Oil and Water
The Catholic undertones of Robert Gober and Felix Gonzalez-Torres's queer art and its relation to my current studio practice ARTH 3702: Topics in Contemporary Art — Art And Politics in the Regan-Bush eraUniversity of Denver
Religion and sexuality are, historically, like oil and water. Throughout much of the history of art and history itself, notions of sex and queer identity are barred from being discussed in orthodox settings. However, this does not go to say that religion cannot inform queerness and art made by queer folks. That appears to be the case with many of the artists of the 1980s and 1990s. Specifically, Robert Gober and Felix Gonzalez-Torres, two of the prominent figureheads of the period, were raised Christian and would later live their lives as openly queer men. Through the investigation of these artists’ respective bodies of sculpture created in the 1980s and early 1990s, we can see how their religious upbringings as queer individuals would influence their later art.
At the apex of his creative practice, Robert Gober (b. 1954 in Wallingford, CT) could be described as a sculptor who juxtaposes the normal with the deviant and explores the intersection of sexuality, religion, and social taboo through the use of twisted, handcrafted objects and installations. His work could be considered an “art of mourning” that epitomizes the experiences of a homosexual man of Catholic background who is grappling with his identity at the height of the HIV/AIDS epidemic (Robinson, 2014). Gober’s earlier work, such as his series of distorted sinks and grotesquely contorted playpens, acts as a testament to memory, childhood, and domesticity by using vaguely figural forms and known images made illegible. These works also function as a way for Gober to verbalize/materialize the trauma he carries as a gay man raised in a strictly Catholic home. For much of his childhood, Gober served as an altar boy and would participate in familial, Christian rituals. He has gone on to say that “I think the benefit of a Catholic childhood is your belief in visual symbols as transmitters of information and clues about life, whether it’s the mystery of life or life in general” (Robert Gober Sculptures...). This emphasis on symbology and imagery is evident in Gober’s work in the 1990s. The subsequent rejection of his Catholic faith would begin the redefinition of Gober’s identity and act as a catalyst for some of the greatest sculptural works of the late 20th century.
Robert Gober, Candle (1991), Beeswax candle with string and human hair
Of the works that read as overtly religious and queer, Gober’s Candle (1991) functions as the epitome of the paradox he creates through juxtaposing the natural and pure with the synthetic and perverted. At the time of its creation, New York bathhouses hosted the majority of homosexual sex acts and provided a haven to explore sexual desire. This setting provides context to Gober’s larger, thematic body of work and gives background to his continual use of running water, sinks, purity and cleanliness, orifices, and phallic forms. Candle can be thought of as Gober’s pinnacle phallic symbol. The beeswax prototype emerges from a square base inlaid with real human hair that is undoubtedly in reference to the male pubic region. Despite the “grity” form Gober employs, the fact that the candle remains unlit speaks to the ability of Gober’s work to be simultaneously virgin and erotic in nature. Moreover, the deliberate use of a material as malleable and delicate as wax nods to the vulnerability of both the human body and the weakness that exists within male arousal (Robinson, 2014). Candles of this virtue are typically functional in votive and devotional settings as well as romantic and intimate gatherings. This dichotomy of function can further speak to the schism between the Catholic church’s historical views on homosexuality and homosexual desire. Moreover, the context that Candle was sculpted during the peak of the AIDS epidemic allows the Catholic concepts of mourning to be appropriated as a requiem for those Gober may have lost to the disease.
Robert Gober, Untitled (1997)
Gober’s Untitled (1997) installation is, undoubtedly, his ’master work’. The multi-element, full-room exhibition acts as a culmination of every theme Gober had explored in the past and executed it on a grand scale. Gober dug out the foundation of the exhibition space at the Museum of Contemporary Art in Los Angeles to install plumbing. Central in the room is an image of the Madonna, pierced by a pipe and with open suitcases laying open to either side. In both suitcases and under the statue are situated sewer grates. As the viewer peers into the grates, they see wax legs, phalluses, coins, and algae caught in running water. The idea of flowing water as cleansing in both a biblical context and the circumstances of HIV and AIDS is not new to Gober’s sculptural endeavors. However, it is now blatantly confronting the viewer and almost forcing them to interact. Moreover, the image of the virgin is starkly contrasted with phallic forms. Although this juxtaposition has been met with much criticism, it is worth noting that there is no essence of penetration (Robinson, 2014). Instead, this notion simply capitalizes on ideas previously introduced with Candle: the coexistence and conversation between that of what is vulgar and that of what is pure. Overall, the installation confronts Gober’s upbringing in a faith that does not and would not fully accept him while immersing the audience and forcing them to experience similar trauma.
The work of Robert Gober can seemingly not be brought up without also discussing Felix Gonzalez-Torres. Gonzalez-Torres (b. 1957 in Guáimaro, Cuba) was best known for his sculpture, photography, and conceptual art linked to identity, loss, and desire issues (Encyclopedia Britanica). Much like the artists preceding him, Gonzalez-Torres capitalizes on the appropriation of well-known images and objects to construct compositions that challenge the originality of modern art. Much like Gober, Gonzalez-Torres was also raised Catholic and later identified as a gay man. As such, most of his work investigated his homosexual identity and the sociopolitical strife concurrent with AIDS and HIV.
Whereas Gober’s body of work leans more overtly religious in nature, the work of Felix Gonzalez-Torres is much more subtlety charged with Catholic ideas. Gonzalez-Torres, in fact, did not create his sculptural installations with religious intentions. However, knowing of Gonzalez-Torres’s upbringing in the Catholic church, we can analyze his collection of work through a religious lens.
Felix-Gionzalez-Torres, Untilted (Portrait of Ross in LA), 1991, various colored candies,
Dimensions vary with installation; ideal weight 175 lbs.
An essential exploration seen in Gonzalez-Torres’s sculptural installations is the idea of permanence and audience interaction. Of the sculptures that examine this theme, Untitled (Portrait of Ross in LA) from 1991 does an excellent job of catalyzing conversation and solidifying Gonzalez-Torres’s status as a queer martyr. This installation uses multi-colored candies piled in a corner as a surrogate body for Gonzalez-Torres’s late lover. The candies are meticulously weighted to equate to Ross’s weight and are displayed with no plaque or information, therefore inviting the viewer to take a piece and converse with the piece. In their ingestion of the candy, the viewer is unknowingly undergoing a similar experience as the transmission of the disease that Gonzalez-Torres’s lover fell to: the infiltration of the host, division and reproduction, and the ability to incite a system-wide reaction. As the candies are removed from the mound, the political message is spread much like an HIV infection, unknowing and rapid. Moreover, the candy pieces could be interpreted as relics: the remains or body parts left by a saint postmortem (Sáenz Tabares, 2018). Because relics imply the death, destruction, and martyrdom of the one the individual they originate from and their subsequent circulation, the practice of taking the candy from the pile and putting it in circulation could even be likened to the Eucharist, the bread and wine that symbolized the body and blood of Christ and the incorporation thereof into the hosts’ own body.
Felix Gonzalez-Torres, "Untitled" (Lover Boys), 1991, Blue-and-white spiral candies in clear wrappers, endless supply, Overall dimensions vary with installation, Ideal weight: 355 lb.
Untitled (Lover Boys) further expands on the ephemeral qualities explored in Portrait of Ross in LA. Rather than using a singular human’s weight to create the installation, the blue and white candies equal the combined weight of both Gonzalez-Torres and his late lover as the swirls of each piece resemble an embrace the two would share. Lover Boys then effectively acts as a memorial for both men who died of AIDS-related illnesses. Memorials, by definition, insinuate an absence or commemoration. It is easy to suggest Gonzalez-Torres’s continued use of candy spills is commemorative of those they are modeled after. By looking at these piles of sweets through the religiously charged lens provided by Daniel Santiago Sáenz Tabares, we can interpret Felix Gonzalez-Torres’s creative practice as one that attempts to construct a Hagiography, or a lexicon of a saint’s life in any devotional context, of both his own life and the life of his lover, Ross. Because holiness is historically derived from marginalization, rather than the performing of typically “holy” acts, we can suggest that the queer dissent and identity posed in Gonzalez-Torres’s work gives the artist a holy quality to his community. Moreover, the concept of queer martyrdom, the suffering, sacrifice, and death of Gay men and women at the hands of the contemporary plague that is AIDS, could provide another avenue to achieve “holiness” (Sáenz Tabares, 2018). Gonzalez-Torres’s marginalization as a queer man and the sociopolitical connotations that that title carries during the 1990s solidifies his status as a queer saint upon his passing. When taking these notes into account, the synthesis of queer sainthood depends on the marginalization, and subsequent action taken to address that marginalization, such as the art Gonzalaz-Torres has created. The art may not be overtly religious, but its apparent political agenda can thrust it into a religious conversation and the ever-compiling “religion” defined by prominent queer figures and artists.
As I’ve developed my studio practice in college, I have honed in on exploring the ways my Christian upbringing can be combined with queer culture in my art. I create paintings and prints that explore more prominent themes of identity and belongingness as a queer person raised in conservative, catholic spaces. My process includes addressing what was taboo in my childhood – sex, gore, open expression – through form and iconography drawn from art historical works, Christian history, and pornography. I was never provided a space to discuss or even think about such sensitive topics, and I have found my creative practice to be a type of therapy to help me unpack the feelings that I had to repress during the first chapter of my life. Although I am only in the genesis of my visual art career and lack much political experience or HIV/AIDS-related trauma that both Gober and Gonzalez-Torres carry with them, I find my work to gravitate towards similar themes explored by the artists.
Alex Blom, Sunday Service (2022), Acrylic, Screenprint, Oil, Oil Stick on Canvas
In my recent artistic endeavors, I have been putting myself in the guise of famous art historical works and appropriating both form and text to create screen print and oil paint compositions that put myself in the history of both art and Christianity. In doing so, I am reclaiming the icons of a religion that shunned my identity and created my own cult surrounding my queerness. To begin this body of work, I created Reconcile, a self-portrait in the form of traditional depictions of Christ paired with motifs of the angel and devil in the style of cherubs. By putting myself at such a zenith, I hope to communicate that religious trauma can be discussed in a progressive manner. To continue my thematic collection of paintings, I am currently working on Sunday Service. This painting explicitly cites Romans 12:1-2: a New Testament passage discussing living sacrifices and heavenly worship. This text, paired with my portrait caressing a male partner’s nude lower half and covered in ejaculatory fluid, appropriates the meaning of language and discusses the significance of kink (specifically, body worship) in the LGBTQ+ community. In both paintings, the color blue holds a heavy significance. Firstly, I use blue to process the masculinity forced upon me from a young age and how I fooled myself into liking the hue to fit in with my peers. Additionally, blue’s significance in the Bible represents the heavens, healing, and the holy presence of God. By combining these two fundamental notions, I paint myself in blue as both a means of therapy and to thrust myself into a holy light in the queer anthology I am creating.
Despite Christianity’s persistent rejection of queer identities, it is undoubtedly that queer artists’ religious upbringing manifests in the work they create. In the case of Robert Gober, the Catholic undertones of both his Candle sculpture and Untitled installation are made explicit and successfully juxtapose the pure with the perverted. Meanwhile, Felix Gonzalez-Torres’s candy-based installations address the human decay at the hands of AIDS as the viewers gradually take parts of the heap with them. Knowing of Gonzalez-Torres’s Christian childhood, this taking and ingesting can be interpreted as a ritualistic, communion-like act in which a purveyor takes part in hopes of becoming one with the idol they look to. While my work is in development, and I am figuring out who I am as an artist, I believe that looking to these aforementioned icons can provide me with both aspiration and inspiration. The appropriative and sociopolitical nature of both of their respective bodies of work inspires me to look at my past and bring my experiences to a contemporary context as a means for change. I have begun using the term “queer” rather than the simple “gay” because of the social and political connotations the word holds and how connected I feel to that history, I may not have as many first-hand accounts as Gonzalez-Torres and Gober have witnessed at this point in my life, but I know that the folks who precede me allow me to express who I am as both an artist and a person. The holy water and anointing oil may have burned both myself and my chosen family of the past. However, I believe that these holy opposites can provide the avenue to create a queer history and Gay hagiography for our future family to look towards.
References
Encyclopedia Britannica, inc. (n.d.). Felix Gonzalez-Torres. Encyclopedia Britannica. Retrieved May 17, 2022, from https://www.britannica.com/biography/Felix-Gonzalez-Torres
Robert Gober sculptures, Bio, ideas. The Art Story. (n.d.). Retrieved May 17, 2022, from https://www.theartstory.org/artist/gober-robert/
Robinson, W. (2014, October 8). Gay and god: Walter Robinson on the perverse art of Robert Gober. Observer. Retrieved May 17, 2022, from https://observer.com/2014/10/gay-and-god-walter-robinson-on-robert-gober-at-moma/
Sáenz Tabares, D.S. (2018). Towards a Destructive, Unmonumental, Queer Hagiography: Félix González Torres and the Spiritual- Activist Potential of Destruction. Conexión Queer: Revista Latinoamericana y Caribeña de Teologías Queer: Vol. 1 , 119-144. Available at: https://repository.usfca.edu/conexionqueer/vol1/iss1/5
Smith, R. (1997, November 18). Art Review: Religion that's in the details; a Madonna and drain pipe radiate an earthy spirituality. The New York Times. Retrieved May 17, 2022, from https://www.nytimes.com/1997/11/18/arts/art-review-religion-that-s-details-madonna-drain-pipe-radiate-earthy.html
