Ruby Zarsky
The night crumples under the weight of heels. Fingernails graze the velvet of a curtain pulled too fast, makeup melts under the heat of the spotlights. Ruby Zarsky paints like one surrenders—without regret, without return. Her world is a carnal opera where divine icons merge with pop fantasies, where sex is raw material, an alphabet rewriting myths.
There are lashes too heavy to flutter, lacquered lips whispering promises, bodies stretching beyond their limits. Between parody and the sacred, between rebellion and celebration, her art erupts in a saturated glow, leaving behind a trail of powder and desire.
In her paintings, anatomy distorts and exaggerates, symbols collide, genders dissolve and reconstruct. The queens she erects shine with a baroque brilliance—untamed, sovereign. It is a world where rules no longer exist, where sex is not provocation but an inevitability, where beauty is sharp, electric.
Ruby Zarsky does not paint reality. She enhances it, elevates it, pushes it to vertigo. And in this dazzle, everything becomes possible.
Harsh light, flickering neon. The night is full of reflections. You slip into it, you inhabit it. Your body melts into your paintings, or perhaps the reverse. Who leads the dance?
You must lead your own dance in life.
To me, the paintings are your dance partner. But the music is the stars. We are all set on a strict path from the moment of our birth. And our lives are forever ordained by the stars. Our only will is found not in the individual but through the will of the collective.
Paintings, music, poetry, all art is meant to celebrate our collective will. Each work contributes to the communal discourse of our civilization.
As to my paintings I think they are meant to feel like a dirty almost secretive experience. Like when you meet someone on the dance floor and start making out. Then you're fucking in a dark corner. Then you literally flee the club like you just committed a crime.
But some people really get into it. Theyre more free and open to experience. Theyre not afraid to be judged. Some would call their morals questionable but i think they're brave. I think theyre like students of life and worshippers of the beauty of this world.
There are bodies overflowing, bodies shimmering. We no longer know if they burn or if they illuminate. What do they leave behind once they disappear?
Each relationship we share is important for its own reasons. Yet most lights flicker and fade quickly. Despite that they can still hold great importance to us. I think all bodies illuminate us.
Ultimately we ourselves are the only ones that burn. We can only be accountable for our own actions. Because often the reason people hurt us is because we allow them to. We need to grow, learn and move past our trauma. So we must burn until it gets so bad that we need to heal our wounds and either burn some more or avoid the flame.
Everything is liquid. Ink, makeup, skin under the light. Where does the image end? Where does truth begin?
I don’t think the image ever ends. My public presentation is always a performance. And my private self is spent dwelling on and searching for ways to improve those performances. Life for me is either time on stage as a performer or in my studio developing my ideas.
Truth is a constant practice to me. Unlike art, it never moves between preparation into performance. It is always in its final, perfect state. So we are constantly failing at practicing truth, because nobody can be perfect.
What the truth actually means is too hard for me to explain. But I believe it involves first the untethering of your belief in all human social constructs. After you do that truth becomes the practice of following the astrological path that was set before you the moment you were born. Sort of like swapping out your belief in human constructs for the actual undeniable direction given to you by your alignment within the cosmos.
An immense desire runs through your work, without filter, without compromise. How does it resonate within you? How does it spread?
Desire is actually a theme in my work that people mostly misinterpret. The overtly sexual images I depict only represent my desire in a very imminent way. That is, I directly relate to these subjugated forms of trans femininity as a high femme trans woman myself. Despite this misleading connection, what I am actually showing is not my own desire. Rather it is the secret desire of men lurking in the darkest corners of the internet.
When I construct images, particularly the more explicitly erotic ones, they are almost exclusively appropriated images that I find on the internet. Rarely, but still, I sometimes use nsfw AI image generators. I think the result is often similar to the trolls' own unique creations (which is disturbing already).
I find this appropriation necessary because the themes of extreme lust and sexual objectification of trans women found in these images actually offend me. Not because I don’t want to be tied up, gagged and fucked (which to be honest I do want that). But I want it done on my own terms, with my consent and with my dignity intact.
I feel the creators (I don’t want to call them artists) of these digital depictions of trans bodies are perpetuating a narrative about trans women that is specific to only trans women. And to me that feels oppressive. It feels like I am a target. It feels like the definition of trans misogyny.
So I reclaim these images, often borrowing from other artists whom I actually admire like Hokusai, Paul Klee, Judy Chicago and Leonora Carrington, to name a few. By combining this degrading portrait of my body with these other art and historical images I feel like I am giving the subjugated and oppressed trans characters a story; and in doing so I am reasserting their dignity.
So, yes I want to be tied up and fuck like wild. But what do I truly desire? Basic human dignity, darling.
Icons transform under your brush. Saints, figures of velvet and light, heroines of a world without borders. Who are they to you? Memories, mirages, sisters-in-arms?
The women that I paint do often come from the sad dark corners of the internet. But if you take a flashlight into those dark corners you will discover a hidden treasure chest of the secret history of trans women.
As a child, on my gateway pc desktop (the box it came in was cow print) I would connect to AOL through my dial up modem. With the blinds down and door locked, I remember first discovering Miss Contental.
“MC” is a yearly nationwide competition that seeks out the country’s premier “female illusionist”. The competition draws a mixture of both cis male drag queens and transgender women. From MC’s very beginning in the early 80s (I think), many of these competitors, and often winners, were fierce trans women. Tandi Andrews is one of the first that springs to mind. And her trans daughter, Erica Andrews, later also became a MC winner. Both are stunning trans women with an acumen for glamorous pageantry that clearly outshines their cis female pageant counterparts on every level.
Soon after I discovered MC I found even more amazing trans women. Not surprisingly, many of these women were found through pornography. The real masterpiece of trans pornography, to me, is the brilliant Kim Christy’s FMI or “Female Mimics International” (1970’s-1990’s). When I discovered that magazine on my absurdly slow dial-up internet it changed my life. Seeing Sulka, the first transsexual porn icon, through the eyes of Kim Christy was an epiphany for me.
These historic porn images feel more authentic. Compared to the cyber troll futanari imagery that I also work with, these porn pictures (especially the vintage ones) feel more rife with information, despite their similar levels of sexually explicitness. So if I am painting an image of Sulka photographed by Kim Christy (both trans women) I am celebrating my history and reclaiming its power. Though once again, I am making pictures that mislead the viewer’s perception of my relation to desire within these images. That is, to say, the viewer probably thinks, upon first encountering my work, I’m simply a horny pervert that is making these paintings based on my desire.
Rotating these images’ sources feels necessary because it insists that the viewer give more consideration to what I am presenting. It gives pause to remind the viewer they are not in front of their computer in pitch black dark at 3am with their dick in their hand. Indeed, they are ideally encountering my work in an art gallery or institution. Or perhaps in a serious publication just as XCSS can be considered. That way the viewer is forced to confront their own enjoyment or discomfort with these images. And I want the viewers to realize that just because l possess desire (enjoyment) it does not preclude me from being upset with being twisted into this sexually objectifying narrative (discomfort). And i believe a great way to do that is to try to conjure a similar level of discomfort in the viewer.
Your art is a stage. Painting, performing, embodying—everything seems to merge into the same momentum. Where does the impulse begin, and where does the boundary between you and what you create fade?
My impulses and fixations seem connected to my own neurodivergent brain. Because of this it is hard for me to explain my logic. I guess I might call it faith. Faith that, ultimately, my artistic choices and decisions are all deeply connected to a universal truth about consciousness and our cosmic reality.
If you had to ask me, who is Ruby Zarsky? I would say I am nothing and everything. This answer frustrates many people I believe. Because it sounds evasive. But it is like asking what is the color green? It just simply is and it must be green no matter what.
So when I make art or music i try to follow my impulse without question. And only ask questions if another impulse pushes me to do that. It is definitely irresponsible, but I think artists are supposed to be irresponsible so that they can create dialogue.
In this sense many artists are construed as enemies. I can certainly relate to that. Because even if you agree with my radical agenda, are anti censorship, are queer or trans, it doesn't mean you unanimously agree with me. You might be disappointed that my art practice often engages in what many view as unethical sourcing of material. But I feel that, at some point the web of social justice always entangles into social constructs. And that is a dialogue I know will get me in trouble over and over.
If your universe were a sound, a murmur, a vibration, what echo would fill the space?
My universe sounds like a sad and beautiful string quartet playing their muffled tune from a distant dimension. Accompanying the strings is the steady drone of wind emanating from a rather loud oscillating electric fan.
The curtain falls. The paint dries. But the image keeps vibrating. What remains after the dazzle?
Sadly I think a lot of misinterpretation is what follows the creation of my work. It is too complex; too inaccessible. And I fear that after I am gone the dialogue it creates will grow like a wild and invasive plant.
Thus far, by vigilantly refraining from participating in the commercial art or music industries, I have been able to steer the conversation away from misleading clickbait type media; or the dilution of my content in deference to a gallerist or record label’s commercial demands. I will remain vigilant as long as I can. But the hardships of being an impoverished trans artist are certainly burdensome on my soul.
My hope is that within my queer and trans community I can sustain a comfortable life. I do not wish to ascend the great ladder of success. I merely wish to survive like anybody else.