The Censored Canvas: Queer Art in the Age of Online Censorship
The advent of social media has dramatically reshaped the landscape of artistic expression, particularly for queer artists. But alongside the promise of digital visibility looms the shadow of online censorship.
Coming from a deeply conservative country like Russia, I have always associated censorship with oppressive governments or political systems. In the early 1990s, I was criminally prosecuted for my journalism, which was critical of Russia’s vicious homophobia and the government’s role in it. The state slapped me with bogus charges of “open and deliberate contempt for generally accepted moral norms”, “malicious hooliganism with exceptional cynicism and extreme insolence”, “inflaming social, national, and religious division”, and “propaganda of brutal violence, psychic pathology, and sexual perversions.” In reality, my main “crime” was simply the fact that I was one of the few openly gay personalities in the Russian media. And even though homosexuality was decriminalized in 1993, homophobia remained rampant in Russian society. By 1995, I was forced to flee Russia and emigrate to the US. After receiving political asylum on the grounds of homophobic persecution, I moved to New York and continued my work as a journalist while exploring photography and visual art.
Fast-forward 20 years, and in 2013 Russia adopted the infamous “Gay Propaganda” law “for the purpose of protecting children from information advocating a denial of traditional family values.” This law unleashed a wave of anti-LGBT attacks across Russia and similar legislation in many parts of the former Soviet Union and Eastern Europe. In protest, many Russian and Western LGBT activists, including myself, called for an international boycott of the 2014 Sochi Olympics.
In recent years, Russia has gone backward in terms of LGBT rights as part of a coordinated campaign against minorities, political opposition, free speech, and independent media. In November 2023, Russia’s Supreme Court banned the international LGBT movement, proclaiming it an “extremist organization” and jeopardizing all forms of LGBT rights activism in the country. Even President Putin, who never publicly commented on LGBT rights, has begun attacking LGBT people in several speeches. This homophobic stance is clearly designed to please Putin’s electorate base and Neo-Orthodox Christian, nationalist agenda.
Parallel to these developments Russia is a rise in anti-LGBT sentiment in the US. In response to these troubling trends on both sides of the Atlantic, I curated a film program titled “Gay Propaganda” featuring artists, filmmakers, and musicians who explore queerness in their work. The original program was shown at venues in London, New York, Berlin, Prague, and Mexico City. In the summer of 2024, I’ll be presenting the second installment.
The need for queer visibility remains an important subject in the face of hate and censorship. Virtually every queer artist I know has experienced online censorship in one form or another. Unlike Putin’s Russia, in the US censorship is rarely carried out by the state. Instead, our censors are corporate tech giants that mine, harvest, package, and sell our data while algorithmically policing queer expression through arbitrary and unfairly enforced “community guidelines.”
I asked a diverse group of fellow queer artists and filmmakers contributing to “Gay Propaganda” to share their experiences with censorship and their hopes for the future of queer art.
Florian Hetz, Berlin-based German photographer.
Hetz reminisces about the liberating experience of encountering queer art in the ‘90s and its pivotal role in shaping his identity and laments that this era of relative openness has given way to a new form of censorship facilitated by social media platforms. Hertz has been embroiled in a legal battle over whether his art constitutes obscenity.
“When I was 14, I discovered the Robert Mapplethorpe book Ten by Ten. It was the first time I saw the depiction of sexuality in an art context, right between Monet and Mondrian. It was much later in life before I understood how important it was for me as a young person to be able to see this work not in a porn shop, but in a university bookstore. Looking back, Germany in the ‘90s seemed to have been way more open than today. Sexuality was pretty much everywhere. And the ‘90s had no social media to function as a moral control mechanism. Today, these [mostly American] companies tell us that part of our work has no right to exist in these digital spaces unless we obey their rules. The only problem is, those rules are not clear and don’t apply to everyone in the same way. Like the Church in past generations, social media bans our art and forces us to self-censor out of fear of being deleted. It’s as though in the eyes of these tech platforms, it would be better if we crawled back into a closet and lived a sexless life full of shame about our queerness.
“I’m reminded of a quote by Noam Chomsky: ‘Censorship is never over for those who have experienced it. It is a brand on the imagination that affects the individual who has suffered it, forever.’ How much work has not been created because artists feared to be censored?”
Gio Black Peter, New York-based Guatemalan artist
Gio Black Peter echoes Hetz’s sentiments. Peter’s own work, queer-themed and often depicting subjects in various states of undress, has precipitated a steady stream of takedowns, community guideline violations, and account bannings across social media. In response, Gio advocates for the creation of autonomous spaces where queer narratives can thrive unencumbered by external restrictions.
“Making art is making love. Making love is making art. Censorship is the tool used when the lie loses its power.
“There is no queer social media app. If there was, we would have a space to celebrate our authentic selves, nipples, dicks, and all. It's no secret queer images and accounts are more likely to be targeted, deactivated, or shadowbanned. I have gone through 15 different Facebook accounts and 11 Instagram accounts.”
Angel Ulyanov, New York-based Russian musician and performance artist
IG @angel_ulyanov YouTube @angel_ulyanov
Personal accounts, like those shared by Angel Ulyanov, a Russian gay refugee in NYC, illustrate the pervasive impact of censorship and discrimination. Despite international efforts to promote LGBT rights, Russia remains entrenched in a culture of fear and intolerance, forcing many LGBT individuals to retreat into secrecy and deny their identities to avoid persecution.
“In Russia, LGBT people face an alarming reality shaped by oppressive laws and a hostile society. Legislation passed in recent years has labeled the LGBT community as ‘extremist’, effectively silencing any public expression of self-identification or support. Even wearing a rainbow badge can invite accusations of ’promoting extremism.’ Such laws not only strip LGBT people of their rights but also subject them to harassment, hefty fines, and imprisonment for merely existing authentically.
“It's been disappointing to see some of my acquaintances, who were once openly gay LGBT activists suddenly getting married and having children with their wives after a series of these laws were passed. They become Orthodox Christian believers and now talk about LGBT culture as something alien and unnecessary, and that Pride parades have no place in Russia. Many LGBT Russians now apologize for who they are and retreat back into their closets — closets they’d only just recently managed to poke their heads out from.”
Lukasz Leja, New York-based Polish artist
www.lukaszleja.com IG @lukaszleja
As a Polish artist navigating the digital realm, Lukasz Leja confronts the capricious enforcement of content guidelines by platforms like Instagram. The opacity of these regulations has a chilling effect that stifles the creative expression of queer artists.
“My only weapon against centuries of silence and erasure is a paintbrush. I have a passion for painting queerness, celebrating nudity, and telling sex-positive stories. I don’t find my current painting project revolutionary or offensive — I’m saddened that social media does. According to Meta, my work apparently poses a danger to society.
“Growing up in a conservative bubble in post-Communist Poland was like living in a cultural desert. Starved for the kind of art I wanted to see — art that screamed desire and liberation — so I started to draw and paint. Back then, I knew nothing about queer art and artists. Because of the censorship, lack of representation, and centuries of silencing queer expression, I believed I was the first queer artist to exist.
“It's infuriating that even in 2024, platforms like Instagram are playing the censorship game — flagging and deleting our art and expression. The guidelines are so vague that you never know which post will get deleted. The new AI algorithms sometimes take content down in less than five seconds! I’ve had pieces removed that contained no nudity, images of two guys cuddling or a guy rocking a jockstrap. It’s a shame that in the age of supposed progress, we’re still fighting to be seen instead of embracing diversity and inclusivity. Now more than ever queer art needs to be protected.”
Gerardo Vizmanos, Berlin-based Spanish-Basque photographer
Gerardo Vizmanos delves deeper into the mechanisms of online censorship and the role of algorithms in policing content deemed "sensitive" or "inappropriate." This algorithmic suppression not only erodes artistic autonomy but also perpetuates biases against LGBT people. Vizmanos underscores the urgent need to challenge what he calls the “social media dictatorship” and reclaim agency over digital spaces.
“Today, censorship has evolved from explicit prohibitions enforced by authorities to more subtle forms driven by online algorithms, where content can be banned or suppressed without public declarations. This algorithmic censorship often blurs the lines between protecting audiences and restricting freedom of expression. Platforms like Twitter may appear more lenient than most when it comes to art, but on the flip side, they foster hate against some communities.
“On Instagram, my content is often shadow-banned, limiting its visibility in a way that feels like my voice is being stolen. Art should challenge established powers, but with the public sphere now online, social media censorship hampers artists' ability to express ideas and effect change.”
Yves de Brabander, Antwerp-based Belgian artist
de Brabander offers a poignant reflection on the transformative power of artistic defiance in the face of censorship. By subverting societal norms and reclaiming autonomy over his self-representation, he epitomizes the resilience of queer artists amid digital suppression. His portraiture serves as a rallying cry for artistic freedom.
“Growing up in the mid-’90s, I witnessed a liberal shift in attitudes towards sexuality and the male form. Now, as the world moves online, I’m watching them be reversed by restrictive norms and regulations. In an effort to reclaim my free expression, I coined the term "self-castration" to describe how I intentionally alter my self-portraits through physical means like cutting or tearing. This quest led me to create a self-portrait symbolizing my liberation through nudity, showcasing vulnerability and authenticity. My artwork asserts autonomy and explores identity, self-expression, and societal boundaries, challenging viewers to engage in a deeper dialogue about the human body and artistic freedom.
“Censorship opposes the essence of art, which should provoke, inspire, and challenge, not conform to arbitrary moral standards. It's time to break free from censorship and embrace the transformative power of art.”
Matt Lambert, Berlin-based American filmmaker and artist
The evolving strategies Matt Lambert employs to circumvent online censorship are emblematic of the lengths queer artists must go to in order to be seen and heard in today’s landscape. His advocacy for physical events and independent publishing reflects a growing disillusionment with digital platforms' anti-expression practices. Lambert envisions a renaissance of old-school physical spaces that transcend the limitations of virtual censorship.
“As someone who works primarily with film, there are fewer and fewer spaces in which to share work. Queerness has been hijacked by brands and sanitized into a pink-washed simulacrum of itself. There is so little independent, honest work — art that provokes and shows unashamed expressions of sexuality. It’s been replaced with sterile virtue-signaling.
“I’ve been shadow-banned for years. As an American Jew in Germany advocating for peace and sharing tender images of queer love that break no guidelines, my engagement on social media has dropped to 5–10% of what it used to be.
“Thankfully, it feels like there’s a big push toward physical events. Zines and independent publishing stay alive, and it’s one of the only places some of my work can be found. With film, there also seems to be a thirst for more physical events. The Porn Film Festival in Berlin, which Bruce LaBruce and his producer Jürgen Brüning helped promote, is one space showing work that falls in between film and porn. In the last decade, it feels like there’s a great porn film fest now in most major European cities.
“My ongoing series at Volksbühne, Sissy Smut has also become a place to show work on the big screen that struggles to find a home online. Our live XXX performances celebrate performers who can only be found in underground and underfunded spaces. There’s a collective catharsis to feeling sexually awkward in a room together and breaking through it with laughter.
Rather than wallow in the fuckery of puritanical, brand-money beholden to US tech companies policing our speech — I see this as an opportunity to revive the energy of experiencing work in the flesh together and holding on to the sanctity of feeling turned on together.”
Benjamin Fredrickson, New York-based photographer
www.benjaminfredrickson.com IG @benjaminfredrickson2
Benjamin Fredrickson has been ducking and dodging the censors his whole career. His defiant outlook makes for a perfect note to end on:
“Some people prefer censoring that which makes them uncomfortable. Not everyone sees or experiences things the same way, but let’s have a conversation about it! There’s no reason to live in fear. There would be no culture without creative minds sharing their artistic expressions freely — and creative minds can never truly be silenced through censorship. They will find ways to disseminate their point of view one way or another.
“In short, fuck censorship!”
Published July 1, 2024
Published in Issue XII: Cinema
