The museum out of the closet

Queer theory has entered the museum space, bringing with it fresh readings of the collections. In this article, André Murraças reveals how this theory can be applied to the Calouste Gulbenkian Museum.
André Murraças 06 Nov 2024 4 min

As well as meaning ‘odd’ or ‘eccentric’, the word queer used to be a pejorative term meaning homosexual. Since the 1990s, however, it has been reclaimed as a positive expression by all those who don’t identify with heterosexuality. The term now covers a whole spectrum of non-conforming and gender-related identities and sexual practices, in all their ambiguities.

The word queer has also been welcomed in an academic context and, in the art world, the concept of queering has allowed works of art to be reinterpreted, highlighting the way they challenge normativity or revealing meanings that were previously hidden by social taboos. In the museum context, queer theory is an invitation to take a fresh look at certain objects, sparking discussion around issues of gender and sexuality.

Rubens’ painting The Rape of Ganymede, belonging to the Museo Nacional del Prado, depicts the myth in which Jupiter falls in love with the young Ganymede, as described by Ovid in his Metamorphoses. This demonstrates how literature and mythology tell stories of homosexual love without differentiating them from other relationships of affection. The fact that this work of art exists alongside other representations allows us to play a mediating role with visitors to show that these experiences have always existed in society.

Now that concepts such as inclusion and diversity are championed, it is essential to look at museological collections from different angles. Some museums have recently adopted a new approach to their collections, seeking other stories, apparently hidden before. Queering the Museum is just one of the initiatives used by some international museums to re-tell the past. Both Tate Britain, in London, and the Metropolitan Museum of Art, in New York, offer guided or virtual tours that address the collection from the perspective of gender, non-conforming sexualities and diverse identities. In 2017, Tate held the exhibition Queer British Art 1861 – 1967, featuring works by Gluck, Henry Scott Tuke, Simeon Solomon and Duncan Grant. In Madrid, at the Museo Nacional del Prado, the exhibition La mirada del otro. Escenarios para la diferencia [The other’s gaze. Spaces of difference] presented a fresh look at Botticelli, Leonardo da Vinci, Guido Reni, Baccio Bendinelli and Caravaggio, in an invitation to contemplate the historical reality of loving relationships between people of the same sex. More recently, the exhibition Living Stories: Queer Views and Old Masters, at The Frick Collection, in New York, challenged young artists to reinterpret the collection within the themes of gender and identity. 

Portugal has attempted a rather more timid museological exploration of this theme. It is worth mentioning, however, that despite the institution not possessing its own collection to reinterpret from a queer perspective, the Museu do Aljube – Resistência e Liberdade organised the exhibition Adeus Pátria e Família [Farewell Country and Family], focusing on the evolution of the fight for LGBT rights, from the Estado Novo regime to after the 25 April Revolution.

There is no doubt that museum collections possess a vast number of works and artists waiting to be rediscovered and reinterpreted. So can we look at the works of art in the Calouste Gulbenkian Museum from a queer perspective?

Michael Langan has shown that we can. In his article A Coleção Gulbenkian sai do Armário Dourado? [The Gulbenkian Collection Comes Out of the Gilded Closet?], and on guided tours to the Museum collection entitled Queer Narratives in the Gulbenkian Collection, Langan highlighted ‘the importance of suggesting queer readings of the artworks.’ Through the works on display, Langan called attention to the life of the homosexual painter John Singer Sargent, emphasised the camp aesthetic in pieces of furniture and jewellery, and the theatrical nature of some portraits. He explained the symbolism of the chrysanthemum and peony in Chinese and Japanese artworks ‘as codified representations of homosexual desire.’ Finally, he brought to light the work Bustan, by Sa’di, which depicts a love story between two men.

In addition to the objects mentioned by Langan, many others in the Museum collection can be read through the lens of queer theory. In this series, we will highlight those works and the different perspectives that can be formed based on this theory.

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