Catholic Gilt: An Exhbition Proposal
Reclamation and Appropriation of Religious Iconography in the Age of Queer Contemporary Art
ARTH-3834: Global Contemporary Art
University of Denver
Though Christianity in art has been a theme long explored by artists, art historians, and religious practitioners alike, the focus on religion in a contemporary context has long been a public debate. Whether it be the use of Catholic icons to create an anachronistic masterwork or the deliberate desecration of holy images to construct a new narrative, some works created post-1980 have used religious motifs to their advantage.
For many folks, Catholicism and Christianity are so highly revered that appropriating their imagery may be inappropriate. Therein lies the point. The artists selected use religious motifs and personal mythologies to dismantle the greater society's admiration for western religion. Moreover, the counter-intuitiveness of having queerness and religion occupy the same space highlights how religion itself is counterintuitive1. How can we place our blind trust in an entity we cannot see, hear, or touch? The blind faith exhibited in western religions, and especially Christianity and Catholicism, seem to epitomize the typical queer experience: the persistence to pursue an existence that has been denied since its genesis.
The focus on religion and spirituality in art from queer artists is not new, but the notion has yet to be exhibited in a museum or gallery on a large scale. From my gatherings, the only institution that has attempted to spotlight the Brooklyn Museum with their show Andy Warhol: Revelation (November 2021 – June 2022). The exhibition examined the dualities that often exist in Warhol’s art and how their links with Renaissance Imagery and the Catholic church interact with Warhol’s identity as a gay man2.
Catholic Gilt takes the shame, sin, and traumas felt by religious or formerly religious queer artists and transforms them to be grand, referential, and thought-provoking. Both well-known works and pieces from emerging artists are included in the exhibition to provide a holistic and comprehensive narrative of queer, “other” spirituality. The resulting collection of works defines a pseudo-renaissance of self-love and expression in an age where the Catholic church continues to validate our existence.
I am approaching this exhibition through the lens of a white, queer person raised in the Catholic church. As such, the artists that I have chosen to include have created work that aligns with my experience as much as it has with their own.
An ulterior purpose for this proposal is to continue analyzing the artists I am studying for my Bachelor of Arts in Art distinction project. I am investigating how my Catholic and conservative upbringing has impacted and influenced how my identity develops and continues to develop as an unapologetically queer individual. Although I no longer identify with the Catholic faith, it is undeniable that the many years surrounded by religious iconography and Catholic culture have left a deep impression on my life to this point. The pieces I have selected for the exhibition proposal closely align stylistically and thematically with the work I am currently creating.
Ryan Driscoll, Saints and Sinners (2019), Oil on Wood
The first work included in the exhibition is from contemporary painter Ryan Driscoll. Driscoll, who lives and works in the United Kingdom, uses classical mythology, biblical mythology, and Shakespearean characters to communicate his thoughts on “queer beauty, love, death, and the non-binary body.”3 Driscoll poses for the vast majority of his paintings, allowing him to insert himself into the queer celebratory narratives he constructs. Saints and Sinners (2019) functions as a microcosm of the reclamation and allegory Driscoll consistently utilizes in his creative practice.
The painting specifically depicts Driscoll in the guises of the Virgin Mary, Saint Sebastian, and John the Baptist. Mary, a symbol of purity and virtue, and John the Baptist4, prophet and baptizer of Christ, frame Saint Sebastian. By explicitly placing Sebastian, martyr and gay religious icon, for his often fit physique and persistence to survive attempted death by arrows, Driscoll prioritizes queer folks’ stories in the canon of Christian myth5. Additionally, the three figures are surrounded by what can be assumed to be the sinners, further highlighting the dichotomy between good and evil prevalent throughout biblical stories.
Regarding reclamation, Driscoll reclaims biblical icons and a mannerist-esque figurative style. Moreover, Driscoll also used oil on wood: the medium of choice for many Renaissance and Mannerist painters. Mannerism, consecrated in 1520 in Italy, emphasizes an artist’s self-consciousness over realism. As a result, the artist’s state of mind is conveyed through avenues of acidic color, space compression, and body stretching6. The mannerist tradition that Driscoll employs in his paintings evokes a sense of classical fear, beauty, and power. Moreover, he takes the queer mind and visually conveys the “otherness” experienced by queer folks through the reclamation of biblical icons.
Pierre et Gilles, Le Christ Aux Outrages (Willy Cartier), 2018, painted inkjet print on canvas
Rather than employing formalist, traditional techniques, the artist duo Pierre et Gilles use images of celebrities to create intentionally campy, kitschy, and referential portraits that are inherently queer in nature. The twosome began living and working together shortly after they first met in 1976. Since then, they have created a vast lexicon of hand-painted photos centered around religion and mythology themes that have become iconic in every sense of the word.
When specifically asked about their religious fascinations in an interview with Forbes, the duo cited that they were both brought up in the Catholic faith. Even if they have since been removed from the practice, the lasting impressions are undoubtable. Moreover, the hyper-fixation of religion in their artistic practice was prompted by a trip to India, where they saw the local people appropriate Christian icons in a more colorful, over-the-top style compared to traditional Renaissance and Byzantine art8. This instance prompted their conversation about the mystery and ambiguity in theological spheres and how those mysteries and narratives can apply to, if not merge, with art.
The mystery of religion and the life of Christ is mirrored in the mystery of art, and Pierre et Gilles capitalize on the blind trust we put in faith and the mystical qualities of both faith and art. Despite the gay overtones of work with such sacred imagery, the duo has emphasized that they emphasize the importance of the body in Christianity without blasphemous intent. They find beauty in the nude (or partially nude) body and allow the forms to guide the rest of the composition9.
The work selected from the artist pair is Le Christ aux outrages (Willy Cartier), 2018. Pierre et Gilles frame French model Cartier in the melodramatic guise of Jesus, drenched in blood and depicted half-naked draped in cloth of a similar hue. The manipulated photograph takes Renaissance depictions of Christ, with a centralized, melodramatic figure, and brings it into a contemporary context with their choice of model and extravagant color10. The figure is framed with a decadent golden border – a much more kitschy version of the trim seen on tabernacles and church niches. Kitsch is not inherently crafty, much like camp does not have to resort to gimmicks. The opulent designs and textures combined with such a theatrical staging of the subject allow the artists to appropriate revered and holy subject matters while invoking their contemporary narrative of queer spirituality.
Andy Warhol, The Last Supper (pink), 1986. Acrylic and Silkscreen ink on Canvas.
Though he may be most well-known for his portraits of celebrities and depictions of everyday objects, Andy Warhol has an extensive library of artwork that centers on Christian themes and icons. Although not overtly queer in most cases, his work based on religion appropriates iconography while simultaneously weaving in a queer self-narrative. When Warhol (born Andrew Warhola) immigrated to Pittsburgh from Slovakia, he and his family attended a local Byzantine Christian Church. There, he both observed and internalized the canon of Catholic icons, which later influenced the iconographic style we would later see as a marquee of his work. Later in life, despite hosting lavish gatherings at his Factory and living as a queer man, Warhol would continue to attend church services every Sunday11.
The antithetical nature and duality of Warhol’s queerness and spirituality appear to make their apex with his rendition of Da Vinci's The Last Supper12. In this specific rendering, Warhol transposes the known masterwork onto a diptych of pink, further emphasizing his use of the multiple in his creative practice. The manipulation of known images is no stranger to Warhol, but they take on an additional meaning in his later life as his fear of illness, imperfection, and bodily decay grew more severe.
For historical context, Leonardo Da Vinci's original masterwork has been said to be an amalgamation of artistic aesthetics, geometry, and faith in a singular composition. The fresco captures the exact moment when Jesus tells the apostles that one of them will betray him and the chaos that ensues after. Additionally, Jesus tells the apostles, “Drink from it, all of you. This is my blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many for the forgiveness of sins.” The masterwork seems to reference one of the most notable moments in the New Testament gospel and visually communicates divinity through the repeated use of three to reference the Holy Trinity and the use of a semicircular plane to reference the heavens13.
When looking at Warhol’s appropriation, his diptych painting translates the agony and trepidation felt by the LGBTQ community in the wake of the AIDS crisis to canvas. The symbology of the body and blood seen in Da Vinci’s The Last Supper assumes more significance when looked at through the lens of a queer person, especially with how the body, fluids, and intimacy became spotlit, as they were the primary ways HIV was transmitted. In addition, the pink hue is uncannily similar to the inverted pink triangle used by groups such as ACT UP: a symbol formerly associated with gay men in the holocaust and later reclaimed as a tool of empowerment14. The painting amplifies the chaotic energy felt in Da Vinci’s The Last Supper and adds layers of meaning in the context of the ever-growing HIV/AIDS epidemic.
Alex Blom, Reconcile (2022), Acrylic, Screenprint, Oil, Oil Stick on Panel
In addition to the three pieces in the exhibition, I would also like to include one of my paintings to investigate how the themes and motifs I discuss align with those of the artists chosen. I was born and brought up in Louisville, Kentucky, where I attended Catholic school through grade six and was later confirmed in the faith at age fourteen. Since coming out as a queer person at fifteen, I have removed myself from Catholicism and the hypocritical rhetoric of the church that did not accept my identity. Though I have not observed organized faith for the past several years, the impression that Catholic teachings, symbols, and constructs have left on me has yet to be cleansed away. For my BA in Art distinction, I am exploring how my upbringing in a predominantly Christian and conservative space has and continues to impact my ever-developing identity and how I can reclaim the themes, motifs, and icons I was forced to internalize to create a body of work focused on self-love and acceptance.
The piece that I have included, Reconcile, jumpstarted my full-fledged investigation into spirituality and its relation to the queer self. I paint myself in the guise of traditional depictions of Jesus Christ in which he conveys amazement, wonder, and authority in both his stoic posture and subliminal hand signals15. I bring this iconographic style into a contemporary light by painting myself monochromatic blue. I use blue to communicate how I was forced to internalize masculinity as a child and force myself to “become blue” to fit in. Additionally, blue has biblical connotations of the heavens and healing16. In my deliberate and almost exclusive use of blue to paint myself, I am claiming the associations with the color for myself and using them as a mode of therapy.
Moreover, I screen-printed repetitive motifs of an angel and a devil in the style of renaissance Cherubs in the background. Cherubs have long been claimed to be deliverers of the word of God and symbols of playfulness, joy, and purity17. I portray these notions with one of the figures while contrasting them with a more demonic, cherub-like figure representing corruption and turbulence. The combination of the two is a testament to the duality I feel every day and my struggles with mental health.
Although each of the artworks selected for the exhibition come from different periods and areas of the world, the throughline of reclaiming and appropriating Catholic and Christian imagery as a means of creating a new narrative remains consistent. In a contemporary time where the Christian church, conservative politicians, and far-right Americans art continuously trying to deny the LGBTQ+ community the right to express their identity safely, a spotlight on queer spirituality is timely and paramount.
As an art historian, I have always been fascinated with how openly gay artists can channel religious trauma into their creative practices. But as an out and proud queer person, I look for any way to hold space for other queer folks in hopes that their experiences can expand my own and an audience’s worldview. The reclamation and appropriation of religious iconography in queer contemporary art allow the artists to both reconcile damage done by religious institutions and empower their community to remain hopeful and strong. My hope for this exhibition is to provide an aesthetically and thematically cohesive overview for the way that people with similar background to my own grapple with their religious upbringing and its influence on their respective identities as out LGBTQ+ artists.
References
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