I’m Throwing out My Harry Potter Art
Why I’m taking my HP prints down for good.
Four years ago today, I was at a Harry Potter convention, experiencing what I called my “why J.K. Rowling sucks day.” That was my 3rd of 5 big annual cons, which would each be the summer centerpiece during years full of wizard rock concerts and fan gatherings.
In a unique sort of pilgrimage, I would join thousands of other attendees in over-air-conditioned vendor halls and panel rooms to revel in the story that laid the foundation for our community.
We knew that Harry Potter had problems.
I spent “why J.K. Rowling sucks day” in panels calling out canon micro and macro aggressions against marginalized communities: racism, homophobia, misogyny, there was a lot to process. We weren’t pleased, but I could accept the idea of our community claiming and bettering Harry Potter out of our love for it.
That’s since changed.
Watching J.K. Rowling proudly advocate for her transphobic beliefs isn’t just an attack against the LGBTQ+ community and my part in it, but it also challenges my pride for the community I once called home.
This may be cliche to say, but the Harry Potter community saved my life, if not literally, then by showing me the good in people; people who wanted to make the world a better place through joy and shared experiences, people who welcomed me without a moment’s hesitation.
I used to proudly announce my involvement in a community that championed social justice, LGBTQ+ rights always at the forefront. Even after taking a step back from Harry Potter, I was proud to share my history with the boy who lived.
Now, I am ashamed of my affiliation with J.K. Rowling.
My home is filled with reminders of my love for Harry Potter
The books were my original collection, starting with a paperback boxset ordered from a Scholastic catalog in elementary school. Having to carry it home from school wore out my little arms. After that set wore out, I splurged on a hardcover set, then later a U.K. paperback series that I found at a local rare and used bookstore. I later started collecting U.S. first printings from that same store, plus the extended canon works, any fan-written theory or analysis books I stumbled upon, and the occasional special edition.
Then came the clothes and memorabilia: robes, wands, chocolate frogs, you name it, I probably had it.
Going to conventions resulted in buying fan art — a lot of fan art. The prints pepper the walls of my house, exemplifying the creativity and skill of my former community.
The prints used to bring joy, but now they bring pain
Art that reminds us of treasured memories is a beautiful thing. To see an artist’s interpretation of a character or plot brings me back to my relationship with the subject as well as the euphoria of the environment where I bought the piece.
My Harry Potter art used to bring me that happiness but now serves as a reminder of the piece of my identity taken.
I look at fan art each day and am forced to consider how their inspiration has treated my community, and how I wouldn’t want anyone not intimately familiar with my relationship to Harry Potter to know they hung on my walls.
J.K. Rowling has never owed me anything, but knowing how much she influenced me and now knowing her beliefs feels like a massive betrayal of trust, the pain of which is hard to describe: sadness, anger, regret, all common emotions mixed into a strange situation where I don’t feel entitled to my own history with her work.
I can’t keep fighting this same battle with myself over how I’m supposed to interact with Harry Potter every time I glance at a wall. In therapy or with friends, sure, but I can’t put myself in a place of shame each time I enter or leave my bedroom.
I’m struggling to move on
The books, roughly 50 or so, are easy enough to hide behind others on a shelf or in a closet. I suppose I could donate some to the children in my life.
Most of the clothes have grown old with wear or don’t fit anymore anyway, and wands can go in drawers.
The prints created not to be read, worn, or played with but viewed, pose a problem.
I don’t know how I’m supposed to get rid of them.
But they need to come down.
These artists don’t deserve to have their work tossed in the trash because of J.K. Rowling’s actions
I’ve met all of the artists that I bought from. I’ve visited some of their booths over the course of years, making sure to stop by for our annual hello.
Their work is phenomenal, as has been their kindness. I don’t put something on my wall unless I can vouch for the creator, even if our relationship is limited to a 3-minute transaction. I stand by them until shown I shouldn’t, and none of them have done anything to make me ashamed of displaying their work.
J.K. Rowling, on the other hand, has.
I’m not sure if I have the nerve to throw anything out yet, but at the very least, my prints will be coming down and stored. Perhaps forgotten about or resented until I finally toss them.
And I feel incredibly guilty about it.
But I can’t be surrounded by shame anymore.
