Jamison Edgar (they/them) is a queer southerner sowing roots in Southern California. A historical triangulator and avid student of the dance floor, Edgar sculpts cultural memory into exhibitions of radical exuberance. Their curatorial work centers the indispensable role that queer, trans, Black, and brown artists play in shaping post-human imaginaries.

In Los Angeles, Edgar collaborates with a range of institutions, galleries, and collectives. They served as Director at Honor Fraser Gallery from 2021 to 2024 and are the co-founder of Departure Lounge, a nomadic exhibition platform supporting overworked artists and underfunded models of cultural exchange. In 2025, they join forces with the Tom of Finland Foundation and Metabolic Studio to develop anniversary programming for both Eastside institutions.

Edgar studied history and art at Carnegie Mellon University and creative writing at the University of Georgia. Their writing has appeared in publications by the Miller Institute for Contemporary Art, Contemporary Performance, and the Estonian Pavilion at the 59th Venice Biennale. They are a 2023–2024 SUPERCOLLIDER Art+Sci Ambassador and serve on the executive board of the New Media Caucus. Edgar’s exhibitions and projects have been featured in Artforum, Frieze, Forbes, Hyperallergic, Art Papers, Art Review, Artillery Magazine, The Los Angeles Times, CARLA, and NPR.

Below a thin layer of topsoil, the earth of my home state is red. The rust-colored clay in the American South is poor in nutrients but rich in pigment—a stubborn dye that stains water, skin, and denim alike. I grew up learning where to find the densest patches of muck and how to mix potions of vinegar and salt to combat their messy grip. But at some point, it became impolite to play in the mud. I didn’t notice when the fun stopped. I stopped growing up and began growing out of place.

That early sense of dissonance shaped how I move through the world as a curator. I know what it means to feel misrecognized, or not seen at all. I learned early that visibility can be both trap and tool, and that belonging isn’t something you’re given; it’s something you forge. Much of my work starts from this place: not assuming community, but co-creating it. My exhibitions often begin with a question, a tension, or an absence, and are shaped through long conversations, shared meals, intergenerational exchange, and cultural memory that isn’t always written down.

I build exhibitions like gatherings: time-jumping, memory-soaked, and delightfully disobedient. I draw from queer tactics—world-building, rumor, refusal, glitch—and work closely with filmmakers, dancers, color guard collectives, land stewards, and archivists... Much of my work is grounded in queer and grassroots archiving, not just as a reservoir of the past but as a living, leaknig practice of embodied knowledge, gossip, kinship, and survival. I’m drawn to what resists clean documentation. My exhibitions make space for the sticky, the spectral, the unsanitized.

When I curate, I move fluidly between research, conversation, writing, programming, and design, with each part informing the next. I listen carefully and work slowly, building trust through sustained engagement. Whether I’m working within an institution or collaborating with artists and organizers outside of one, I approach curating as a practice of shared authorship—not to impose coherence, but to hold space for complexity and create work that resonates with the people it’s made for.