Mycelial Artist Kai Edwards
Published by SEVENSTORE
Author: Millie Throp
Like a lichen or a moss, the queer experience is unbound by normative forms of existing. Where multicellular organisms host several reproductive structures; or procreate merely by the spread of spores; or emit bioluminescent light through underground networks, these multifaceted species can be likened to the very resilience and fluidity of queer being.
For 23-year-old non-binary mycelial artist Kai Edwards, exploring gender through the guise of foraged fungi has gone a distance in easing their own non-conforming identity, coupled with artistic release. With mycology frequenting the cultural moment as of late, its prevalence eases restrictions found in human or biological borders, looking instead to mushrooms as its wisdom source. The practise arises a duality between the enlightened anatomy of fungal fruiting bodies, and non-cisgender identities. Disseminating thousands of sexes, these studies further highlight that queerness is as natural as the seasons: solstice through solstice; liberation through liberation. As Kai affirms, “I think the existence of sex non-conforming fungi proves that life is not as binary or as heteronormative as people make it out to be”.
As we catch up with Kai over email, discussions of earthly repurposing, kinship and overlooked species flow freely. As the conversation unfolds, mirroring tangled treescapes, it suggests that as new knowledge coats the kingdom of mycology, queerness is cultivating like a spread of cells, or algae over water.
Ripening in rural Surrey, Kai’s upbringing was beaded with creative encouragement and tender elders. “Some of my core memories from school are of exceedingly kind and inspiring teachers who were mentors in shaping my understanding of art,” they say, looking back. With their expressive touch an early, unwinding web, such classes began sponsoring Kai’s approach amongst the air of available wilderness. “My mum has a background in jewellery and my dad, in theatre. So, I’ve always been very set on ‘becoming’ an artist,” they add, with quotation marks implying an innate enabler.
But the motivation for Kai’s making surrounds interspecies siblings: the elementary foundlings that occupy forest floors. The artist’s convex sculptures are built from the Earth’s gentle bounty, and refined by its asymmetry, harnessing the “connection with the natural world that has been lost over time. That’s why I create – to bridge this gap and enable people to connect with the myceliverse,” they conclude.
For an artist frenetically charged by ecology, foraging can offer not just a resource for the hand, but a respite from reality. “I think foraging for me really evolved during the pandemic,” Edwards recounts. “As a non-binary forager, I see queerness and mycelial networks interlocked in that we are both stigmatised and ridiculed. Yet, we are transformative, revolutionary, and wise in more ways than most human existence”. But within the Mother Nature trope, transparency lights a path to the arguably archaic gender ideals persisting in society. Yet, still, Kai reassures us that, “nature does not judge; nature has no prejudice. You can simply just exist”.
Amongst this found freedom, Edwards’ also looks to movement in the outdoors to shift stagnancy. “I am a rock climber and a hiker,” Kai starts in self-assurance, “and one thing I really value is wild swimming; it provides a source of mindfulness. Swimming is generally something I have had to reclaim for myself as a transgender person” they explain, never dwelling in difficulty – even when wading through tough waters. “Outside of a natural setting, I’m big into fantasy and science fiction,” Kai then adds, fitting in with an openness they now revel in.
It was this receptiveness that would eventually germinate opportunity, resulting in an arts residency in the Westfjords earlier this year. Birthed from an ‘open house’ – or ‘opid hús’ – in Iceland’s Skagaströnd, Kai’s invitation was met with an abundance of geothermic heat, and rock formations whose faces were heavy with moss, ice, and snow.
On the experience, Kai purrs, “it’s a place that holds you spellbound”, noting that the small fishing village “has inhabitants of around 400. So, it’s safe to say the connection to the land felt pretty undisturbed”. Humming between the catharsis of glacier and flurry, the relationship Kai established with Iceland could be likened to painter and palette, each wellspring blueprinting another undulate structure. “Physically, my experimentation is a lot of trial and error: using natural dyes and trying out materials,” they describe. “I spent my time making a series of three sculptures which I have called ‘HINSEGIN FLÉTTA’”. Icelandic for “queer complex”, the installation was complimented by a blurb that underlines, “we are all lichens, lichens are us”. Using a universal language to plainly question, “what is an individual if not a mass made up of billions? We are plural beings wandering the earth”.
The creative’s anti-anthropocentric views are not new but refreshing. In turn, arising a promise for change in the face of society’s rusting prejudices. In such a landscape, stumbling upon a woodland is like finding a grey patch in a black and white world. But for queer folk, nature is arguably not a grey area, but more a spectrum of release and relatability providing alternative options for stable, community centred grounds away from just LED or BPM. “The loss of queer venues has been pretty devastating,” Kai notes on the pandemic’s effect on the diminishing number of LGBTQ+ spaces. “However, I think the outdoors can provide a wonderful space for self-exploration and I’ve met many who seem to value that,” Kai concludes. Encouraging a new hub of community, Kai’s oeuvre, and mycology overall, aims to represent another angle of queerness, relishing in the freedom that comes with the outdoors. This space holds no watchful ownership; it is free for all, just as is the right to roam within it, offering a sweeping, sober queer oasis without potentially compromised safety, or the chaos of club culture.
Over time, Kai’s community and the natural domain have formed a pair-bond, strengthened by iridescence and uniqueness despite others may misunderstanding. “Fungi are wise in ways beyond cisgender or heteronormative modes of living,” Kai underlines, unflinching with fact. “They are capable of the reclamation of bodies and nutrients; mushrooms have been seen to clear up oil spills and thrive in nuclear zones. This is reflected in the way queer folk reclaim space – usually hostile environments – and also their bodies: adapting, or just existing contently in our many ways of being”.
In a sometimes-polarised society, the buoyant cap of a shroom can provide a softness to lean on against the collective diatribe – a nucleus of understanding and emancipation. “I think approaching anything from a queer ecological standpoint could positively influence wider opinions,” Kai notes, reminding us that queer resilience was born out of threat, and a need to shake stigma. “It’s liberating in that it undoes this idea of ‘degeneracy’ that has been pushed for generations,” they continue. “Dominant culture often calls on ableist language such as ‘sexual abnormalities’, describing us in similar ways as mushroom-phobic language describes fungi”. When society may have a habit of turning its weathervane to less-than, Kai encourages an openness to learn.
But, still, non-conforming genders and identities thrive despite the brackets of societal misjudgement. Meanwhile, those too within the mycelium chart remain sadly overlooked; an estimated 90% of species remain unidentified. And with so little understanding, it becomes hard to imagine how reductive conclusions can be drawn about expansive networks of queer identities, or the natural kingdom. “Depictions of queer bodies are held as aberrations from a (hetero)normative order to life that must be protected,” Kai crystallises. And at the foot of both communities, they stand tall for both; refined, and intended in their being, stomping through mud-marked lines separating gender, interconnectivity, and artistic-expression.
Signing off, Kai looks forward to their MA degree in Art and Ecology this September, inevitably compelled to turn their commitment into a qualification. “The complexity of both queer identities and fungal variations mirror each other,” compares Edwards, finding direction in adversity as they move towards a new chapter. “Our kin within the queendom range within such broadness in sex, presentation, colour, shape, and size,” they express in solidarity with their soon-to-be thesis subject. Adding, “we ourselves share nearly 50% of our DNA with fungi”. And as a final thought, a reflective pebble skimming water, Kai lets out an enquiry of purity: “if they can break the binary, then why can’t we?”