Wojnarowicz, who aspired to be a writer in the 1970s, immersed
himself in the work of William S. Burroughs and Jean Genet—two collages here feature them—but he felt a particular kinship to the iconoclastic nineteenth-century French poet Arthur Rimbaud. In the summer of 1979, just back from a stay in Paris with his sister, the twenty-four-year-old
Wojnarowicz photographed three of his friends roaming the streets of New York wearing life-size masks of Rimbaud. Using a borrowed camera,
Wojnarowicz staged the images in places important to his own story:
the subway, Times Square, Coney Island, all-night diners, the Hudson River
piers, and the loading docks in the Meatpacking District, just steps
away from the Whitney Museum. Born one hundred years, almost to the month, before Wojnarowicz, Rimbaud rejected established categories and wanted to create new and sensuous ways to participate in the world. He, like Wojnarowicz, was the forsaken son of a sailor father, made his queerness a subject of his work, and knowingly acknowledged his status as an outsider (“Je est un autre”—“I is an other”—is perhaps Rimbaud’s most famous formulation).
