Marsha P. is included in this exhibition. It began as a reflection on Marsha P. Johnson, but it also became a reminder of the people who came before us and the lives that made our own possible.

Sometimes the most important stories are not extraordinary at all. They are simply human.

Marsha P. Johnson, New York, and Old Threads

Expressive watercolor and ink painting with luminous circular and organic forms, honoring the resilience and spirit of Marsha P. Johnson.
Marsha P, watercolor and ink on paper, 2025

Accepted: The Ordinary — Collective Z, New York

I’m happy to share that my piece “Marsha P. (Johnson)” has been accepted into The Ordinary, a Pride Month group exhibition at Collective Z in New York City.

The exhibition opens June 4, 2026 and runs through June 30. Michael and I will leave this Thursday to attend the opening on June 4 and return to the Twin Cities on June 7.

What’s interesting to me is that this isn’t really the beginning of something entirely new. While walking today I found myself remembering another LGBTQ exhibition in New York years ago that accepted one of my postcard works — a shadow image of Frank Stark and me against a wall.

Funny how these threads continue across time, even when we forget them for a while.

And if you’ve followed this blog for a while, you’ve probably seen Marsha appear here before.

“Marsha P. (Johnson)” is a mixed media work on paper inspired by Marsha’s presence, courage, and visibility. Having the work included in a Pride exhibition in New York feels especially meaningful given her history and connection to the city.

While working on the piece, there were moments where it felt as though Marsha herself appeared to greet me through the process — much the way insights or leadings sometimes emerge through meditation.

Image description:
Mixed media artwork on paper honoring Marsha P. Johnson. The piece combines layered textures, expressive marks, and symbolic imagery to evoke presence, resilience, vulnerability, and visibility within LGBTQ history and community.

Why the Stiletto?

Magenta high heel logo on cyan background, representing ArtChangesLives(Dot)Com and Bill Hendricks’ brand identity.
The ArtChangesLives(Dot)Com logo — a magenta high heel on cyan, representing who I am, the work I do, and the life I claim.

This stiletto mark represents ArtChangesLives(Dot)Com, but it also represents me. Its stiletto symbol meaning is deeply personal.

Growing Up Different

As a child, I loved crayons, paper, toy service stations, record players, cameras, and yes, even dolls. I was drawn to making, imagining, and worlds that did not always fit neatly into what was expected.

As I grew older, especially in my pre-teen years, I recognized more and more that I was the other, and I learned quickly that fitting in seemed safer than standing out.

But coming out changed that.

When the Stiletto Appeared

Years later, in graduate school, while working on a project about how shadows may have shaped my life, the image of a stiletto presented itself to me.

Shadow of a high-heeled shoe cast against a wall, the original photograph that inspired the ArtChangesLives(Dot)Com stiletto symbol.
The original photograph — a shadow study from graduate school where the stiletto first appeared in my work.

What This Mark Means

The high heel is power, presence, and confidence. Sharp. Elegant. Strong. It takes up space without apology.

Cyan and magenta speak to identity, fluidity, courage, and becoming. They also carry the language of design, color, and creative life.

I am a gay man, and I have always known there is both masculine and feminine within me. I do not see that as conflict.

What I most admire is the strength of women—their resilience, grit, and what they endure. That strength shaped how I understand beauty, power, and identity.

So this mark is both banner and mirror.

It stands for the work.

And it stands for who I am.

Be who you are.
Stand in it.
Without apology.

For me, the stiletto symbol meaning is about identity, strength, and standing fully in who I am.

Sometimes a symbol chooses us before we understand why. Has that happened to you?