Like a page ripped from a yearbook, Susan Baker comedically portrays her sex life from the 1960s. A white page is filled with the characterized headshots of men. Red party hats, smoking pipes, and overgrown facial hair subvert the value of these men, due to their portrayal as caricatures. Masks, like stereotypes, can be projected onto others. They function to generalize and dehumanize others. Harmful? Yes. Insulating? Yes. Authentic? No. However, given the context of mid-century America, a feminist power channels through this piece. Therefore, expressing the importance of the ownership of one's body and sexuality. The trivialized men were not the main subject of Susan Baker’s life in the ‘60s. Like the party hats and pipes, the men were more of an accessory.

Ecstatically, Andrew jumps into Provincetown waters. His arms and legs are spread wide like a little kid inaugurating the water on their first day of summer vacation. Brian Bowen Smith’s photograph captures the carefree experience found in Provincetown. No matter who one is, this maritime town welcomes them with open arms. Andrew’s euphoric display demonstrates how it feels to be part of a community that uplifts one another. Spirits rise. Authenticity ripens. One no longer feels the need to hide behind their societally-issued mask.

With a round, silver compact mirror, Bea, a light-skinned, brown-haired individual applies a coat of red lipstick. This instance in time captured by Nan Goldin, portrays a moment of vulnerability. The photograph captures a status between two beings, a transformative state. By applying her makeup, Bea expresses her identity. Oftentimes viewed as a mask forced upon women by society to meet beauty standards, makeup offers a means to authentic expression, especially to a member of Boston’s trans community during the 80s. Masks possess a duality that makeup particularly exemplifies. It is up to the wearer of the mask to cast that role. Will it impair one’s identity or enhance it? Nan Goldin was a first-hand witness to society's effect on individuals' expression or repression of sexual identity. Specifically, Goldin’s teenage sister committed suicide because of such circumstances. Goldin explains that she observed the mid-century perception that sexuality, and its expression, should be controlled in order to meld into the mold of societal expectations. Otherwise, one was perceived as a threat. Such standards, which were held at home, inspired Goldin to leave home by the age of thirteen in search of community. In contrast to the disheartening environment at home, Goldin found comfort and acceptance within the Boston trans community. Through her work, Goldin expressed her deep admiration for them. Goldin explained that these community members manifested their fantasies publicly. She used it as support to expose that, with a supportive community, both self and sexual expression are encouraged. Therefore, a welcoming community fosters authenticity.

Anchored in sand, a curly haired woman sits nude on top of a tree stump. Pale terracotta forms the tan line of her discarded bikini. Penelope Jencks commemorates the post World War II displays of nudity on Cape Cod beaches. As a child, Jencks recalls her parents and their friends gathering for picnics and bonfires on the beach. These adults, burnt out during the post-war years, found liberty in stripping away their clothes and bathing suits. By itself, this display represents the toll that societal demands take on individuals and communities as a whole. It also identifies the need to escape and momentarily deny the rules of civility. However, from the perspective of the children standing by, a deeper understanding of authorities' control over identity unfolds. When adults are immersed in their own affairs, there is no one to impose identities onto children. No one is there to scold you, or tell you yes and no, or how to behave. When adults are occupied with their own happenings, children sample a taste of freedom. Majorities and authority figures play a significant role in determining if masks are worn and if so which ones. In the case of Penelope Jencks' "Nude Beach Series," she reminisces about a time when freedom was won and formalities shed due to the negligence of adult supervision. Jencks and the other children, left to their own devices, no longer felt like children, they became leaders and followers, developing their own ecosystem of adventure on the beach. In this state, a community unto itself arose. A "Lord of the Flies"-like tale, of a faction of children, lawless without the guides of adult supervision, is not being told. No one is running about the beach fighting over conch shells and chanting for the hunt and slaughter of a pig. Unbound to the imposing standards of conservative authority, a community, who in the confines of isolation, leans closer to one another. In Provincetown, a group of people established an expectation of welcoming. Ultimately, forming a town accustomed to taking care of its own. The freedom felt by Jencks as a child is felt by the inhabitants and visitors of Provincetown. Jencks’ release from her juvenile limbo represents the escape and levity encountered in Provincetown. The typical throngs of authority slip away. Stereotypical labels fall, allowing authenticity to grow. Once one knows themselves, they have the ability to help others remove their masks.

We live in a capitalist, consumerist society. Signs and advertisements flood our sightlines, telling us where to go, what to eat, and who to be. Would we know to stop if the bright red octagon didn’t read stop? Would we know the pizza was hot and fresh if the sign did not read "Pizza Hot and Fresh"? As a whole, society has grown accustomed to the direct, in-your-face nature of signage. Could you get to your destination without a sign? Could you identify a lover without a name? One begins to question what is missed if it is not explicitly laid out right in front of them? Are our skills of perception dampened by overstimulation and extreme commercialization? Like a sign, a social mask functions as an identifier. When bombarded by visual stimuli, such as metro stops and cafe signs, a mask makes it faster and easier to identify like individuals. Unless that mask is hiding who one truly is.

Submerged in a hazardous environment. Exposed to foreign life. Alone. A mask protects the explorer and grants them the opportunity to cast their eyes onto the reality of another life. The mask allows its wearer to breathe in a surrounding in which they would typically drown. Cenote Escape highlights one of the many functions of a social mask, protection. One becomes an observer of a world to which they typically don’t belong, or due to the harsh realities of the environment, would not typically survive. Social norms and constructs frame human expectations, and if those expectations are not met, harsh realities set in. When a person doesn’t belong, they are labeled unknown, dangerous, invasive. Therefore, putting on a mask of conformity affords protection from the hate otherwise extended. However, this protection does not insinuate survival. A mask does not help you belong. Masks are temporary. The more immersed you become, pressure builds, masks slip, and water comes crashing in.

Five men stride towards you in a line. They are dressed identically in suits and brimmed hats. Each figure, a near clone of the next, fades into the other. The quintet seemingly operates as one entity rather than as individuals. In the movement of abstract figurative expressionism, Lester Johnson paints his "Frontal Street Scene." Critics commented on the early works of Lester Johnson, identifying a Bertolt Brecht-like portrayal of the human masses. Theatre practitioner and playwright Bertolt Brecht posed the theory that humans are not isolated entities, but products of their social and historical context. Through this interpretation, with their automatic, robotic unison, the five figures of Johnson’s "Frontal Street Scene" represent the lemmings of social authority. By reminding oneself of the parallels with Brecht’s commentary on humans, Johnson’s figures take on the identity and context of the viewer's perception of society as a whole. Additionally, Johnson’s work toyed with the concept of finding a balance between appearance and disappearance. By adorning matching attire, the five figures' individual identities disappear. A mass appears, and group-think forms. Well known for his use of the distancing effect, Brecht implemented techniques to ensure audiences could not emotionally identify with the characters of his plays. Without the emotional distraction, audiences were left to contemplate and further analyze the social commentary Brecht made. The same practice occurs here. The identity of the five figures, unknown, therefore changes with the experiences of the viewer. Johnson’s figures take on the role of the imposers of the societal pressures feared in all previous and subsequent pieces. They are the mask dealers, standing on the street corner, selling conformity.

Howie Schneider offers a comical take on Henri Matisse’s "Dance." He depicts Matisse, the revolutionary artist, joining hands with nude models and frivolously dancing about his studio. Under this breath of levity stands the notion that there is always more to a piece of art than what meets the eye, a reality that goes unseen. When investigating a collection, or simply one piece, one should always keep this in mind. It is easy to take a work simply for visual pleasure, but much is lost from that assumption. Context, conversation, and understanding continuously expand the meaning and distinction of a piece. Ask a friend how they interpret a work of art. Change your vantage point. Acknowledge that one perspective negates the bigger picture. Meaning is not definitive in an evolving world. Norms change. Expectations undulate. Masks take new forms.

Bright lights pours down the hallway through a series of open doors. Together, the imagery symbolizes the welcoming of a community that neighbors North Truro, Provincetown. Because of the geographic isolation of Provincetown, there is only one way to reach the small town. In essence, Truro is the gateway to Provincetown. Like the doors swinging open in the Hartwig House, social masks fall off when entering Provincetown.

With smudged graphite on paper, Jack Pierson scribbles the words “I HATE HOW YOU LOVE ME”. Boldened and gone over twice, the word hate is emphasized. Jack Pierson’s work explores ideas ranging from romantic attachment to idealizing others from afar. I Hate How You Love Me exposes the shame that can exist at the depths of nonconforming love. His turbulent handwriting points to a moment overcome with such emotions. A breaking point. “Trailblazer” or “revolutionary" are the labels bestowed upon individuals whose ideas defy norms. However, the same pride is not typically celebrated for persons whose identities do not fit into society’s molds. Authenticity is feared. Due to the anxiety stemming from nonconforming identities, it can feel like an easy solution to deny oneself the comfort and happiness typically associated with idealized norms. In many cases, untraditional love feels hazardous, that this love will do more harm than good. One begins to hate love rather than love love. Without community, authenticity can be debilitating and untethering. Therefore, tempting individuals to reject the outward displays of their true self and replacing it with the identity, or mask society expects of them. In these behaviors isolation festers.

Understanding identity isn't always about what you can see. Absence of detail allows the bigger picture to form. As discussed in Cafe Brasserie, details can be distractions, dragging attention from what truly matters. Physical features do not define who one truly is. A mask does not change one's identity. It changes the perception of one’s identity. Like the static of a box TV, erratic colors dissolve the face. John by John, draws the viewers attention to the complexities of identity and self-perception. Masks are fickle. A strong sense of self is forever.

On the left panel, hidden behind a drawn, shadowy medical curtain, a skeletally thin patient in a blue hospital gown sits in bed. By his side, a male companion, dressed in all black, holds his fragile wrist. Time elapses as one turns their gaze to the right panel. Now, the patient is deceased. His depleted, ravaged body lies covered by a black sheet. The companion stands at the foot of the hospital bed, as the makeshift curtain on the window loses its hold, allowing the outside world a glimpse at the sorrowful scene. This diptych portrays a tragic, lost battle with AIDS. The artist, Patrick Webb, portrays visiting his boyfriend as he fights the virus. Webb witnessed the malpractice of caregivers, reluctant to touch AIDS patients. Such neglectful actions ultimately induced states of stigmatized isolation for these patients. They reflected society's heightened and undeserved villainization for homosexual communities during the epidemic. Throughout Webb’s works, a character known as Punchinello frequently appears. Punchinello is a masked figure, representative of a Zanni from commedia dell’arte productions. A zanni takes on the role of the servant stock character. They are the supporting character, representative of the minority, the sidekick, the other. Hidden behind masks, a zanni is at liberty to make sly, typically censored, commentary. In Lamentation, Puchinello is an AIDS patient. However, contrary to Puchinello’s usual zanni role, the masked figure takes on a different part in the commedia dell’arte, Lamentation. The standard commedia dell’arte holds the following format: two struggling young lovers, the innamorati, drive the plot. The couple’s love is threatened by community elders, or vecchi. Finally, the zanni, with their notorious lack of inhibition, steps in to save the day. Lamentation comfortably assumes the framework of a commedia dell’arte. However, one is left with the lingering question, who saves the day when the role of innamorati is held by a zanni? Cast as the innamorati is the couple, Punchinello and Patrick Webb. The vecchi are the reluctant, misguided hospital workers. But, who is left to be the zanni? Who offers support when the usual roles are reversed, when the plot strays from the audience's assumptions, when societal molds are broken? The right panel of Lamentation provides evidence to that fact that no one acted as the zanni for Patrick Webb and his lover. No one let go of social protocol to step in when close-minded authority threatened the well-being of others. In a fear-driven, ill-advised society, love and compassion are easily extinguished without the support of others and the welcoming of a community.

An organic shape, reminiscent of two profiles placed back to back, glows in contrast to the black background behind it. Colorful geometric prints intertwine to give life to the abstract figure. Embedded in the complexities of alternating colors, white outlines suggest the presence of facial features. From the top and bottom of the figure, red tubes extend and attach to a pouch on the right. Blue undulating lines and droplets fill the auxiliary container. Hansen’s work dealt with the cycle of life and death found in nature. Like many members of the Provincetown community, Hansen’s life was heavily impacted by the AIDS epidemic. He lost friends, lovers, and ultimately his own battle with AIDS. Life Support provides an excellent example of how Hansen’s work examined the impact and turmoil with the virus. During the AIDS epidemic, Provincetown felt the effects to its core. However, from the horrors of loss, Provincetown strengthened its community. Hansen brings a note of whimsicality to rather dark, intense subject matters. As HIV+ patients flocked to P-Town in the 1980s, the sense of welcoming and connection offered an energy to remind everyone of the good in life. Hansen’s work touched on topics such as struggles between good and evil, or love and hate, or faith and fear. No perfect answer exists as to why life unfolds as it does, but like Hansen’s work, being able to hold on to life’s goodness propels us forwards. In accepting and addressing the realities of the epidemic head-on, Provincetown found freedom from the negligence felt elsewhere. Henry David Thoreau once said, “A man may stand there and put all of America behind him,” in reference to the Provincetown dunes. But, when HIV+ and AIDS patients sought refuge in the seclusion of Provincetown, they were able to put the hate and misinformation of America behind them. Not only did the welcoming Provincetown community offer the medical care explicitly alluded to in Life Support, it also afforded its inhabitants with the necessary emotional and psychological support that was limited and even unattainable elsewhere. Although the AIDS epidemic that struck gay communities in the '80s and '90s has passed, there are countless reasons that drive visitors to seek refuge in Provincetown. Connection and community is a necessity that Provincetown continuously offers. Whatever mask an individual wears elsewhere can be shed at the tip of Cape Cod.

A jester, with a matching orange parasol, strides past the Lobster Pot. A little white poodle dressed in a red costume, follows at their feet. Elisabeth Pearl’s "Lobster Pot," offers viewers a glimpse into a brief moment during carnival, the week long LGBTQ+ celebration. The continuous love and pride ebbing through Provincetown goes on display, by taking the form of parades swirling down Commercial Street and costume parties coming to life. When a community is so welcoming and supportive, the purpose of a mask changes entirely. It becomes a prop to celebrate. Carnival in Provincetown exhibits just that, a community celebration of authenticity.

Blue ink is permanently injected into the skin. Cursive script letters spell out “lonely” across the side of his neck, inching closer towards the fragile yet vital carotid artery. Loneliness is trivialized, ownership taking over the isolating emotion. In grabbing hold of, and identifying the feeling, one secures a breath of control over it. With blatant honesty, one finds reprieve. Through his work, John Arsenault captures the “in-between” moments. He emphasizes what is often missed in the modern-day rush. In tandem, Arsenault and his subject take an overlooked experience and put it directly in the viewer's face. In the high-speed, overstimulated flow of life, to be awarded acknowledgment, a label has to be plastered on. Arsenault keeps record of honesty. By tattooing loneliness on oneself, the subject is dissolving their mask. They take what normally hides beneath their shield and put it on display. In this, honesty thrives.

Three masked figures lounge together beneath a starry sky. Colorful garments and eccentric accessories emphasize the individuality of each character. In contrast to a mask that homogeneously hides its wearer, a mask may also accentuate uniqueness. Deb Mell’s "Lounge" emphasizes a mask's ability to breed authenticity. Mell’s eclectic figures and scenes offer viewers a glimpse of Provincetown’s uninhibited style. With a positive connotation, critics of Mell’s work have stated that her art suggests alien worlds that exist parallel to our own. During a moment in time, where most communities foster environments conducive to social masking, such a comment is welcome. To these towns and cities, void of acceptance or even tolerance, Provincetown may appear as just that, an unbelievable, surrealist landscape. It is unrecognizable, not because these truths don’t exist elsewhere, but because they are hidden and repressed out of fear.

The bright, white light that pours in through the windows marries with the white bedding splayed across Nat’s legs. An effortless serenity encapsulates the nude scene. There is nothing more habitual and mundane than a man sitting at the foot of a bed in the morning. Yet, this scene holds great consequence. Love is not hiding in the dark. There is exposure, light, and simplicity. Facades crumble. Masks dissolve. As displayed in this photograph, love is not complex. However, the throngs projecting societal pressures often inhibit such feelings of ordinary simplicity from rooting themselves in nonconforming love.

With his arms folded across his bent knees, a nude male sits upon a bare mattress on the floor. With anguish in his gaze, the man stares downward. "No Familiar Hand Tempered the Austerity of His Self-made Brooklyn Cell" presents the isolation of vanishing from society. In search of freedom, one succumbs to feelings of otherness. In creating his own environment, the subject took control. However, this sense of stability brought on by control comes at a price. Solitude. When unable to handle social pressures, instead of utilizing a mask and hiding within society, they chose to hide from it. This begs the question, how can one escape without isolating oneself? By finding community, that paradox resolves itself. The rules and standards that drove individuals to hide behind masks and closed doors vanish.

The watchful, pressure-filled eyes of society strip us bare, leaving us exposed. How do we protect ourselves from such stress? We cover up, hide behind a mask. It is important to acknowledge the impact of whom the eyes belong to. Are they eyes of admiration? Are they predatory eyes? Are they eyes of judgement and disapproval? But, when someone is so accustomed to the gaze of one type of eye, one assumes that is the perspective of all. We are trained by our environment and its inhabitants. Therefore, pointing to the importance of community and the standards they set.

The work itself is a subconscious mark, the human psyche displayed directly on the canvas. Psychological automatism allows an artist to act spontaneously with unedited expression of their subconscious. The artist approaches a psychological automatism piece with no intention. Therefore, bypassing social filters. Robert Motherwell’s "Primal Sign I" offers viewers a means to escape social pressures. This work is a representation of pure instinct, how we would act without the manners of civility. All masks are stripped away to offer insight into the most fundamental representation of who Motherwell was in that very moment. By creating a reference to the Mars symbol, he projects an instance overcome by masculinity, channeling a primitive male crudeness. The drive and initiative to create such works, advertently questioning social constructs, showcase the prevalence of such pressures and the turmoil that accompany them. Motherwell blatantly exposes the masks we create by stripping them away and depicting untouched human behavior. However, one cannot operate in society in a fugue subconscious state. What Motherwell offers is a technique that brings the artist and audience beyond reality for a brief time. In understanding the method and technique of Motherwell’s Primal series, audiences question who they would be, or how they would act without the rigidity of both gender and social norms. Motherwell challenges the world we know in search of freedom by stripping away the masks society has taught us to wear.

A golden, gem-encrusted headdress adorns the head of drag queen, Robbie Turner. Her red polished fingers gently hold her neck, as her eyes, hooded by thick false eyelashes, gaze upward. The makeup, accessories, and glamour of a drag queen encapsulate the positive possibilities and functions of a mask. When all the factors align, masks work to celebrate authenticity. They communicate that all identities are welcome, and we don’t have to be limited to just one. Masks perform.

Identity and self-perception hold many complexities. How one sees oneself, versus how they are understood by others, vacillates. When viewing a self-portrait, many layers of the human psyche exist. What lies in the obscurities of an abstract self-portrait amplifies such notions. At its core, abstract art questions the perception of reality. What is, may not be what is understood. From the intricacies of Robert Beauchamp’s "Self Portrait," one begins to understand the relationship of presentation and communication. Abstract art diverges from customary visual representation. Abstraction strips away the elements typically used to visually communicate. Therefore, the habits and cues one relies on become futile. The masks one thinks they understand, that they were trained to notice, lose their meaning.

If the physical does not define us, then why do we alter it? It is an outward projection of who one is. The trouble is that some individuals use said projection to conform to other’s ideals, while others wield it to achieve their own identity. At times, the physical contradicts one’s sense of self and identity. Conforming…does it perpetuate social norms, or does it achieve self-actualization? Judgement, comparison, the constant stimulus of the media in your pocket. Losing oneself in the over exposure of others. Feminine beauty standards, plastic, or cosmetic surgery are the pinnacle of a social mask, making it a permanent mask. A cycle forms. Ideally, the recipient finds a new confidence. However, the standards persist. The impossible question is should one prioritize self-confidence over stripping away compulsory beauty ideals?

Standing tall, beyond the traffic of the harbor, resides a beacon of freedom visible across Cape Cod Bay, the Pilgrim Monument. Although built to commemorate and honor the Mayflower Pilgrims, the “New World,” and the signing of the Mayflower Compact, the iconography of the Pilgrim Monument has become much more. It is the landmark of a community continuously ahead of the nation, the sociopolitical avant-garde. It is a pushpin on the map of the United States, exclaiming that the acceptance and equality fought for elsewhere exists right here. It is possible. It is felt in the costumes during carnival, in the performances of Varla Jean, and in the authenticity and care of its community. Like a radio tower hidden among the dunes, the Pilgrim Monument emits a signal of love and authenticity. Let the masks slip away.

With sepia ink on paper, Michael Mazur sketches the depressing reality of humans isolated from the “civilized” world. Washes of reddish brown pigment shadow the intertwined figures of two ward patients, while sharp, erratic sketch lines form the shape of their sprawled bodies. This sketch captures Michael Mazur’s “Closed Ward” and “Locked Ward” series in their rawest states. Mazur’s visit to the Veterans’ Administration Hospital in Northampton, MA left him aghast. Exposed to the underbelly of a neglected community, Mazur felt inspired to create both of his acclaimed series, Closed and Locked Ward. Critics received the work as brooding, depressing, and deeply humanistic. These patients were not just closed or locked in the ward, but locked out of society. Isolated. Individuals exhibiting behaviors deemed abnormal by social standards were physically removed from society and placed in wards with inhuman treatment. With the possibility of psychiatric exile hanging over one's head, social masking and repression presents themselves as admission into society. Fear in expressing oneself and one’s troubles weighs heavily on individuals in hostile environments. In combination with the analysis of Mazur’s Ward Series depicting humans existing outside of the "civilized" world, it is claimed these localized persons are left with loneliness and desperation. Subsequently, the logical assumption would then be made that individuals in the “civilized” world should exhibit no such feelings of loneliness or desperation. But, we know this isn’t true. When the support from civilization fails, a mask operates as a device to conceal one's perceived vulnerabilities. Therefore, it is not civilization that breeds security, but community.