HEDDA BAUER
Born: 1990
Lives in: Östra Göinge, Sweden
Occupation: Artist

COPENHAGEN, DENMARK

TUESDAY, FEBRUARY THE TWENTIETH

THREE FORTY-ONE P.M.

Just now, looking at myself in the mirror in the bathroom, I thought: I think I want my hair like Mozart's. I want to run around the way Amadeus did in the movie. Maybe I want to mix Mozart with Gertrude Stein and Judith Butler. I feel like I can jump through time and create new spaces. It's a bit futuristic, a bit like Orlando. But then I realize, I actually live in 2024. I think about all those who inspired me. Virginia Woolf... Yes, she must have lived in the exact same fluid feeling. She would have fit in just as well here as she did back then. Mozart, Stein, Butler, and Woolf have created small bubbles that are timeless. They bring out people's... I don't know how to say it... soul. It’s something life-affirming.

But those timeless bubbles were a world away from the reality I grew up in. There was one lesbian in my school in the countryside. She was bullied. The Swedish right-wing party, Sverigedemokraterna, was growing in the south where I lived, and that created constant conflict at my school. Our environment was so violent.

There was a warlike atmosphere between people from the countryside and the city. It was a homophobic environment. If I compare my environment to my friends who grew up in the big cities, I see how open their upbringing was. They lived in Stockholm, where youth centers and a completely different level of knowledge about same-sex relationships existed.

There should be a law that every summer a queer teenager from the city goes out to the country and vice versa. I'm happy about the new generation, though. Today there are so many lesbians who just don't give a damn. They just do their thing.

Few are as queer as Hedda Bauer. They are like an action hero without a precise timestamp. For them life is mission possible. The similarities to Orlando are striking; I think Virginia Woolf would agree. Raised in a noble family as the youngest child, with no prospect of inheriting the castle. Even though the family is one of Sweden’s largest private art collectors, they bravely chose to be an artist and claimed their own Theydom.

As an artist, they investigate unconventional subjects: 'the gut', their grandmother's cookbook, Gertrude Stein’s erotic poem 'Lifting Belly' and the 'diva persona,' inviting the audience to eat the art, in the form of homemade crispbread, to connect it with their own belly.

We are proud to present this piece as the first look into PINK GUT.—a new online magazine for the queer and lesbian community. Throughout 2026, this platform will evolve, slowly but steadily, into a space for the raw gut life.

“A Modern Orlando in Teddy Bear Armor” is an excerpt from Gry Ellebjerg’s upcoming book, which features conversations she has had with lesbians and queers in Europe. The photography and text are by Gry Ellebjerg, based on these talks and told in the first person.

Historically and even to this day in some countries it’s still dangerous to be gay. It can be a matter of life and death. At the same time, there are societies where it’s almost put on a pedestal. Like, look how liberated we are here!

Then there's also the psychological aspect. LGBTQ+ people are overrepresented among those who take their own lives or who struggle mentally. I have struggled with that a lot and lived in the middle of it with friends and girlfriends.

We've been told since we were children that it’s a slur. That it isn't normal. It isn't the majority. I had a period when I was angry at my parents. They are really pro-LGBTQ+. But they never said it. They never said, "Hedda, it's okay if you have a girlfriend." They never put it into words. It wasn't there. They had friends who were lesbian, but they never spoke about it. I've learned that you actually have to say it out loud.

I came out together with my absolute best friend. We went through a metamorphosis. We met at this art school in Stockholm. I think we found each other that very first week. She had a boyfriend, and I’d had one back in high school. But we were just... We were racing. We discovered a world that was all about expressing yourself. Clothes, hats, costumes—every night was a performance. I remember we shouted things like, 'There are no genders! There are no genders!’ We had a lot of fun, just messing around. Then we moved to Gothenburg

When we started the tailoring and fashion program there, we got pulled into the theatre world. It became very important to have a queer community, a queer family. We went out every night and felt an energy that was... something I had never experienced before. First of all, it was an attraction, a pulse, a desire I had never experienced. And then there was the family feeling. Everyone took care of everyone.

The conversations were so deep. There was a lot of physical touch in this lesbian slash queer space. People touched each other in a completely different way. I think I had always been viewed as a "cinnamon bun mom" or a "caretaker" when I was in junior high and high school.

I was a safe space where you could cuddle, have a nice time, and cozy up with coffee. I sat at the café all through high school drinking coffee. I kind of lost that role afterward. Then you have to become an adult, take care of yourself, and find yourself. But now, suddenly, it shifted to brunch. 

I hosted brunch every Saturday up on our roof terrace. People just came over. It wasn't just people, but dogs and children too. Someone brought a friend who brought another friend, and it just went on. There was a lot of skinny dipping. It was something bodily. There was an openness. The expressions, the body language... The way you dress, move, speak, and joke. The humor. You develop a lingo, a language that can be snappy, twisting and turning things. You didn't question it much; it was here and now. It was very affirming. It was a big crisis when it collapsed later.

At that time, Feminist Initiative in Sweden was huge. I was part of that movement, and also active in Lesbian Power (Lesbisk Makt). That’s what Lesbian Power and feminism was really about: claiming space in the city. The spaces could just be in public squares.

We would set something up, have coffee together, talk. There was even a map of lesbian places in Gothenburg. I remember I borrowed my dad's car for a whole summer and drove lesbian punk bands around to support the movement. In a way, I found a family that I hadn't had before. I basically grew up as an only child, since my siblings were so much older.

Now, as an artist, I live my life in a big queer bubble. When my friends and I go out, we have a queer takeover. There are many private queer places, but you need to know someone to get in. I have sometimes invited people I met on the streets: ”Hey, do you want to join?”

However, I have learned the hard way that I need to be careful with that. Being in a queer community, you have to know the codes and protect the space. If a new person who doesn't understand the codes joins and starts to question what takes place, that energy easily destroys the mood. It can even be dangerous. I experienced that a while ago when a friend invited someone thinking it would work out, but it turned out very violent and unpleasant for everybody.

I move around a lot, and in every new place, I try to find a queer context. Historically, this is what queer people have done. Living in the queer artistic bubble is one thing.

Going to Lesbisk Fredag in Copenhagen and just enjoying the organized queer space is another. I had forgotten that I need this so much. I need to feel we're all okay with being queer, that we all fight the same battles.

There, I feel welcome and safe, and I can talk about different things. You have to dare to be a little separatist. Dare to say: ”I can't take in everyone right now”, because that's what I've been doing for many years. I have been inviting people in and offering a shoulder to lean on.

But the bubble... It's hard to see beyond it. I notice it when I meet people who are fangirling over me: ”Oh, you're so cool!” I'm like, what? I'm just me. Sometimes I get irritated because I'm just like them. But maybe I'm the only non-binary person they know.

Then I become a symbol for that. They say: ”Wow, you live this way. You dare to say what you mean.” This year I've expressed myself in a completely new way in my art, which is very queer. I dare to say things that may not follow the traditional artistic language.

I am using a more everyday, intimate, and personal language because I think that's exciting. It has taken a while for me to reach this point. I have been very afraid of the art world because it's incredibly white, conservative, and full of men.

I've grown up with Facebook and Instagram. That's how I find lesbian spaces in public. That's also how I date. But I think each individual creates the lesbian spaces by bringing something of themselves into them.

For example, when I was living in Gothenburg, there was a photographer who took a lot of pictures of everyone in the community. It became her language; she made a book out of it. Her project helped me become comfortable with my body.

I played a lot with my body language at that time. I got tattoos. I was naked in front of the lens. I made my body visible. I've worked a lot with how I express myself. I've had a lot of different styles. 

Playing with self-expression is really exciting because you're creating your own little queer home with your clothes, hair, and makeup. I've always felt safe in that. For example, this fur coat is like armor. It's a big pink fake bear fur that looks like a teddy, but it's definitely armor against the rest of the world. I feel lost if I look mainstream.