Sep 02, 2005  |  By: KATHERINE VOLIN  | COMMENTS     

Dylan Scholinski is the kind of guy who leaves a $1 tip on a $1.50 cup of coffee, the kind of guy that has his 5-year-old nephew’s signature tattooed on his arm, the kind of guy who recognizes that the man babbling incoherently on the street corner might not be so crazy.

“I always say with all these people on the street, instead of spending all this money fixing them, we could give them a cell phone and they’d look like everybody else,” Scholinski says.

Society’s attempts to control nonconformists are a familiar subject to Scholinski.

Scholinski, now a transgendered artist, once lived as a female with parents who were concerned about his affinity for dressing in boy’s clothing and cutting classes. They sent Scholinski, then named Daphne, to a mental institution from the time he was 15 until his parents’ insurance ran out when he turned 18.

The story might sound like something from the early half of the 20th century, but Scholinski was sent to Chicago’s Michael Reese Hospital, an adolescent psychiatric treatment unit, in 1981. His diagnosis was gender identity disorder.

While there, Scholinski endured makeup lessons, forced hugs with male guards and wardrobe overhauls, all in an attempt to compel him to adhere to the female gender role. In his 1997 book about his experiences, “The Last Time I Wore A Dress,” Scholinski describes his interaction with a woman sent to teach him to apply makeup.

“Donna saw me as a challenge. My ignorance of makeup was like a secret sin. We wouldn’t mention it, we’d correct it,” he writes.

Scholinski says that unnecessary “corrections” characterized his stay at Michael Reese Hospital.

“I was being taught in every single way to hate myself,” Scholinski says. “My treatment, when I think about it — I’ve had a lot of time to think about it — was designed more to make me more comfortable for [the psychiatrists] instead of trying to make me more comfortable with myself.”

He chose art and writing as a means of telling and coping with his story.

When he exited the hospital, his doctors informed him that he couldn’t speak about his experiences or he would be viewed as an outcast. Scholinski’s lies in an attempt to cover up his three-year gap were frequently exposed, however, and he began to withdraw.

“I was incredibly suicidal. I was very depressed,” Scholinski says. “Basically, speaking out became my act of saving my life. I can’t lie anymore. I can’t pretend. I can’t say this didn’t happen. In my artwork, it’s the same thing. I can’t lie in it.”

Scholinzki’s artwork almost exclusively focuses on his past.

“I view all of my pieces to be autobiographical … and all to be self-portraits,” he says.

Local transgendered artist Dylan Scholinski created ‘thorazine (c)rush’ (below) and ‘Every Good Boy Does Fine.’ ‘Every year I do a painting for the anniversary of my discharge from the hospital,’ he says. ‘Every Good Boy Does Fine’ was 2004’s anniversary piece.

Scholinzki’s “Thorazine (c)rush,” a series of nine paintings created in 1995, early in Scholinski’s art career, illustrate his experiences with the drug Thorazine, a sedative that he says was administered frequently to him while he was hospitalized.

“It’s a drug that’s used primarily for control,” Scholinski says. “Within seconds, you’re limp and you can’t move and they can take you and do whatever they want with you. Your mind is completely functional. You wanna scream, you wanna kick, you wanna bite, you wanna whatever and you have no control of anything. You can’t even speak. Some of the most painful experiences of my life have been that.”

“Thorazine (c)rush” and other pieces by Scholinski will be shown at the Nevin Kelly Gallery beginning Sept. 15.

Nevin J. Kelly, the gallery’s owner, first met Scholinski when he walked into the gallery shortly after it opened in 2003.

“I’m interested both in Dylan’s work and in Dylan’s story,” Kelly says. “In addition to having a compelling story, the art is very good…in composition and balance of energy and color. He uses humor to draw you into what is otherwise a very uncomfortable topic.”

Scholinski agrees that his experiences in a mental institution can create uncomfortable conversations.

“That’s my high school and there’s a way that informs the rest of your life,” Scholinski says. “I mean, everyone talks about high school forever … more than anybody even realizes. When you haven’t really had high school, then you really see how many times you go to a party and people are like, ‘So, where’d you go to high school?’ and you’re like, ‘Psych ward.’ It doesn’t always go over very well.”