The Sequined Lighthouse we’ve all been waiting for
There was a giddy anticipation dancing inside me while on my way to see the new Leigh Bowery exhibition at Tate Modern London. How could you do justice to the genuinely outer worldly dimension that Leigh clearly came from and lived in on a daily basis. In the greatest sense possible, he wasn’t just the Man Who Fell To Earth, but was the Man Who Sashayed To Earth, who, instead of focusing on interplanetary technology, honed on advancing fashion WAY beyond the comprehension of us mere humans.
That excitement was aptly answered upon slowly ascending the escalator and reaching the third floor. The first thing we see is the Kaiju-sized face of Leigh screaming, and an enormous castle wall of sequins, tens of thousands of tiny fluttering sparkles, that contains his name when viewed from the right angle. I beamed and wanted to clap. It was the beginning of the WOW! that I had hoped for.
Born in 1961, Leigh emerged into a small Australian town called Sunshine, Melbourne. Clearly his radiance was determined from that stroke of faith alone. But it didn’t shine enough by a very long way for our young adventurer, and so years later, directly inspired by the UK punk scene, he heads to London to find his people, writing goals including:
• Become established in the world of art, fashion or literature
• Wear make-up everyday
Like reverse colonialism, he would ultimately conquer and rule the UK fashion, queer and cultural scenes, bringing it too hither to unseen spectacle and innovation. Think David Lynch if he had gone to fashion college instead of film.
London in the 80’s was already a flamboyant affair where the trends were a cacophony of Punk, The New Romantics, New Wave, Goth, Buffalo, Glam Fetish and High Camp, so the bar was already set extremely high (low) if you wanted to stand out. Given Leigh was 6ft 1, he was off to a flying start.
Where the likes of other creative visionaries like Bowie morphed their personas and identities every few years, Leigh did it on a daily basis, if not multiple times a day. There is some hysterical video in the exhibition where Leigh, his housemate Trojan and some other friends are getting ready for a night under the town. Leigh already looks like the blue-skinned Hindu goddess Kali, and decides it’s not a good enough look for the forthcoming joyous night of debauchery, so briefly retires to attire anew. The entire surreal abstract vivid spectacle is glorious, and hysterically funny. From the hypnotically captivating ‘appalling’ Star Trek wallpaper, to the absence of any ‘normality’ to ground the viewer. Buckle up Toto, we’re not in Kansas anymore, we are now weightless in deep Bowery Innerspace, to boldly go where no fashionista has gone before.
Flamboyance begets flamboyance, so given the cultural fashion and music scene of the time, where performers and creatives (not shy of performance either) would regularly congregate in clubs such as The Cha Cha Club in Heaven, Taboo or Blitz to name a few. It was mission-critical to always look the most extravagant as possible, not only to show style, innovation and creativity, but also just to get in the door, as in the case of Marc Vaultier taking no prisoners in the gate keeping at Taboo (launched by Leigh), holding up a mirror to punters who didn’t make the effort while asking ‘Would you let yourself in?’. It was called London’s sleaziest, campest and bitchiest club of the moment for a reason.
Leigh would meet and begin to collaborate with an ever-increasing spectrum of artists, who had seen his fashion creations worn by himself and his friends at club nights. Effectively walking sculptural Insta moments, they demanded and rightly got the attention they deserved. There was of course, no social media, no filters, no templates to churn out content. You had to draw, sew and graft to get the eyes, and they cut no corners, other than to make an outfit far more spikey.
As a direct reaction to the homogenised grey pin-striped impoverished Thatcher Britain, Leigh gorged and celebrated on colour and shape, reappropriating fabric such as PVC into alternative superhero costumes. It was like a tiny subterranean Versailles on speed and nightly popup catwalks.
He began to focus more on work for himself as he was getting international attention. Everything was being turned up beyond 11. As the abstract increased, so to the humour, which is an integral part of his work and personality. There are quiet a few interviews throughout the exhibition where it is extremely clear he is hysterically funny, the ultimate ring master and raconteur. There is zero fake it till you make it, you can see the ideas, craftsmanship, rigour and stunning detail in everything he did. But also the mesmerising ability to take common everyday objects and make them look like the gild of court, as in the case of his stunning denim jacket entirely covered in hairpins, with echoes of a fashion matador.
Catwalks expanded to the stage when he started designing costumes for choreographer and dancer Michael Clark. The shapes became fleeting movements, dancing like kites in the wind, wild colours textures and exposed skin marking out his Venn diagram of influence. His vibrancy matched the lightning bolt energy of Clark’s remix of the defiant celebration of gay culture, clubbing, punk and the literal embodiment of joie de vivre.
Thankfully again, there are plenty of videos of such performances, and also collaborating with the likes of Mark E. Smith’s The Fall on Cruiser’s Creek.
The radiant exuberance permeates every single inch, button and sequin of the exhibition. The largest collection of Leigh’s costumes ever, a vast archive of sketches, notes, photographs and letters, it is a genuine celebration of a life very far from ordinary, there is defiance and joy screaming, winking from every corner and rightly centre stage.
Timing wise, is seems appropriate for the retrospective, given the bleak state of governance and harsh orchestrated economic decline of the UK, where a Labour government in all but name are Thatcherite on steroids, and their only noticeable output is deliberately increasing impoverishment. There is so much energy bursting forth in Leigh’s works, that it genuinely feels like a call to arms, sewing machines or whatever your medium may be. Just DON’T accept what is around you. DON’T let society/authority be your guide or barometer. DO create, DO stand up for what you believe in, and make the world we deserve. To provoke is to believe in something. DON’T let other’s boundaries define your own.
In stature and creative pursuits, Leigh towered like a majestic Sequined Lighthouse, trying to warn us all from being tempted to a homogenised existence, and fatally crashing on the Rocks of Meh.
Leigh Bowery at Tate modern runs from 27 February – 31 August. Check https://www.tate.org.uk/whats-on/tate-modern/leigh-bowery for tickets and further details of related events being hosted throughout the run.