The campaign for LGBT+ acceptance and equality was long fought on two fronts. One part of the campaign called for marching in the streets and occupying the halls of government to demand formal, legislative protection for basic human rights. It was a loud and public exercise and relied on the participation of hundreds and thousands of determined activists to make its point.
But there was always a quieter strategy going on simultaneously, and waged through the everyday acts of individual gay people themselves who simply lived lives that were out and proud.
It may be hard to imagine now — in 2024, in an affirming and accepting place like Denver — how radical it was, just a few decades ago, for a woman to display a framed photo of her female spouse on her desk at work, or to bring her to the company Christmas party or to a family dinner at Thanksgiving, or to stare down a hotel clerk and politely ask for a room with just one bed. But these were groundbreaking acts that went a long way toward normalizing the idea that difference is not dangerous. Get to know us, this approach suggested, and you will see we are all pretty much the same.
That is how the exhibition “Espiritu Hermosx” — in English, “Beautiful Spirit” — plays out at the Museo de las Americas in Denver’s Santa Fe art district. It is a public display of personal stories told through the work of 10 LGBTQ+ Latinx artists, as the museum describes the show’s contributors, reflecting current trends in distinguishing this community of evolving identities (and, honestly, it’s just fine if you cannot keep up with all the letters).
For sure, the show has its in-your-face moments: There are references to police violence and the legendary Stonewall riots and some material that is sexually explicit, which is kept behind a curtain with a warning sign for anyone who might be offended.
But curator Louis Trujillo has kept the emphasis on the individual experiences of the artists themselves and how they understand their place in a world where they “often experience discrimination based on their cultural identity, gender identity and sexual preference as both Latin and queer,” as the curator’s statement lays it out.
That may be three strikes, but these artists are not out. Instead, they are inspired in multiple ways, and the variety of tactics, media and messages they employ in their works keep this group exhibition interesting from start to finish.
Is the experience of LatinX members of the LGBTQ+ community different enough to warrant an exhibition focusing solely on them? Trujillo builds a solid case.
Some of that comes in the form of these artists’ responses to cultural and folkloric traditions particular to people with ancestral roots south of the United States. The artist Eliazar Ortiz Roa, for example, presents a series of drawings depicting “The Boca de Nigua Rebellion,” an unsuccessful uprising of 200 enslaved Black workers against the owners of a sugar plantation in the Dominican Republic in 1793.
Ortiz’s version of the tale includes a part that is often left out, that the leader of the insurrection was also the lover of the plantation foreman. The point being made: The repression of LGBT identity is part of a colonial legacy that has often omitted inconvenient truths.
Ortiz’s drawings are rich in visual detail, and use traditional materials from the Caribbean region to evoke the era on display, building scenes from inks and dyes made from things like cotton flower petals, African tulips and the jiquilite plant. The drawings come together as a potent mix of raw material and historical revisionism.
There is also, in this exhibition, multiple references to religion and its impact on identity. Artist Sean Trujillo rewrites the story of Catholicism, the formal faith system that has dominated religious practices in Latin American culture — including in the U.S. — for more than four centuries.
He turns the story of Adam and Eve into Adam and Steve, rendering the tale through a series of reimagined retablos, the small, ornate devotional paintings common in Catholic churches. The characters in his works might be male, but the trappings are the same, with snakes and apples infiltrating the action.
His message is not meant to be divisive; just the opposite. He wants viewers to see the universal challenges of such human weaknesses as lust and temptation. The dangers of seduction are shared by all God’s creatures, regardless of gender or sexuality.
Perhaps not surprisingly, sex does come up in this discussion of sexuality. Cherish Marquez’s video piece “I Remember” explores the artist’s sorting of personal identity using animated sex toys. The aforementioned pieces that the Museo has behind a curtain include explicit sex scenes painted by Adrian Raya. The curtain functions as a mediator for viewers who might be uncomfortable with their raw qualities but also as a metaphor for the need to keep such acts, especially between same-sex partners, hidden from public view.
The show hits several notes. Lares Feliciano’s digital projections of trans women recently murdered in Puerto Rico address the ongoing tragedy of violence. Claudia Zapata’s cartoon-like drawings of scenes from Stonewall evoke the political. Cal Duran’s large-scale installation, made from a series of woven yarn objects known as ojos de dios (God’s eyes) bring in a rich spiritual or metaphysical element.
In a sense, this exhibition does cover both tracts of LGBTQ+ activism. It is a public display of queerness in one of the city’s most important non-profit cultural institutions. It is in your face — though beautifully, cleverly and colorfully so.
But it is most effective in the way it conveys the LGBTQ+ experience as different for every individual in the community: not as a group march, but as a personal journey. Hanging these works of art in public, each exclusive, engaging and sentimental, is not so different than placing a partner’s picture in your workplace. It’s a very particular and effective strategy.
Ray Mark Rinaldi is a Denver-based freelance writer specializing in fine arts.
IF YOU GO
“Espiritu Hermosx” continues through July 14 at the Museo de las Americas, 861 Santa Fe Drive. Info: 303-571-4401 or museo.org.
