Severance, who works at SVA, knows the weight of this history. “I remember losing lots of friends to Aids,” he said. “But I don’t remember going to a lot of funerals.” The quilt filled that void—a communal mourning for a community that wasn’t allowed the dignity of public grief. It gave visibility to the invisible, names to the numbers, and color to the shadow of death.
And it’s not just about the past. Severance stressed how HIV still rages—particularly in the American South, particularly among Black men. “The largest proportion of people dying from Aids in America happens to be in the South,” he noted. Which is why, alongside the exhibition, visitors are invited to stitch new quilt panels in day-long workshops. It’s an invitation to heal, remember, and fight.
In many ways, this exhibit holds up a mirror to the present. Trans lives are under siege, queer rights are on the chopping block, and the kind of vitriolic rhetoric that demonized those with Aids in the ’80s has found new targets today. “Back in the day, they were talking about internment camps for people with HIV/Aids. Now we have Guantánamo being used for immigrants,” Severance said, drawing a chilling line between then and now.
Queer Legacy in Stitches
But make no mistake, this isn’t just a history lesson—it’s a battle cry. The show refuses to let queer grief be tucked away in dusty archives. It transforms it into education, into power. “There is all this homophobia and misogyny that comes with the disease,” Severance said. “Those same classifications of people who were stigmatized for HIV are now again in jeopardy.”
From the bold type of Gran Fury’s “All People With Aids Are Innocent” posters to the quiet power of hand-stitched quilt squares, To Love-To Die; To Fight. To Live. is a call to arms—and a call to heart. The message is clear: queer lives matter, queer art matters, and queer history must never be erased.
For today’s LGBTQ youth, many of whom didn’t live through the Aids crisis and who face a different—but no less insidious—set of challenges, this show is more than an exhibition. It’s a roadmap. A survival manual. A reminder that community can outlast cruelty, and that art can outlive apathy.
The exhibition runs through April 5 at SVA Flatiron Gallery. Bring tissues. Bring your voice. And bring your pride.