Seth Bogart is sitting on the pale pink couch of his Highland Park, Los Angeles, art studio flanked by ceramic sculptures of bondage gear. Hanging above the grinning 40-year-old musician and visual artist, who is wearing a T-shirt for the germinal punk band the Cramps, is an outsize canvas that reads, in lipstick-red bubble letters, “Men On the Verge of Nothing.”

These scintillating works are Bogart originals. After nearly two decades on the campier, glammier edges of the rock underground with bands like Hunx and His Punx, he has become known, in recent years, as a polymath painter, illustrator, ceramist, clothing designer and the proprietor of the online shop Wacky Wacko, but more specifically, for curating a world of queer fantasy. His color-bursting installations have included a faux sex shop, as in 2018’s “Lick.” And among Bogart’s most beloved pieces are his sculptures of gay-bar matchbooks and delightfully subversive toothbrushes, and his brash “Grrrls Do Everything Better” shirts, depicting an illustrated history of women inventing punk.

But Bogart’s ensuing gallery experiences were dispiriting. The first song on “Men On the Verge of Nothing,” called “Professionals,” is a critique of the darker mechanisms of exploitation in the art world, and a reminder to himself to trust his instincts. “I had this terrible experience with an art dealer guy in L.A. who was a monster psychopath who only cared about money,” he says. “Artists are conditioned to just accept how these people act. But I’m from a world where it’s like: You don’t have to accept that. You don’t have to work with people like this.”

He doesn’t feel that way about David Fierman, however, whom he lovingly calls “an old riot grrrl.” The gallerist, who opened on the Lower East Side in 2016, was a 21-year-old college student when he first saw Bogart play with Gravy Train!!!! in 2004. Fierman highlights his and Bogart’s shared “strong desire to preserve queer culture and honor our elders.”

“To me it’s all one story and one project, and it’s just evolved,” Bogart says of his work. In some sense the bookish roots of “Library Fantasy” — how fandom creates meaning, or how reading can help, to quote another Bikini Kill song, “resist psychic death” — extend back to the fanzines of his youth. “When people became fans of mine, I thought, ‘This is weird. What’s going on?’ I never wanted that to go to my head. I always wanted to be like, ‘No, I’m the fan!’”

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