Queer British art continues to be influenced by the decade of decriminalisation. While the Sexual Offences Act of 1967 specifically decriminalised homosexual 'acts' between men over the age of 21 in England and Wales, the 1960s is a wider story of queer exploration in art.
Successive generations of artists and sitters have brought us to the present moment in LGBTQ+ history, but the combination of changing legality, societal shifts and new artistic movements means the 1960s may be read as a recognisable watershed. What effect did queer art of the pivotal '60s have on the development of contemporary and LGBTQ+ art? Which themes changed, remained or evolved in the queer art canon that surrounds us now?
Arriving at the 1960s
Earlier twentieth-century artists such as Duncan Grant remind us how transformative the 1960s were. Grant's use of Renaissance and classical imagery in works pre-legality draw on a queer tradition in art, based on antiquity and scholarly reference.
In depicting the nude male body, many Renaissance artists such as Michelangelo produced works that can be read in homoerotic terms; Grant's glorification of the athletic male body, seen in his Reclining Male Nude (thought to be Paul Roche) from the 1950s, is 'permissible' as a sign of his artistic learning as opposed to overt queer expression. However, Grant, who had numerous affairs with men (including Roche) and was part of the sexually permissive Bloomsbury Group, would have been conscious of the hidden queer perspective he was depicting.
Reclining Male Nude
(thought to be Paul Roche) 1950s
Duncan Grant (1885–1978) 
This coded approach to queer expression can be seen in the work of many artists working in the 1960s pre-decriminalisation, including David Hockney and Francis Bacon. Hockney incorporated queer themes into his art, often in visually symbolic or coded ways, to challenge the restrictive structures that existed in Britain at the time.
This clandestine approach can be seen in his early love paintings, including Composition (Thrust) from 1962, which seems to hint at Hockney exploring his own sexuality through abstraction at a time when homosexuality remained a criminal act.
Revelation – the transition from implied to candid in art, illegal to legal
If, pre-legality, the use of inference was a vital way in which LGBTQ+ communities communicated – particularly in art – then the revelation post-1967 of candidly picturing queer couples marks a meaningful shift in how LGBTQ+ people saw themselves.
Double Concerto from 1969 by Maxwell Ashby Armfield was commissioned in 1967, the year of partial decriminalisation (despite the Act, many other aspects of gay male life remained criminal), and it depicts composer Benjamin Britten and singer Peter Pears, a couple for more than 35 years at this point.
Both men had, pre-1967, described themselves as in a marriage despite the illegality of their relationship, their coupling operating via plausible deniability, suggestion and inference. Now, at a moment of decriminalisation, we see the couple on their own terms in an artwork hung in their former home, the Red House at Aldeburgh (now a gallery). You can read more about the work in this story.
Memorial to a Marriage by Patricia Cronin from 2004 shows us another couple – a two-thirds-size cast of a Carrara marble sculpture of the artist and her partner Deborah Kass (the original sculpture is part of their burial plot and memorial in New York).
As the first marriage equality monument in art history, this tender depiction of the couple lying in bed serves as a reminder of how far LGBTQ+ communities have come. You can read more about the work in this story.
The work Happy Union by artist and curator Matt Smith also speaks to marriage equality, made as it was in response to the legalisation of same sex marriage in the UK in 2013.
The work plays on inference – at first glance, this historically stylised ceramic sculpture appears to depict a man and woman. On closer inspection, both figures have beards and are male presenting – Smith replaced the head of the female figure with a male one.
Revolution – new art which reflects queer life and expression
LGBTQ+ communities continue to define and redefine who they are. Post-war artists such as Allen Jones deliberately invite us to challenge gender binary. Jones' Hermaphrodite – a term historically used to describe people with ambiguous genitalia – from 1963 depicts a male and female form blurred into one.
The story of Hermaphroditus is a popular subject in art history and so this work draws on centuries of what may now be seen as derogatory art which has used, perhaps even fetishised, the intersex, trans and non-binary form.
The Sleeping (Borghese) Hermaphrodite
c.1765
Louis Gabriel Blanchet (1705–1772) 
Unlike previous depictions however, this piece by Jones develops within a decade of active and organised queer liberation movements. Post-1960s, Jones has faced accusations of objectification, and the artwork title itself has become recognised as discriminatory, as the LGBTQ+ acronym evolves to represent a range of identities. No longer just the subject matter, intersex and non-binary people have revolutionised how their bodies are shown, and by whom.
The legacy of this is seen in Bra from 2003 by South African artist Zanele Muholi.
As with much of her work, Muholi here draws attention to physical form, body hair and perception. One of six prints from the series Only Half the Picture 2003–6, the photograph can be situated in Muholi's wider practice which confronts stereotypes and taboos faced by the Black LGBTQ+ community in South Africa.
Identifying as non-binary, Muholi's lived experience within the queer community creates a level of trust between photographer and participant. Muholi is one example of how intersectional queer art expression has evolved – an intimate perspective on the challenges facing Black lesbian, gay, bisexual, trans, queer and intersex people.
Recent works by British artist Ro Robertson also foreground a personal perspective. The sculptural work Between Two Bodies (2020) presents two casts, draped over steel legs, drawn from fractures in two sets of rocks as a comment on the non-binary experience.
Writing about the work, Robertson has talked about 'the idea of being between two bodies of stone or two bodies of water in different places at the same time. They are between the body and the landscape, belonging to both but not overtly recognisable as either.' You can read a longer interview with the artist here.
Reinforcement – the influence of queer heritage pre-decriminalisation
Queer art is as much the retention and preservation of an LGBTQ+ past as it is the capturing of a contemporary moment. One such 'tradition' that has been preserved is the coded message, discussed above, and typified by Hockney and Bacon. By depicting himself in Study for Self Portrait from 1963, Bacon becomes his own queer muse.
Bacon did not make clear his own sexuality in paintings that veered into abstraction and so his queer biography is based on inference – if you see queerness that's on you – something that could be denied, pre-legalisation. It capitalises on the queer feeling of recognition, that one artist's voice can also reference past communities. This has never left queer art and can still be seen today.
For example, Mark Mander's 'Molly Spoon' (titled Clemetine, the Living Fashion Doll) references the concept of molly spoons, a wooden doll used in ceremonies at Molly Houses – or private spaces home to a gay subculture – in the eighteenth century as a symbol of 'coming out'. Mander's work speaks directly to the retention of queer heritage.
Clementine, the Living Fashion Doll
2014
Mark Mander (b.1980) 
His glamorous 'Molly', called 'Clementine', represents not just the artist's stage character (Mander is a theatrical entertainer), but also the lost and hidden LGBTQ+ heritage in the London Borough of Haringey.
As you enter the Government Art Collection in London, the first piece you encounter is Prem Sahib's Stone from 2017.
This work appears to be a utilitarian drinking fountain encased in shimmering blue resin. It replicates a similar one once found in a popular gay sauna in London's Shoreditch called 'Chariots' – now a luxury hotel.
Sahib literally enshrines this lost queer space into art, having also saved twelve of the lockers from 'Chariots' and turned them into other sculptures. This poignant body of work highlights the importance of preserving safe spaces for LGBTQ+ communities to express themselves.
Queer futures
The year 1967 marked a watershed moment in Britain and, consequently, in the subsequent representation of queer art. This is, however, one story among many in a global context – in many countries, laws remain that criminalise homosexuality and LGBTQ+ people face continued repression.
Sunil Gupta's photographic series from 2008, The New Pre-Raphaelites, challenged Section 377 of the colonial Indian Penal Code. This law, instituted by the British in 1861, criminalised homosexuality and led to the arbitrary arrest and exploitation of LGBTQ+ Indians. Section 377 was not overturned until 2018, following generations of grassroots activism.
Untitled #07, part of Gupta's series which draws on Pre-Raphaelite paintings, restages The Death of Chatterton (c.1856) by Henry Wallis.
Gupta instead replaces the Romantic poet Thomas Chatterton with a real person impacted by the Penal Code to reflect contemporary queer culture in India.
It is a reminder perhaps that queer art, both in the 1960s and now, still rests within revelation, revolution and reinforcement. It also suggests that, while much progress has been made in attitudes towards gender and sexual equality, the global LGBTQ+ community continues to fight for equal rights in many parts of the world.
Jon Sleigh, freelance arts educator
This content was supported by Jerwood Foundation
