God Is Gay: A New Canon of Christian Iconography in Queer Art
Written by India Jeffes
Edited by Nicolas Poblete and Jacob Anthony
This collection seeks to complicate established narratives surrounding the use of Christian iconography by queer artists and subjects in the contemporary period. In the 1980s, significant interventions were made into the art historical canon which highlighted the under-representation of queer identities and the discriminatory practices of religious institutions. However, these past interventions have now themselves become eulogised and entrenched, limiting analyses of ‘queereligious’ art to themes of cultural politics and subversion. Such analyses emphasize the bitterness and suffering experienced by the queer community at the hands of the church. My canon disrupts this oversimplification of ‘queereligious’ art, moving beyond the association between religious iconography and queer suffering. I instead offer examples wherein queer artists and subjects have reclaimed the glorious and empowering energy inherent in Christian imagery. The five pieces in this collection demonstrate commonalities in both visual composition and the artists’ underlying message, which I will discuss following a catalogue entry presentation of my new canon.
Today, art historians frequently emphasise the homosexual identities of several famous artists whose work is associated with the church in an effort to rectify the repression of this reality in the past. The most notable examples include prominent artists of the Italian Renaissance period Leonardo da Vinci, Michelangelo, and Donatello. By the later twentieth century, the use of Christian iconography by queer artists was often purposefully subversive rather than in service of religious institutions. In the context of the gay liberation movement and the AIDS crisis, artists employed well-known religious imagery of martyrdom in order to critique the lack of compassion afforded to the suffering of the gay community. Two central works in this respect are David Wojnarowicz’s Bad Moon Rising (1989) and A Fire in my Belly (1986-87), which both generated a great deal of controversy and contributed significantly to the politically charged narrative that now surrounds queer art canon. The culture wars of the 1990s solidified discourses of binary opposition regarding religion and contemporary art, especially works by queer artists. Since this crucial 1980s context, critical art history has continuously reapplied that same framework.
My canon aims to move past this now mainstream analysis of religious motifs in queer art, as it often misinterprets or conflates the purposes of different works. Iconography is one of the most potent tools of visual culture for provoking strong, personal reactions from viewers who have already internalised the circulated meanings associated with the imagery. The five works that I have chosen each adopt Christian iconography as a powerful means of evoking reverence and glorifying their subjects.
Elisabeth Ohlson Wallin, Sermon on the Mount (1998). Photograph from the Ecce Homo exhibition.
The Ecce Homo exhibition by Swedish photographer Elisabeth Ohlson Wallin consists of twelve photographs recreating biblical scenes but substituting the religious figures with LGBT individuals. In Sermon on the Mount, Ohlson Wallin portrays this story from the Gospel of Matthew, replacing the figure of Jesus with a trans man and the disciples with members of the leather subculture. The artist is thus engaging with the internalised conventions of classical painting and transposing them onto a modern setting. Ohlson Wallin, herself a lesbian, adopted Christian motifs to convey the likeness between modern minorities and situations from the Bible, as well as to indicate the all-embracing love of God regardless of social stigmas. This exhibition is considered the artist’s most notable work and is typical of her oeuvre, in which her subjects are usually sexual minorities. Ecce Homo toured Europe from 1998 to 2004 and was presented primarily in Lutheran church spaces. Reactions to the exhibition were polarised as some received the intended message radically expressing Christian love while others considered her work to be sacrilegious. Some LGBT members of the church reflected that Ecce Homo helped them feel more welcomed and embraced by the church. Sermon on the Mount thus supports my new canon of ‘queereligious’ art as it invokes this familiar iconography to offer a more positive dialogue between Christianity and queerness.
Kehinde Wiley, St. Sebastian II (Columbus) (2006). Oil painting, 279.4 x 218.4 cm.
In St. Sebastian II (Columbus), Wiley illustrates an unnamed African American model, encountered off the street, in the pose associated with Saint Sebastian. Rather than depicting the Saint as pierced with arrows, the figure has been ‘pierced’ with inked tattoos. The subject of this portrait is embedded in a decorative background evocative of Baroque material culture. Wiley retains the pose, title, light effects, and textiles of traditional portraiture to elevate the depiction of his subject, a historically underrepresented and stereotyped figure in art practice. This portrait is characteristic of the artist’s work, as his oeuvre represents young black men and urban hip-hop visual culture through traditional artistic formalism that communicates power, wealth, value, and luxury. Wiley has been referencing the formalism and compositions of the Old Masters in this way since the mid 2000s. St. Sebastian II (Columbus) is one of the only instances in which the artist directly references a specifically Christian motif. The appropriation is subtle and is focused on the iconographic idealisation of the depicted individual, marking a divergence from previous uses of Saint Sebastian's image by queer artists to denote suffering and martyrdom. The piece expands the narrative of my canon because Wiley, who identifies as gay, does not engage with religious iconography in a bitter or purposefully shocking way but rather engages conventionally prestigious imagery to ennoble the subject of his portrait.
Gabriel Garcia Roman, Kia (2016) from the Queer Icons series. Photogravure with chine-collé and silkscreen, 15 x 18 inches.
This portrait depicts Kia Labeija, a multidisciplinary artist from Hell’s Kitchen. Kia is portrayed in a saintly pose, adorned with red robes and a halo circling her head. A gold text written by the subject surrounds her figure, commenting on her relationship with the universe in a manner resembling biblical verse. This piece is included in Garcia Roman’s portrait series Queer Icons, in which he photographs queer POC who are activists in their communities, giving visibility to a population that is generally under-represented in the art world. His work draws on the more colourful art traditions found in Mexican Catholic culture and was inspired by the fresco paintings of haloed saints that decorated the walls of his working class neighbourhood’s church. Garcia Roman is thus elevating these contemporary figures to the status of saints and imbuing their image with the nobility, pride, grace, heroism, and strength associated with saintly iconography. The artist’s ultimate message is that, like saints, these individuals are worthy of attention, veneration, emulation, and memorialisation. Applying a chine-collé technique to the photogravure process, the artist transmutes his subjects into textured icons that have a timeless quality. Although the Queer Icons series was displayed in exhibitions around the US, this project was undertaken in the artist’s free time while he was working at a market research firm. Kia reflects the themes of my new canon as Garcia Roman’s work is rewriting the narrative of how queer art, artists, and icons can fit into Christian art traditions.
This six minute scene from the penultimate episode of Norwegian television series Skam’s third season has come to be known as O Helga Natt (O Holy Night). The scene, which marks the climax of protagonist Isak’s character arc, shows him receiving a text from his love interest, Even, while attending Christmas mass and subsequently leaving the church to be with him. It is overlaid with a series of flashbacks which chart their love story as it unfolded throughout the season. This moment, along with other major landmarks in their narrative, is set at the timestamp 21:21. The repeated timestamp, itself a motif in the series, is a subtle reference to Genesis 21, a passage called ‘The Birth of Isaac’. Throughout the season, Isak comes to terms with his sexual identity, symbolically crucifying his former closeted self and being reborn through his relationship with Even. This scene is particularly significant to the metaphor as the song that plays throughout, O Helga Natt, is a psalm about the birth of Jesus. Although on a surface level Isak seems to be turning his back on religion to embrace his queer identity, the spiritual setting instead empowers Isak to definitively resolve his narrative. Director and writer Julie Andem thus employs Christian imagery and biblical references to highlight the powerful ability of homosexual love to deify, baptise, and resurrect those who experience it. As Skam is intended for an adolescent audience, younger viewers are thus invited to share in this evocative veneration of queer love.
Several queer contemporary music artists include Christian references in their lyrics or feature religious imagery in their album art. This playlist features 22 examples of such songs by currently active musicians. I chose these songs based on the fact that their use of iconography crafts a positive message about homosexuality rather than a pessimistic commentary on religion. On the day that I first started curating queereligious, Lil Nas X released the MONTERO (Call Me By Your Name) music video. The ensuing outpouring of vitriol from conservative Christians reaffirmed that many continue to perceive religion and queerness in binary opposition. Recent statements from the Vatican regarding homosexuality have similarly reified this opposition and reignited the discourse on the subject. Through this playlist, I aim to remind listeners that queer artists can interact with religious iconography in a more benevolent way. Songs such as God In Jeans, Pussy Is God, and Pray aren’t intended to vilify religion but rather see their respective artists drawing on long-internalised meanings to strengthen their subject matter. Whether mourning unrequited love as Bad Religion or asking a lover to Sanctify their body, these queer artists understand the inherent symbolic power of religious reference and use it to bolster their art. This playlist thus reflects the ongoing relevance of my new canon and, I hope, will encourage listeners to reconsider the multidimensional reality of how queer artists interact with religious themes.
The five pieces employ similar compositional strategies to invoke reverential and glorious associations, as their subjects are centred in the frame and seek direct eye contact with the viewer as an assertion of agency. Generally, the works are focused on the empowerment of a single depicted individual, thus reflecting a trend away from the provocative use of religious iconography to make political gains for the queer community as a whole. The collection is organised chronologically, starting in the late 1990s and culminating in 2021. It includes a diversity of mediums, from photography, to painting, photogravure, video, and audio. An aesthetic line runs through the collection, visible in the artists’ contrasting uses of light and darkness, similar colour palettes, and the inclusion of luxurious Christian material culture.
The works draw from different aspects of religious tradition, reflecting the intrinsic flexibility of Christian iconography. Ohlson Wallin’s work reimagines a biblical scene that has been constructed by numerous artists throughout history. Wiley’s painting references the conventional formalism of Saint Sebastian, a figure who has become an icon of male homoeroticism. This piece is particularly significant to the collection as its function diverges from that of previous renderings of Saint Sebastian by queer artists, including Renaissance painters and Wojnarowicz, who emphasised implications of suffering and martyrdom. Garcia Roman’s portrait similarly uses established Christian figurative conventions, while the final two pieces apply religious iconography to symbolically elevate experiences of homosexual love.
This intervention can thus help to shift the narrative surrounding Christian iconography in queer art by expanding the boundaries of how we define it. Past interventions succeeded in canonising this previously underrepresented group in a particular, politicized way but the discussed works show how that is simply not the whole story. While it is important to recognise those origins, we must also strive to look beyond them. My chosen works communicate more positive associations between queerness and religiosity. The artists here are taking canonically underrepresented individuals and imbuing them with the inherent power of religious symbolism that is rooted in centuries of art tradition.
Bibliography
Garcia Roman, G. “Queer Icons.” Gabriel Garcia Roman. n.d. www.gabrielgarciaroman.com/queer-icons-home.
Katz, J. D. 2006. ““The Senators Were Revolted”: Homophobia and the Culture Wars,” in A. Jones (ed.) A Companion to Contemporary Art since 1945. Oxford: Blackwell Publishing Ltd, 231-248. https://mcgill.on.worldcat.org/oclc/62381441.
Kaye, R. A. 1996. “Losing His Religion: Saint Sebastian as contemporary gay martyr,” in P. Horne & R. Lewis (eds.) Outlooks: Gay and Lesbian Visual Cultures. London: Routledge, 86-105. https://www.academia.edu/20578817/.
Rose, G. 2012. Visual Methodologies: An Introduction to Researching Visual Materials. Los Angeles: Sage Publications. https://mcgill.on.worldcat.org/oclc/70774202.
Smalls, J. 2008. “Homosexuality in the Italian Renaissance,” Gay Art. London, UK: Sirrocco. https://mcgill.on.worldcat.org/oclc/945641630.
“49 Kehinde Wiley St. Sebastian II (Columbus).” Phillips. Sept 23, 2011. https://www.phillips.com/detail/kehinde-wiley/NY000411/49.