PORTFOLIO

  • Twink Death: A Camp Reinterpretation of Memento Mori

    For Jean

    “Twink” is gay slang for a young man with a slim, boyish build, often characterized by little to no facial or body hair. Many self-identified twinks embrace feminine traits and an androgynous appearance. However, as time passes, facial hair grows, hairlines recede, and wrinkles start to appear, leading to the loss of the twink’s youthful appearance —“Twink Death”.
    While it might sound a little dramatic or funny, the rapid rise in popularity of this concept highlights some bigger issues about beauty standards and ageism in queer culture.

    The viral tweet about Leonardo DiCaprio’s twink death that popularized the term

    A Camp Symbol of Memento Mori

    The installation consists of a jockstrap surrounded by a carefully arranged circle of Schwedenbomben. Their delicate shells, which protect the soft interior, crack under the slightest touch. This echoes the vanitas tradition, particularly the Baroque motif of desserts in still lifes, symbolizing the impermanence of life and the futility of earthly pursuits. However, the schwedenbomben add a layer of irony: as mass-produced, inexpensive treats, they contrast sharply with the classical depictions of memento mori. Their kitsch appeal aligns perfectly with camp aesthetics—a style deeply rooted in gay and LGBT culture that embraces exaggeration, theatricality, and artifice to subvert traditional norms. In this context, schwedenbomben can be seen as a potent symbol that fuses these two vastly different aesthetics and meanings, offering a camp reinterpretation of memento mori.

    Willem Claesz. Heda Still Life with Fruit Pie and various Objects. 1634
    Oil on panel. 43.7 x 68.2 cm
    Museo Nacional Thyssen-Bornemisza, Madrid
    The desert in Baroque still life functions as a meditation on the impermanence of life and the futility of earthly pursuits.

    Pleasure over Practicality

    At the same time, both the jockstrap and the Schwedenbomben function primarily as sources of pure pleasure. Sweets, packed with sugar, offer no real nutritional value. Instead, their taste, look, and smell are designed to heighten the experience of indulgence. Similarly, the jockstrap barely covers the skin, functioning less as a practical garment and more as a means to enhance the body’s sexual allure. Together, through a significant overlap of symbolic meanings, they emphasize the fleeting nature of sensual pleasure.

    A Queer Ritual

    But where is the body? Is it a summoning, an offering, or both?

    Is it a food offering?

    The lying on the ground jockstrap evokes the absence of the body. It may symbolize the person it once belonged to, or perhaps something they desired. This ties seamlessly with the Schwedenbomben, hinting at food offerings for the dead—a tradition that spans cultures and continents. In Mexico’s Día de Muertos, vibrant altars brimming with food honor and connect with departed loved ones. Similarly, the Slavic ritual of Dziady involves leaving offerings for ancestral spirits. In China’s Hungry Ghost Festival, food is presented to wandering souls to ensure they are nourished in the afterlife. In West African yam festivals, ceremonial offerings to ancestors serve to honor their memory and seek blessings. These practices underscore the universal human need to bridge the gap between the living and the dead.

    Frontispiece to a 1620 printing of Doctor Faustus showing Faustus conjuring Mephistophilis. 
    Swinside stone circle, Cumbria, England
    Photo by David Kernow

    or is it a Summuning?

    Meanwhile, the circle suggests a protective barrier—separating the summoner from the unknown forces they seek to invoke. In Western esoteric tradition, materials like salt, flour, or chalk were used to form magic circles. Yet here, the Schwedenbomben are used, introducing a humorous twist—a sprinkle of absurdity.

    Echoing the ancient stone circles, the piece draws on the traditions of Land Art and Arte Povera from a queer perspective—because even in the afterlife, camp deserves a seat at the table.

    These ritualistic aspects of the installation also resonate with deeper themes of collective mourning and personal loss within the queer community. So, who is this queer ritual for?

    HIV/AIDS Epidemics and Mental Health Crisis

    In 1991 Felix González-Torres placed a pile of wrapped candies in a gallery to commemorate the loss of his close friend to AIDS — Untitled” (Portrait of Ross in L.A.). Visitors were free to take candies away. The gradually diminishing pile of candies mirrored the deterioration and disappearance of patience consumed by the disease. The artist transformed private loss into a public act inviting the audience to engage in a shared experience of mourning and reflection.

    A sugar skull, a common gift for children and decoration for the Day of the Dead.
    Photo by Spangineer.
    Félix González-Torres, “Untitled” (Portrait of Ross in L.A.)
    Photo by mark6mauno.

    Similarly, my piece reflects the grief I carry from losing my dear friend, Jean Cueto, who took his own life. His death is a reminder of the struggles faced by many of us within the LGBT community. According to a 2023 Trevor Project survey, 18% of LGBT youth have attempted suicide—twice the rate of their peers in the general teenage population. This devastating statistic highlights the enduring effects of minority stress, which amplifies feelings of invisibility and hopelessness and too often leads to the loss of young lives.

    Humor as Resistance

    Yet, despite the heaviness, there is room for a gentle smile—a bittersweet nod to life’s absurdities. The Schwedenbomben and jockstrap are a playful juxtaposition, combining sensual desires and intimacy with the inevitability of decline. Humor, after all, is often the queer community’s most powerful form of resistance: a way to embrace our fragility while laughing in the face of despair. This piece stands as both a personal tribute to Jean and a call for solidarity, visibility, and care within our community.

  • Sweet Jesus!

    Performance Sweet Jesus, Queer Museum Vienna, 2024
    Photo by Marija Šabanović

    Dzika (Polish for “Wild“) was a nurturing haven for an alternative art scene. It showcased young, experimental artists within the intimate confines of a shared flat in a residential block. This distinctive space offered a platform for radical creations often deemed provocative, particularly under Polish law, which prohibits insulting religious sentiments (Article 196). Within this refuge, artists found the freedom to express ideas that would otherwise be suppressed by societal norms and the legal constraints of traditional galleries.

    Installation Sweet Jesus, communion host, and jam, 2010

    The interplay between the communion host and jam accentuates the host’s physicality, simultaneously diminishing its original gravity as a form of defiance against the oppressive religious landscape in Poland. This juxtaposition is executed with a subtle infusion of humor, encouraging a lighthearted interaction with an object laden with meaning—one that the disciplined queer community was taught to hold in high regard.

    In 2016, I was invited to craft a performance that served as a continuation and expansion of “Sweet Jesus,” inspired by the works of Iwona Teodorczuk-Możdżyńska. Draped in the attire of a papal figure (a costume amalgamating papal robes and drag aesthetics), I served communion hosts with jam to the guests. Unlike the earlier occurrence, these hosts weren’t presented as artifacts – art objects; instead, they took on the role of a delectable dessert for the guests. Amidst the reign of the Law and Justice party (PIS) and the escalating influence of the Church, this performance became a symbolic act of rebellion and subversion—bringing forth queer perspectives on the oppressive culture and its absurdities (for example the irony that while Drag Queens are often criticized for wearing dresses, the attire of the clergy, including the papal robes, is essentially a form of drag in itself).

  • Saint Anthony and the Demons: A Queer Theological Reading

    Saint Anthony and Demons, 2012
    Oil canvas, 160×120 cm
    private collection

    The Legacy of Saint Anthony

    Saint Anthony, a Christian monk from Egypt, is widely regarded as the father of monasticism. Born into a wealthy landowner family, he renounced his inheritance at 18, giving away all his possessions to live an ascetic life in the desert. According to legend, Anthony endured a series of supernatural temptations during this period, which have been immortalized in Christian art. In my interpretation of The Temptation of Saint Anthony, I reimagine this iconic narrative through the lens of Queer Theology.

    Shepards. 2013
    Oil on canvas. 80×80 cm
    private collection

    Queer Theology: A Subversive Framework

    Queer Theology, a framework that reclaims and reinterprets Christian texts through the lived experiences of the LGBTQ+ community, challenges the rigid binaries of gender and sexuality embedded in traditional theology. It is intentionally subversive, deconstructing the “natural” categories that have long dictated the structure of sexual and gender identities. Through this lens, Christianity is reclaimed for queer bodies and souls, offering a radical shift in understanding divinity, morality, and embodiment.

    In classical portrayals, Saint Anthony is often depicted as a stoic figure, tempted by a woman or tormented by demons—forces representing sin and sensual desires—while he embodies virtue and spiritual resilience. This narrative perpetuates a binary opposition: the man symbolizes rationality, discipline, and spirituality, while the woman, associated with sexuality and sin, is reduced to representing the body’s primal, animalistic urges.

    Embracing Queer Desires

    In my work, I reject this binary division. Instead, I propose that the male body can be both a subject and an object of desire, collapsing the artificial separation between spirit and flesh. By doing so, I dismantle the hierarchy that places spirituality above the body, particularly as it relates to sexual desire. The body is not a source of shame or sin but a vessel of freedom and expression.

    The demons surrounding Saint Anthony, traditionally seen as external threats to his virtue, in my interpretation, symbolize the societal and religious structures that oppress and regulate individual sexuality. Rather than representing otherworldly forces, these demons embody the symbolic order—a concept rooted in Lacanian psychoanalysis, referring to the network of cultural norms, laws, and language that shape human identity and experience. Here, the symbolic order is manifested through institutions like the idea of God, the Church, and society, which enforce heteronormative ideals and suppress queer desires.

    This act resists the traditional Christian view, articulated by figures such as Saint Augustine, that confines sexual morality to procreative acts within the bounds of marriage. In this reading, virtue lies not in celibacy or repression, but in the radical reclamation of the body’s desires. Anal masturbation emerges as a heroic act of defiance against the reproductive, phallocentric discourse, embodying a powerful assertion of freedom.

    The End of The World. 2013
    Oil on canvas. 120×80 cm
    Study of Saint Anthony. 2012
    Blue pen and marker on paper
    private collection