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Issue 37 / May 2018 Notes on Curating www.oncurating.org Queer Curating Edited by Contributions by Jonathan Katz, Isabel Hufschmidt, and Änne Söll Birgit Bosold, Brian Curtin, Julia Friedrich, Vera Hofmann, Simon Martin, Fiona McGovern, Maura Reilly, Patrik Steorn, Ladislav Zikmund-Lender Challenging Hetero-centrism and Lesbo-/Homo-phobia: A History of LGBTQ exhibitions in the U.S. Queer Curating Challenging Hetero-centrism and Lesbo-/Homo-phobia: A History of LGBTQ exhibitions in the U.S. Maura Reily In this essay, I trace the historiography of LGBTQ exhibitions in the U.S. from the late 1970s to the present. Some of the key issues explored will include the concept of an artistic “sensibility” specific to sexual orientation, the curatorial “outing” of closeted artists or objects, the prevalence of lesbo- and trans-phobia, and the importance of museological interventions as “curatorial correctives.” The material outlined here is much more extensively analyzed in my book, Curatorial Activism: Towards an Ethics of Curating (Thames & Hudson), which is both an examination of mainstream contempo- rary curatorial practice—understood at its core as a sexist, racist and Eurocentric practice—as well as a historiography of paradigm-shifting exhibitions that have countered that discrimination, such as Magiciens de la terre, Elles, Global Feminisms, Ars Homo Erotica, En Todas Partes, Hide/Seek, Documenta 11, among many others. I begin my analysis in 1978, when the US artist and writer Harmony Hammond organized an exhibition entitled A Lesbian Show at 112 Greene Street Workshop in New York, which featured the work of eighteen artists. Hammond’s aim in the exhibition was not to discover or define a lesbian sensibility, but to present works with a broad range of aesthetic and shared thematic concerns, including “issues of anger, guilt, hiding, secrecy, coming out, personal violence and political trust, [and] self- empowerment.”1 Indeed, according to Hammond, only a few of the works referenced lesbian sexuality, and the majority of them did not engage directly with lesbian identity or experience. The only uniting factor was that the artists were willing to be “out” in this context. This was a courageous act in 1978, since most lesbians did not want to be identified solely on the basis of their sexual orientation. As a result, most of the works dealt with “notions of camouflage or hiding,” and none was erotic in content because, as Hammond explained, the “artists were wary of the ever-present male gaze.” 2 The case of A Lesbian Show raises some key issues that are in need of addressing in the context of LGBTQ exhibitions. First is the concept of a “sensibility” specific to sexual orientation. As with “women’s art” or “Latino art,” what is “lesbian art”? What is “gay art”? Does the art look different from that produced by non-LGBTQ artists? And, if there is a “sensibility,” how does it manifest itself in the work? The question of a gay or lesbian “sensibility” is one that has continually arisen in the historiography of LGBTQ exhibitions, from GALAS (1980) and Extended Sensibilities (1982) to In A Different Light (1993)––just as the idea of a “feminine sensibility” dominated women’s art production and exhibitions in the 1970s-80s. Another issue raised by Hammond’s A Lesbian Show in 1978 was the artists’ willingness to “come out” publicly. Since sexuality is not generally physically manifest—as is usually the case with sex and race—it requires disclosure, a self-outing. For many this is liberating; for others, terrifying. Fear of being “outed” can be so intense that some artists have resorted to coded iconographies, as in the work of Jasper Johns, Robert 54 Issue 37 / May 2018 Challenging Hetero-centrism and Lesbo-/Homo-phobia: A History of LGBTQ exhibitions in the U.S. Queer Curating Rauschenberg, and Marsden Hartley. The gay liberation movement of the 1960s and 1970s certainly changed that for some. As gays and lesbians became increasingly public, less closeted, they gained confidence and self-outing became less of an issue. But what if artists are not “out” publicly, as was the case with Johns and Rauschenberg: should a curator “out” an artist, even if the artist had intended not to “out” him- or herself? In 2013, the Museum of Modern Art (MoMA) presented an exhibition of the work of Johns and Rauschenberg from the mid to late 1950s that made no mention of the fact that the two artists were lovers for six years during this period of artistic triumph, when they were moving away from Abstract Expressionism toward Pop art. Instead, the introductory placard described them as “friends” who were “in dialogue with one another” during this period. (MoMA’s profile of gay icon Andy Warhol also fails to mention he was homosexual.) Given that Johns and Rauschenberg were closeted, does this represent homophobia and/or censorship on the part of the museum? Mark Joseph Stern, writing for Slate believes so, arguing that, “museums have a responsibility to acknowledge and consider the sexuality of artists in their collections when it is relevant to the work they are displaying…In the case of Johns and Rauschenberg, ignoring orientation amounts to curatorial malpractice.”3 For Stern, then, the museum’s actions were censorious. The oversight was particularly egregious, he argued, because Pop art, the genre the two artists founded, was “built upon rejection of societal norms, including hyper-masculinity and heteronormativity. Its gay dimension was present from its genesis, yet a casual visitor to Johns and Rauschenberg might think Pop art merely sprung out of two buddies’ wacky experiments.”4 MoMA’s censorship—or “curatorial malpractice”––also called into question how thoroughly the curators Ann Temkin and Christophe Cherix had researched the abundant academic writing on the subject, including the now-canonical essay by Ken Silver, “Modes of Disclosure: The Construction of Gay Identity and the Rise of Pop Art” (1992), which argued convincingly that the artists’ homosexuality, however coded, was evident in many of their works from the 1950s.5 It was also a grave oversight given that three year’s prior, in 2010, the exhibition Hide/Seek at the Smithsonian’s National Portrait Gallery, broke the silence on Johns and Rauschenberg, openly exploring the artists’ sexuality as it intersected with their work. Related to the issue of censorship is the fact that many exhibitions that claim to examine LGBTQ issues and histories often omit transgender artists (and also lesbian artists, who are more often than not excluded from group shows, particularly those curated by men). With the exception of rare shows like neoqueer (2004) at the Center on Contemporary Art, Seattle, and Citizen Queer (2004) at the Shedhalle in Zurich, queer exhibitions generally feature far more images of transgendered individuals than works by transgendered artists. This trend is evident in the majority of the exhibitions I am presenting in this essay. A kind of transgender tokenism forms around the popularization of Nan Goldin’s images of drag queens, Andy Warhol’s famed images of himself in drag, or portraits of the US filmmaker Jack Smith. In this context, works by transgender artists, like Del LaGrace Volcano, Juliana Huxtable, Vaginal Davis, Zachary Drucker, Patrick Staff, Loren Cameron, among many others, are sidelined even within self-consciously queer curatorial projects. Despite the latent transphobia that continues to exclude transgender artists from exhibitions, gay and lesbian artists have made significant progress in terms of visibility in the art world since the late 1970s. Art history books and curricula, many incorporat- ing the latest queer theory, have begun to explore and incorporate sexuality. But, as was the case with MoMA’s recent Rauschenberg/Johns retrospective, in mainstream 55 Issue 37 / May 2018 Challenging Hetero-centrism and Lesbo-/Homo-phobia: A History of LGBTQ exhibitions in the U.S. Queer Curating museums the acknowledgement of sexual orientation remains strikingly absent. Thus activist exhibitions such as Hide/Seek have attempted to rectify this tendency by re-investigating (and occasionally “outing”) queer artistic subjects, and specifically LGBTQ-oriented art museums have formed to combat historical “sins of omission,” including the Schwules Museum in Berlin (founded in 1985) and the Leslie-Lohman Museum of Gay and Lesbian Art in New York (founded in 1987). Despite these gains, many mainstream (non-LGBTQ) art-world professionals are dismissive of exhibitions with selection criteria based on sexual orientation—they are considered tokenist and essentialist, and therefore no longer necessary in a post- identity world. But, as this paper reiterates, there is still a pressing need for further curatorial activism that focuses exclusively on work by artists who are not white, heterosexual, Western males. What is more, curators of queer exhibitions would also do well to strive for greater inclusivity, for as I have discussed, the majority of these exhibitions suffer from a demonstrable lack of women artists, artists of color, and non-Western artists. Sexism, racism, ethnocentrism, and even lesbo- and transphobia continue to taint curatorial practices within the LGBTQ art community itself. Great American Lesbian Art Show (GALAS) (Woman’s Building, Los Angeles, 1980) In Spring 1980, a collective of artists associated with the Woman’s Building in Los Angeles organized the Great American Lesbian Art Show (GALAS), an initiative that sought to increase visibility for lesbian artists nationwide. As Terry Wolverton has explained, “The milieu that gave rise to GALAS was lesbian feminist, separatist, essentialist. Lesbians in general, and lesbian art in particular, existed almost entirely outside the boundaries of mainstream culture…When lesbian artists began, in the mid 70s, to seek out predecessors, they did not seem to exist.”6 In a brochure from the exhibition, the organizers defined lesbian art as “art made by lesbians; art which explores lesbian content; art which is woman-identified.

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