In his Equator essay, David Velasco, the former editor-in-chief of Artforum, recounts being fired over his publication of a letter supporting Palestinian liberation. That dramatic episode was only one sign of the deep ruptures over Gaza in the art world. We asked Velasco about what gives him hope: not just the new work of artists he admires but also the spine and spirit of people who “got angry and resisted” the policing of pro-Palestinian sentiment over these past two years.

David Velasco

Your tenure at Artforum was distinctive for many reasons: the magazine’s political acuity and stylishness, among other things. What do you miss the most about your job?

Artforum was unusual – as much a place or destination as a magazine. It had clout – it played in the more conventional corridors of power – and yet I remember [the artist] Hannah Black saying it also could have the spirit of a zine. I don’t know many elite publications that would tolerate the kinds of weirdness we got up to. Scholarship mixed with glamour and mischief. I miss the characters it attracted: unbelievably smart people, both the staff and the writers. And the artists. It got that way through very careful cultivation over many years by some very talented and committed people, and I really don’t think you can do that kind of work in a corporate space. It was genuinely cool. And now it’s not.

Your Equator essay addresses the policing of pro-Palestinian sentiment along with the deafening silence from artists and institutions in the wake of the genocide. This is the bad news. Conversely, what has given you hope – if anything – over the course of the past two years?

All the people who got angry and resisted. There’s a lot of them. Many of them lost their jobs or had their immigration status jeopardised. Others? Nan Goldin, obviously. Mohammed el-Kurd. Sarah Schulman. The ungovernables at WAWOG. Morgan Bassichis. Ms. Rachel? I never would have expected. Lorde, Susan Sarandon. So many friends. The opening of a space like Ibraaz in London. Zohran [Mamdani], even though we’re going to be critical of things he does, as we should be. I think it’s incredible that he won, and that people I respect have his ear. Above all, there’re the ongoing perseverance of the Palestinian people.

Have you lost friends over the events chronicled in your essay?
Only bad ones.

You’re “divorced” from the art world that you were attached to, but your world remains suffused with art and artists. Have you seen things you’ve loved in the past year?

I don’t see as much, but I see the work of my friends, who are all people I respect. Sam Penn’s show “Max” at New York Life Gallery this fall – phenomenal pictures of her and her lover. One of those shows I’ll remember forever. Nicole Eisenman’s “STY” at 52 Walker. I can’t believe we get to live at the same time that Nicole Eisenman makes work. Arthur Jafa’s “Artist’s Choice” show at MoMA. Hardy Hill at 15 Orient. Just twisting and twisting the gay vernacular. Sam McKinniss at Jeffrey Deitch. He’s one of the great oracles of American life. [McKinniss created the images for the Equator essay.] Ambera Wellman at Company and Hauser & Wirth. I want to say my boyfriend Jacob Wasson but he’ll get annoyed if I do. All these people are so attuned to their craft. They are truly devoted, which is such a relief after years of celebrating deskilling. David Wojnarowicz at Leslie Lohman. He was really in his power. A brilliant table reading by the young playwright Mia Sterbini at the Black Women Reading Series at The Flea. Everyone there in the room that night lost their minds.

You recently wrote an essay in Harper’s that’s in large part about the senseless killing of a friend, the gallerist Brent Sikkema. Now you're working on a book. Can you tell us a little about it? What writing or writers have inspired you?

After I was fired, I disappeared from life for a while. I woke up most days in a state of pure horror. I’m at MacDowell right now on a residency, and when people ask what I’m up to I say with some embarrassment that it’s a memoir. [The writer] Lynne Tillman said it isn’t that, but I don’t know what else it is. It’s about me and my life, and some of it is not real at all and some of it is deeply internal.

I’m inspired by people who use writing to get somewhere new. Louise Glück for example. Or Dennis Cooper. It’s hard to describe while you’re doing it. If you read the piece in Harper’s about Brent, you can get some sense of what I’m doing. The chapters are all extracted from the larger thing I’ve been working on. The form is anarchic but the structure is very tight. If it ends up good it will be because I’m using the writing to figure out how to connect the form and the structure, and in doing so tell a new story about my life. 

On Monday, we will publish a new video work by the iconic artist Nan Goldin, who is central to the story you tell in Equator. The video is an exquisite corpse composed of traces of Gaza gleaned from social media. Can you tell us more about your relationship with Nan?

I met Nan when my ex-boyfriend started working for her in 2017. I could never have anticipated how our lives would connect. I really love her. She sees the world differently, and then the world changes in response. When she devotes herself to something, she is unswerving. I see that quality in other people I love.