‘Queer British Art, 1861–1967’ at Tate Britain, London, 5 April–1 October, 2017

Moving through the recent ‘Queer British Art, 1861–1967’ exhibition held at Tate Britain, these reviewers were inspired by how far we, as a queer community, have come and yet at the same time were struck by how far we have yet to go in providing space for our art and artists within institutions and in garnering greater visibility within the larger public. First and foremost, the inherent bravery on the part of the curator, Clare Barlow, and all those who assisted her in tackling such a topic, even in 2017, needs to be highlighted and acknowledged. The exhibition, certainly long overdue, is a strong reminder of the constant need for such innovative programming, that the struggle for true equality is far from over and that institutions must continue to foster genuine inclusivity and diversity without falling prey to fashionable trends. Throughout the exhibition, also apparent were the difficulties and struggles that Barlow and her staff surely would have endured in the organizing of the exhibition. A confidential, reliable source informed us that Barlow met with resistance in her negotiations with conservative institutions and private collectors who were reluctant to lend their art for fear of too-close an association with the governing theme. For these two reviewers, we found ourselves caught in a double bind. On the one hand, as queers we want to applaud Barlow – and by extension Tate Britain – for her endeavour; however, as queer scholars, we also need to be aware and critical of the absences, gaps and omissions in the exhibition. ‘Queer British Art, 1861–1967’ was divided into eight thematically and loosely chronologically determined rooms. Room 1, ‘Coded Desires’, privileged a discussion of androgyny and effeminacy, exemplified by the works of Simeon Solomon and Frederic Leighton, as a way of decoding the sensual, ambiguous and alternative forms of masculinity in the nineteenth century. Works in this room were sumptuous and called out to be touched, whether Evelyn de Morgan’s Aurora Triumphans or Leighton’s celebrated Sluggard. This tactile aspect of the works must not be underestimated, in our age of presentism and Instagram mania, especially in the manner they evoked desire and the sensual. As a means of situating the underlying themes, the inclusion of contemporary art reviews proved useful such as, for example, one critic who noted that in Leighton’s Daedalus and Icarus, the former appeared more like ‘a maiden rather than a youth’ (The Times 1869). Moving from eroticism and sensuality to a concern for ‘Public Indecency’, Room 2 offered a glimpse into the world of scandal at the end of the nineteenth and the beginning of the twentieth century. Here, iconic queer authors such as Oscar Wilde and Radclyffe Hall