Catholic Gilt
Reclamation and Appropriation of Religious Iconography in the Age of Queer Contemporary Art
Presented at the DU Art History Symposium and the Front Range Art History Symposium
Consisting of Research conducted during ARTH-3834: Global Contemporary Art and ARTH- 3702: Topics in Contemporary Art — Art And Politics in the Regan-Bush era at the 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. When adding the layer of sexuality to religious and spiritual-based works, the two seem to act like oil and water in how they are societally not able to mix. Throughout much of the history of art and history itself, notions of sex and queer identity are barred from being discussed in orthodox settings resulting in the two ideas to repel each other. However, this does not go to say that religion cannot inform queerness and art made by folks identifying as LGBTQ+. 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, several works created post-1980 have used religious motifs to their advantage, especially those created in the wake of the HIV/AIDS epidemic that reached its height in the 80s and 90s.
Catholic Gilt, I have discerned, takes the shame, sin, and traumas felt by religious or formerly religious queer artists and transforms them to be grand, referential, and thought-provoking. Oftentimes done through the reclamation and appropriation of religious imagery and renaissance compositions. Both well-known works and pieces from emerging, current artists are included here today 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 churches continue to invalidate our existence.
I would like to preface that I have approached my research 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. I will also be using the term “queer” to describe the artists and art that fall outside of the cisgender, heterosexual lens that much of the history of art is seen through.
As I mentioned, I am pursuing an art degree with distinction. My distinction body of work discusses my relationship with religion and the trauma that I have experienced as a queer person raised in the American South.
In its purest form, my art is representative of how my Catholic and conservative upbringing has impacted and influenced the way that my identity develops and continues to develop as an unapologetically queer individual. My artistic practice could be likened to a therapy that allows me to explore and experiment with ideas that were taboo in my childhood: sex, open expression, and the reclamation/repurposing of religious imagery. 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.
By inserting myself into appropriated Catholic images and environments, I create a “cult of self” that claims symbology, characters, and motifs of Catholic traditions for myself; creating a narrative centered on self-love, reconciliation, and extended exploration.
As a practicing artist and aspiring art historian, It is incredibly important for me to be aware of the artists and traditions that have come before my time, as well as the folks who are currently working with themes similar to the ones existing in my work.
To begin, I would like to discuss Andy Warhol’s 1986 Painting: The Last Supper (pink). 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 immigrated from Slovakia to Pennsylvania, he and his family would attend a local Byzantine Christian Church. There, he both observed and internalized the canon of Christian and 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 gay man, Warhol would continue to attend church services every Sunday.
Andy Warhol, The Last Supper (pink), 1986, synthetic polymer paint and silkscreen on canvas, 78” x 306”
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 later in his life as his fear of illness, imperfection, and bodily decay grew more severe. The scene is said to be where Jesus told 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.” and where Jesus told the apostles that one of them would betray him. The masterwork by DaVinci seems to reference one of the most notable moments in the New Testament gospel while visually communicating divinity through the repeated use of three in reference to the Holy Trinity and the use of a semicircular plane to reference the heavens.
When looking at Warhol’s appropriation, the 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 primary ways HIV was transmitted. In addition, the pink hue is uncannily similar to the pink triangle used to identify gay men in the holocaust. A symbol that would later be reclaimed by groups such as ACT UP and the Silence = Death project. Moreover, the nuances of betrayal evident in the original story are echoed at the time contemporary to the piece's creation as the Catholic church, and much of conservative America, would not acknowledge HIV and AIDS’s impact on LGBGTQ+ folks.
In all, 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 that continues today. Warhol, a contemporary master of appropriation in his own craft, uses religious compositions and motifs to create a new and impactful piece.
Moving forward chronologically and remaining within the realm of pop art, Keith Haring’s altarpiece addresses similar themes of spirituality and shame in the wake of the HIV/AIDS epidemic. The altarpiece functions as a testament to unapologetic creative expression during a time when Haring’s life was coming to an end. Reclaiming images such as the passion of Christ, the Madonna and child, and angels, Harring employs his signature, hieroglyph style on a bronze triptych in reference to Christian altarpieces that could be found in Cathedrals and churches. These paneled paintings, often arranged in triptych formations, served to highlight the altar space and pay respect to biblical stories, patrons, or the vast Christian hagiographic canon. According to the artist, the luminous or enlightened child was the "purest and most positive experience of human existence," and a motif that implied universal hope and redemption, especially in the scope of the 1980s for queer men.
Keith Haring, Altarpiece, 1990 (cast 1996), white gold patine on bronze, 81” x 60” x 2”
The altarpiece was initially sculpted and carved out of clay using a loop knife rather than using a brush and canvas. It was later cast in bronze after Harring’s death, ultimately becoming a reliquary-adjacent monument dedicated to the artist at his memorial service held at the Cathedral Church of Saint John the Divine in New York City. Altarpiece functions as a requiem for those lost to AIDS as well as a final, reflective piece for the artist who would succumb to a similar fate. Harring coaxes an audience into a reflective moment of prayer and reconciliation for the fallen queer martyrs while simultaneously appropriating forms and narratives from a faith that continuously denied the presence of the LGBTQ+ community
This work is included in the DAM’s collection and was recently on display in 2019. Specifically with this installation, the sentiment of 1990s-AIDS-era lamentation is emphasized by the solid pink backdrop, much like the previously-discussed Warhol painting. The simplistic framing of the sculpture against such a visually and politically compelling hue begs to be revered in a similar light to the religious altarpieces that precede it.
Despite not being created with the church in mind, by knowing of Felix Gonzalez-Torres’s upbringing in the Catholic church we can analyze his Candy Sculptures through a religious lens. An essential exploration seen in these sculptural installations are the ideas of impermanence 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.
Felix Gonzalez-Torres, Untitled (Portrait of Ross in LA), 1991, candies in colored wrappers, varying dimensions
This installation uses multi-colored candies piled in a corner as a surrogate body for Gonzalez-Torres’s late lover, Ross. 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, reproduction, and the incitement of a system-wide reaction. As the candies are removed from the mound, the political message that Gonzalez-Torres puts before his audience is also spread much like an HIV infection: unknowingly and rapidly.
The candy pieces could be interpreted as relics: the remains or body parts left by a saint postmortem. Relics imply the death, destruction, and martyrdom of 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. Although the sculptures may not overtly discuss Religious institutions and their resulting trauma or rejection, The candy mounds put forth by Gonzalez-Torres appear to take on a secondary meaning when observed through a religious lens.
Conversely to Gonzalez-Torres's body of work, Robert Gober created sculptures that overtly explore religion and spiritual trauma. I would go as far as describing Gober as embodying the juxtaposition of the normal with the deviant that much of the work created surrounding AIDS and queer men strived to achieve, all while exploring the intersection of sexuality, religion, and social taboo using 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 grapples with his identity at the height of the HIV/AIDS epidemic. For much of his childhood, Gober served as an altar boy and would participate in Christian rituals that one would expect an observant family would conduct. 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”. 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.
Of the works that read as overtly religious and queer, Gober’s Candle (1991) functions as the epitome of the paradox he creates by juxtaposing the natural and pure with the synthetic and perverted. At the time of its creation, New York bathhouses played host to a majority of homosexual sex encounters 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 motifs such as running water, sinks, purity, 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.
Robert Gober, Untitled (Candle), 1991, Beeswax, human hair, string, 8” x 5.9” x 6.5”
Despite the “gritty” 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. 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.
As we shift forward thirty years, it is still both incredibly evident and undeniable that Christianity, spirituality, and religious institutions are continuing to impact the way that LGBTQ+ artists approach their creative practices. Rather than employing formalist, traditional techniques, the French artist duo Pierre et Gilles (pierre e gille) use images of celebrities to create inherently queer and intentionally campy, kitschy, and referential portraits. The twosome began living and working together shortly after they first met in 19767. Since then, they have created a vast lexicon of hand-painted photos centered around religious and mythological 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 when compared to traditional Renaissance and Byzantine renditions. This instance prompted their conversation about the mystery and ambiguity that exist within theological spheres and how those 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 containing such sacred imagery, the duo has emphasized that they depict the importance of the body in Christianity without blasphemous intent. They find beauty in the nude body and allow the forms to guide the rest of the composition.
Pierre et Gilles, Le Christ aux outrages (Willy Cartier), 2018, Painted Photograph, 55.5” x 42.5”
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 in the crown of thorns, with a centralized, melodramatic figure, and brings it into a contemporary context with their choice of model and extravagant color. 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. Pierre et Gilles use camp and kitsch to tackle subject matters in a distinct way. Subject matters that would otherwise be heavy or intense but have been depicted with intention and reclamation in mind. 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.
Most recently, contemporary painter Ryan Driscoll has grappled with the schism between spirituality and sexuality in their referential work. Driscoll, who lives and works in the United Kingdom, uses classical mythology, biblical mythology, and Shakespearean characters to communicate their thoughts on “queer beauty, love, death, and the non-binary body.”3 Driscoll poses for the vast majority of their paintings, allowing them to insert themself into the queer celebratory narratives they construct. Saints and Sinners (2019) functions as a microcosm of the reclamation and allegory Driscoll consistently utilizes in their creative practice.
Ryan Driscoll, Saints and Sinners, 2019, oil on panel, dimesions unspecified
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 Baptist, prophet, and baptizer of Christ, frame Saint Sebastian. Where John and Mary are key figures in Biblical mythology, Saint Sebastian, who was sanctified closer to 300 AD, is deliberately chosen as the center subject. Sebastian was been claimed by many contemporary historians as a gay icon, namely for his often fit physique in paintings and persistence to survive attempted death by arrows. By putting the martyr central in the painting, Driscoll prioritizes queer folks’ stories in the canon of Christian myth5. Additionally, the three key figures are surrounded by what can be assumed to be the sinners, with their contorted bodies and colorfully-toned skin, 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: one of few painting mediums available to 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 stretching. 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 deliberate use and reclamation of biblical icons.
To conclude, I would like to circle back and insert myself into the narratives surrounding religious appropriation and reclamation that I am putting forth in this presentation. The research that I am continuing to work with as well as the artists that I have discussed today have both shaped my thinking surrounding art and have informed me of different ways to approach my creative practice. They have created a precedent for my work and have shined visibility on an art historical canon that is oftentimes overlooked.
My distinction body of work explores how I can insert myself into religious narratives to explore how my queerness has been informed by my Catholic upbringing. Moreover, I am also reconciling religious and childhood trauma by claiming Catholic motifs and art historical compositions for myself while collapsing them with queer cultural references. The work I am creating also explores color in a way that is distinct to myself: with the historical implications and connotational binaries of hues such as blue, pink, and gold are put on full display.
The images I have included in this presentation today, both completed and in progress, are a part of my distinction portfolio. Selected works will also be on display during the BFA and Distinction showcase, opening May 18, 2023 in the Vicki Myhren Gallery on campus.
