NATURE OR NURTURE: The Mischievous Haze of Gio Black Peter
Gio Black Peter, Bad Cops Make Good Snacks, 2016. Oil and acrylic on canvas, 58” x 48”. Courtesy of the artist
New Yorkers are known to wall themselves away from any sign of vulnerability—it's that shellacked exterior that helps us survive an often brutal city littered with chaos. Queer folk tend to spray on a few extra layers for more protection, as we carry our own internalized gridlock of obsessively ordered rules and standards; however, queer artists seem consistently drawn to the freedom that nature offers through a broad range of pictorial depiction. We like to cut our own path through the leaves of grass. It's an undeniably charming and hazy course, but are we naturing or nurturing?
Gio Black Peter, Chinatown, 2024. Photograph by Waltpaper
Gio Black Peter is a Guatemalan-American visual artist, actor, and musical performer. He has released two LPs, It’s fucked up (2008) and The Virgin Shuffle (2011) and appeared in the films Eban and Charley (2000), directed by James Bolton, and Otto; or, Up with Dead People (2010), directed by Bruce LaBruce. His paintings, drawings, and installations have been exhibited internationally and featured in the books Art & Queer Culture by Catherine Lord and Richard Meyer and Everyday Joys in Twenty-First Century Queer American Painting by David Deutsch.
Gio Black Peter, Chinatown, 2024. Photograph by Waltpaper
His work is magnetic and conveys a subversive energy radiating from a core of puckish vulnerability. His figures entangle, seduce, resist, and indulge in a sort of mystical, primordial hustle. They’re okay with you sweating through their carnal hypnotic fantasy while quietly offering something much more profound, committed, and dare I say monogamous—not at all to the flesh, but to ritual and all things that rise higher and higher.
Gio Black Peter, Walter’s Writing Desk, 2017. Pastel, acrylic, graphite, marker, and colored pencil, 30” x 30”. Courtesy of the artist
Gio Black Peter, (L to R) Swan–this bird has flown / Fire on the Moon / Pain Is Good. Acrylic and oil pastel on NYC subway maps. Courtesy of the artist
Devotion is ever-present. Shadows and darkness linger behind intoxicated stares. Confidently etched flights of flesh and flora sing nuanced songs of magic, loss, and isolation in hope and search of companionship, salvation, or at least a good time. His heart blossoms through an immaculate assembly of color—unguarded, soft, yearning—but there’s always caution. The lines are heavy and without hardened pretension; nothing is transactional or contrived. His work maps the most tender of souls as he dives before the sun: a rooftop Icarus dreaming of love amidst shards of broken concrete. This is the work of Gio Black Peter.
Gio Black Peter, Chinatown, 2024. Photograph by Waltpaper
Waltpaper: It was great to come by and witness your live/work space. Chinatown and the Lower East Side have historically been bastions of immigrant culture and trade. Does the area influence your work in any way?
Gio Black Peter: It was fun having you over. I’m glad we didn't lock ourselves out on the roof. I’ve been in this space for three years now. It’s my second experience with a working/living space. The first art studio I lived in was great, except for the fact that there was no shower, only a sink. I rigged a garden hose that went from the sink, out the window, and onto the roof. It was great during spring and summer—lots of naked outdoor parties, but once it got cold, the party was over. My working hours are erratic. I’m either up all night painting until the morning, or I work in small sessions throughout the day, so living in the same place I work in makes the most sense. Chinatown is quiet at night, which is perfect for painting. I also have the utmost respect for my Chinatown neighbors. Once there was an entire marching band outside my window. It was the most beautiful sight. My street was filled with what seemed like the entire neighborhood chanting and banging on drums and pots. Turns out they were protesting the new mega-jail the city is building. It will be the tallest jail in the world. What a waste of money and resources. Of course I went out and joined them.
Gio Black Peter, Marsha P. Johnson as a Sphinx (with and AIDS awareness ribbon as a tail and a brick under her paw), 2023. Acrylic on canvas, 48” x 48”. Courtesy of the artist
Gio Black Peter, As Above So Below Flying High Forever, 2016, Acrylic on wood, 20” x 16”. Courtesy of the artist
W: Your family immigrated from Guatemala when you were quite young. Someone mentioned seeing the element of dance in your linework and brushwork and a connection to Maya culture, despite being quite far removed as a result of the early disconnect. Does that run throughout your practice, or was it specific to one work?
GBP: I do believe it runs through—not just my artwork, but in everything I do. The painting you're referring to is a mural-sized portrait of Marsha P. Johnson. I was standing in front of it, retracing the linework as if I were painting it. My friend saw me making these swooping gestural movements with my arms when he stated—and I agree with him 100%—that I was doing a dance in front of the canvas. My work is expressive, so movement plays a big part. How you dance, walk, move, and express yourself is in your genetic makeup. Your ancestors are literally there with you, in your cells. It’s not just what I believe; it's backed up by science. [1] In fact, it’s hypothesized that cells carry memory. That’s why some organ transplant recipients may exhibit preferences, emotions, and memories resembling those of the donors, suggesting a form of memory storage within the transplanted organ. [2] Also, it is believed that “fear can be inherited through generations.” [3] If fear can, then why not also joy? I believe when I was dancing in front of this giant painting, the movement, aka my expression, was being informed by my cells, which were informed by many past generations of my ancestors, which as a Guatemalan, means the Maya.
Gio Black Peter, Don’t Let Me Down, 2018. Oil and acrylic on canvas, 60” x 48”. Courtesy of the artist
Gio Black Peter, Communion series, (L to R) Travles / Golden Blue (Pascal) / Jonathan. Acrylic and gold leaf on wood. Courtesy of the artist
Gio Black Peter, Birth Life Death, 2023. Oil and acrylic on canvas, 34” x 26”. Courtesy of the artist
W: The notion of queer ritual seems to enter your work frequently. Historically, queer ritual has been coded and hidden, sometimes even within our own consciousness. I think the power of art is in restraint: It’s what you don’t reveal that gives it power. Your work has a distinctively queer current of playful sexual activity, with masks and glory holes, yet you elegantly avoid the trap of revealing too much, even with the most blatant of subject matter.
GBP: As a queer person, the work I make comes from a specific vibration which is informed by my experiences navigating through life. There is no such thing as “straight art,” so there is no such thing as “gay art.” Art is just art. That said, if I make a piece that explores a love story between two males, it would look different than that of a heterosexual connection. It’s important to make work that stays authentic to one’s self. If you make truthful work, there is no need to worry about pitfalls. The images I use to tell a story come from a personal place. Rituals and sacrifice also play a big part of my creative process. I believe in sex magic and sexual transmutation—that’s when you use your sexual energy as fuel for something else. For me, it’s art, and I’m never low on fuel. Both worlds are intertwined. It’s why Picasso said, “Sex and art are the same thing.” As far as masks, I agree with the GOAT Oscar Wilde when he said, “Give a man a mask and he will show his true face.”
Gio Black Peter, Anything you ever needed is everything you’ve always had, 2024. Oil and acrylic on canvas, 58” x 48”. Courtesy of the artist
W: The portrait you did upon turning 40 is rich in personal mythology. Your explanation of the composition evoked the symbolic structuring of tarot cards. What’s your relationship to mysticism, divination, and allegory?
GBP: I have a friend who believes that all art already exists in some other cosmic plane—it’s the artist’s job to pull it out of that plane and bring it into existence. I’ve always liked this allegory. The art-making process is a form of mysticism. Through my imagination and sensibilities, I can connect with something immaterial. I’ve always been hypersensitive—it’s a terrible way to exist day-to-day, but it’s great for making art. It’s funny how things turned out, because, as a kid, I hated being so sensitive, but now it’s my super power.
Gio Black Peter, La Anunciación (el momento), 2020. Acrylic on canvas, 66” x 50”. Courtesy of the artist
W: In addition to the quality of your linework, another element that comes forward is that you’re a fantastic colorist. Gauguin emerges in my mind as a comparison.
GBP: Thank you. I think of color as a primordial language. When it comes to color, I go with my gut. Even as a kid, I had a strong sense of what worked, intuitively. It might be one of those things inherited cellularly. I remember making a drawing in the first grade that my teacher singled out and made a big fuss about. She had it framed and put in the hallway for the whole school to see. My cousins attended the same school 12 years later, and my drawing was still on display. It consisted of four to five figures standing next to each other, each character a different color. From what I remember, one of the figures had his head bowed down, and his hands were up—not unlike something I would draw now. By the way, Gauguin was also self-taught. Maybe we speak the same color language because we’re tapping into the same frequency. Or maybe it’s because though he was born in France, he spent his childhood in Peru. Peruvian textiles are similar to those in Guatemala, and perhaps that’s where he connected with color.
Gio Black Peter, Chronic Insomnia Garden Date, 2012. Pastel, acrylic, walter color, graphite marker, colored pencil, 13” x 10.5”. Courtesy of the artist
W: Looking ahead, what objectives or projects will you be pursuing?
GBP: At the moment, I’m working on a book to be released in spring 2025. In the meantime, you can find me with the Chinatown marching band, and the rest of the time dancing in front of a canvas.
Gio Black Peter, He Feeds Wolves with His Hands, 2023. Acrylic and oil on canvas, 6’ x 5’. Courtesy of the artist
This interview was edited for length and clarity.
References:
[1] Adams, Hieab H H et al. “Heritability and Genome-Wide Association Analyses of Human Gait Suggest Contribution of Common Variants.” The journals of gerontology. Series A, Biological sciences and medical sciences vol. 71,6 (2016): 740-6. doi:10.1093/gerona/glv081.
[2] Haddow G. Embodiment and everyday cyborgs: Technologies that alter subjectivity [Internet]. Manchester (UK): Manchester University Press; 2021. Chapter 1, Ambiguous embodiment and organ transplantation. https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/books/NBK571746/
[3] www.scientificamerican.com/article/fearful-memories-passed-down/
