The end of February in Chicago is always bleak. The dark, cold, and windy cityscape makes even the bravest midwesterners tucker into their homes for the season. In my travels from the northside to West Town, I push myself against the wind in search of sanctuary. I’m welcomed into Monique Meloche by the burning of incense and the ethereal ambience of the musician MIZU. The white walls and minimalist structure of the gallery give poly-disciplinary artist Antonius-Tín Bui a blank canvas to create their own sanctuary for the gallery’s visitors.

        In the world that Bui creates inside the walls of Monique Meloche, they navigate the complexities of ancestry, queerness, and sex. Bui presents two collections of pieces (and their individual worlds): a monochromatic fairytale of romance and a lascivious queer rendezvous. Although the two collections differ in their visual aesthetics and craftsmanship, both share similar complexities.

        In the larger room of Monique Meloche, hand cut, blue pieces depicting mythical creatures and women in love hang like illustrations from religious stories. Just like stained glass windows or statues in religious buildings, these pieces tell the story of our ancestors. The pieces are a combination of intricately cut paper, cyanotypes, and airbrushing.

        A reference to the poet Donika Kelly, When the fact of your gaze means nothing, then you are truly alongside, shows a creature wearing a beautiful gown with a staff and horns. The blues get lighter at the more proximal parts of the figure, in an effort to show the hues of its innermost spirit. While the staff is mostly colored with darker blues, and tiny strands of paper and cyanotype. The paper cuttings around the staff in particular are so thin they seem fragile.

        Similarly, in no need for heaven, this is how it started: way out beyond below, the sweet of your lips dipped in promise there are direct references to spirituality. The piece shows two female presenting people embracing each other. The title speaks about sexual chemistry and not needing heaven. Although the title references the presence of spirituality in its mention of heaven, it proceeds to neglect any rituals to it. The piece argues that the figures can exist without heaven, that they only need each other. It recognizes a belief system without giving it any other power. Interestingly, in the title, “this is how it started” suggests that love, regardless of its form, is how “it started”.

        Antonius-Tín Bui directly recognizes religion and its ideals but doesn’t subscribe to the traditions or conformity it establishes. Secondly, Bui portrays intimacy, especially between queer people, with delicacy that strikes to the core of queer liberation. These ideas continue in the explosion of color and pleasure in the rendezvous pieces.

        In juxtaposition to the deep-somber blues of the previous collection, this other set is filled with more loud forms of spirituality and intimacy. The pieces range in levels of intimacy and explicitness. In skin was where you belonged, a who you were with, a reason someone might, disguised in the color of the background, is the active penetrator in a passionate act between two people. Even though the receiver is clearly depicted there is specific color emphasis on the penis and testicles of both participants. Whereas in Touching you I catch midnight as moon fires set in my throat, the foreplay is between two lovers, with little detail besides their bodies, hair, and penis. The title of the piece is from a poem by Audre Lorde.

        The most explicit between the four pieces is Reading clouds beyond the road I calculate our distance, survey the space between our clothes where rising curves and mountain tug for air, touch, release. The piece, a direct quote from a poem by Melvin Dixon, blends all of elements of the similar works and transcends it to the highest degree. 13 (maybe 14) participants are hand cut and collaged using handmade paper, porn magazines, photographs, joss paper, and gold leaf. The silhouettes showcase the various roles and dynamics within group intercourse. With even closer inspection the clippings of porn magazines give a meta meaning to the pride and honesty in showcasing queer sex.

        Around the edges of the piece, there is subtle burning, a nod to the spiritual practices of joss paper. Also known as incense paper, the use is an Eastern spiritual tradition for respecting and providing prosperity to the deities and ancestors who have passed away. This is a much more direct reference to spirituality than the previous collection. The burning of the piece directly honors our queer ancestors. Bui wouldn’t burn the entire piece and destroy their work, obviously. But the intention to only burn the edges of the piece preserves the artwork but also preserves the acts of our queer ancestors. It holds the existence of queer pride and sex in the present day. Queer people will continue to exist, they will continue to have sex, and they will continue to express themselves in a society that wasn’t built for them, that we’ve had to build ourselves.

        Similar to the other collection, there is a delicacy woven into the intimacy of queer love. The burning suggests that this pride is also so delicate, as if one wrong move ignites the fragile landscape of queer rights, burning it to ash and scent. Although it is ceremonious to burn pieces of joss paper to honor the deceased, burning these pieces would burn sexuality, sex, expression, and desire–and the memory of those things.

        In conjunction with queer pride, there is also an anxiety to preserve queer culture and refuse to let go of our history. We will honor our queer past and fear that it becomes obliterated. Much of queer existence is resistance itself. It rejects the conformity that has been taught to us, serving as a visual instrument of pride, and preserving the doctrines of the queer culture that was taught to us by our ancestors.

        In both collections, Antonius-Tín Bui navigates the complexities of spirituality and queer intimacy. The delicacy of these ideals is evident in the tiny strands of paper in no need for heaven and the burning in Reading clouds. The pride in all of these pieces is an exemplary showcase of the complexities of queer love and sex. In spirituality, we often honor the groundwork of our ancestors and queerness is no different. Continuing to honor the delicacy and intimacy of queer existence is part of our LGBTI practice. Bui creates a sanctuary for queer people to do just that.

Andrew Hart Benson (they/them/theirs) is a queer writerand editor based in Chicago. To contact, find them on Instagram @abensxn.