John Jarboe: The Rose Garden
The Fabric Workshop and Museum
1214 Arch St.
Philadelphia
Sept. 21, 2024
When artist John Jarboe came out as trans, her aunt didn’t hesitate to weigh in: “You had a twin in the womb. You ate her. That’s why you are the way you are.” In turn, Jarboe has delivered an art exhibit dedicated to her unborn twin, Rose.
The exhibit, John Jarboe: The Rose Garden, is currently on display at the Fabric Workshop and Museum as part of the Philadelphia Fringe Festival.
The multimedia show takes us into the womb of isolation through immersive recreations of childhood memories, then brings us back into the arms of community with interactive artworks about self-acceptance.
I was running late on my way to the exhibit — a potential problem since the show is seen through timed, group tours. I wished for longer legs and worried about getting scolded for my tardiness.
Instead, I was greeted amiably and ushered to a waiting room where I met the two other people in my group: A mother and her grown child. I introduced myself nervously. The mother told me, “I like your heart.” I realized she was referring to a cloth charm attached to my bag, and smiled behind my mask.
Our guide asked us to choose a mug of tea to share, and we selected one with the words “World’s greatest mom!” printed on it before entering the exhibit. We were then instructed to place that mug on a saucer inside the gallery in order to initiate the interactive video and audio components of the show.
In the first room, we were introduced to the roots of John and Rose’s stories. We were invited to peek into typically off-limits places, pulling open drawers to find video displays of the artist eating ferociously or lifting toilet lids only to discover dresses and heels stuffed down the drain.
Perhaps through a sense of shared revelation, I started to feel more connected with my companions and at ease even in my admittedly mysterious surroundings.
The next room was a full recreation of John’s mother’s closet.
“He is lonely?” the woman in my group asked.
“She, mother,” her child corrected.
Suddenly, I felt nervous again. I fought off my inclination to retreat while watching a short film in which John fearfully and secretively flips through her mom’s clothes while really in search of self-understanding. When the mother finds John, the lights in the room flash on, bright, startling, and harsh. Scene over.
Through the rest of the exhibit, we were free to roam away from the group. I felt almost adrift, left to observe the show all on my own. But I found places to fit in. I stuck my head in a large hanging rose to watch a video of the artist buried in soil. I looked through holes in John’s family photos where I saw imagined portraits of Rose, the never-fully-realized twin sister.
I next entered a room of funhouse mirrors and stared at my body moving in the distorted reflections. The video on the wall told me to push open one final door. “You can do it, keep pushing,” it’s never too late, a voice assured me through its projection.
I emerged into one last room, painted green, featuring a station to write letters to our respective genders as well as refreshments to help us digest the whole of the show.
As I started drafting a message to myself, I noticed I was sitting next to people I know from a community choir — people who taught me how to use my voice when I wasn’t even sure I had one. We all have a story to tell, and our stories take shape when we share them. John found the multimedia means to tell her story through the company of a long-lost twin.
In a final video, John sings to the children seated around her: “I am a rose.” They sing back to her in chorus, “You are a rose.”
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Check out more events happening as part of Philly Fringe Festival — including the Rose Garden — on their website here.
