Leigh Bowery Was His Own Artwork 

LONDON — The very idea of encapsulating the concept of Leigh Bowery within a gallery space should not work. He was not someone who brought art objects into the world, but was instead an embodiment of ideas and acts that can no more easily be categorized as singularly performance art than as fashion design or dance. Curator Fiontán Moran emphasizes this outsized character by adding the titular exclamation mark for Tate Modern’s Leigh Bowery!, which manages to communicate via some loud curating the visceral creativity of Bowery’s life and work, while also clearly and diligently guiding us chronologically through key eras and themes. 

Because the man himself was the art, we may find him spread across a plethora of formats, from photographs snapped at split second moments of intimacy or bodily transgression in clubs, to the now empty shells of outfits (the word “costumes” denotes detachment whereas Bowery seemed to “live” his garments), snippets of magazines, and video appearances. In Bowery’s lifetime, few of these formats existed in a gallery context — they were part of his social world; he lived his art largely in nightclubs, on the street, or in performances. Garishly colored walls, Star Trek-themed wallpaper, disco lights, and a mirror that bears the phrase “Would you let yourself in?” — echoing the question the bouncer at Bowery and Tony Gordon’s club Taboo would ask badly dressed punters in 1985 — make tangible for the visitor a zeitgeist where dressing as flamboyantly as possible in clubs and social scenes was the ultimate form of self-expression. Moran rightly notes that in the absence of social media this was the most effective outlet for public self-expression. Costuming, including head-to-toe polka dots, fake lips affixed through pierced cheeks, and headgear bearing light bulbs on either side, illustrates how dress facilitated a concept of performance that went beyond conventional notions of fashion and, often, gender.

The captions, which are written in a conversational tone and avoid jargon, are some of the most effective in recent memory. They present this slice of British history in a language that should resonate with broad audiences. Setting the scene: “Leigh Bowery (1961–1994). A small town boy from Sunshine, Australia. He’s bored. Inspired by the punk scene [he] leaves fashion college and arrives in London in October 1980.” Elsewhere, capturing just how important a platform clubs were in the absence of social media: “The 1980s was the era of club culture – no social media, only hand-made or word-of-mouth invites. IYKYK.”

Many visitors who are unfamiliar with Bowery may see a polaroid of him looking outré or bizarre and wonder why. Over time, his use of makeup became sculptural, and his clothing, which he designed and made — sometimes with his friend, collaborator, and eventual wife, Nicola (Rainbird) Bateman — increasingly manipulated his ample frame and physicality. He flouted tradition in his response to differing sociopolitical situations. In 1980, Bowery was under the age of consent and, as the captions note, he could not “[lawfully] freely embrace his sexuality” yet, they continue, “He did.” Furthermore, by bringing humor, parody, and slapstick to catwalks and lifestyle TV shows, he “[disrupted] established conventions of fashion, high society and culture”: His recreation of the famous “Hello Boys” Wonderbra commercial as a large man is a gleeful satire. Nothing was off limits, with instances of blackface — rightfully criticized by his contemporaries — in references to (supposedly parodic) minstrel shows. More constructive performances, however, targeted contemporary attitudes toward sexuality and gender: We are told that his marriage to Nicola was partly due to his fear of being deported for having sex in a public toilet in 1994. In one performance with Bateman, he wore a nylon nude suit with comically exaggerated breasts and “gave birth” to Nicola, who burst forth nude and tangled in sausages representing the umbilicus, a wry reversal of normative gender roles. 

Moran explained to me that the exhibition was born of longstanding discussions with the director of exhibitions and programs at Tate Modern, Catherine Wood, about how artistic practice was rethought throughout the 1980s, with Bowery among similarly influential and avant-garde figures such as filmmaker Derek Jarman and dancer Michael Clark — the latter of whom was a frequent collaborator; Bowery designed costumes for Clark’s company and participated in some dance performances, as well as experimental films. These artists all worked in a time of austerity in the UK and often outside the accepted channels of the art market. While not explicitly stated in the show, Moran suggests that, given the current sociopolitical landscape of austerity and unease, Bowery’s work — indeed, his whole approach to art and life, “continually shifting appearance and discipline” — may “hopefully speak to a contemporary generation of artists and creatives.” In this sense, the show has pulled off a rare achievement: academically presenting an era of art history while also resonating with and possibly inspiring the sensitivities of today. In a contemporary society colored, or rather made creatively bland, by the homogenizing factor of social media, one yearns again for such an original artist who had the balls to stick two sequined fingers up to accepted norms.

Leigh Bowery! continues at Tate Modern (Bankside, London, England) through August 31. The exhibition was curated by Fiontán Moran, Jessica Baxter, Nicola Rainbird, and Margery King.