For many, the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is known for what they forbid over what they believe. While their rules prohibiting alcohol and tobacco remain focused internally, they have taken a broader stance lobbying against LGBTQ rights for the general population. Although many religious organizations are rapidly adapting to meet the changing needs of society, the Mormon Church seems to have retrenched and branded itself as an unapologetically illiberal organization.
Camille Charbonneau is a queer artist who was born and raised in a Mormon family on the unceded territory of the Anishinaabe Algonquin Nation/Gatineau. Much of their practice subverts the symbols and iconography of the Mormon Church, making use of otherwise unprofitable religious baggage. Camille separates these tokens and images from the belief system that created them, removing them from power and judgment while preserving their sanctity. Camille’s first solo show comes not as an angry protest but as a tender vision of an alternate reality where queerness and Mormonism respectfully coexist. The first step towards change is to imagine what could be.
To that end, Camille populates the gallery space with countless miniature sculptures of Mormon missionaries in intimate homosexual pairings. While their standard uniforms and badges are immediately recognizable, these figures are not engaged in their usual public proselytizing, laying instead in tender private embraces. Every detail has been recreated on a miniature scale: the white shirts and ties of the men, the frumpy modest skirts of the women. Like missionaries arriving at your doorstep to share a message of hope and speak of a better world, perhaps inadvertently the work presented by Camille does the same.
The figures presented were made in collaboration with Camille’s mother, Chantal Saint-Pierre, who provided materials, technical advice, and sewing assistance. The idyllic image of a mother and child industriously working together would not be out of place in a Mormon television commercial. The similitude ends when Camille stiffens the handcrafted outfits into a variety of empty clothes taking the shape of queer couples engaging in loving embraces. While the poses are hopeful the figures remain disembodied empty shells, remnants of a stillborn love. Hope, in this instance, is shaped by its deficit; making itself visible by cradling what is missing.
Unlike many, Camille had the good fortune to be born into a family that followed the path of love and mutual respect. The figures are presented in stacks of boxes of monumental quality dispersed throughout the space. The random layout and casual positioning work against the interpretation of the installation as a memorial. It is as if the viewer intruded upon an ongoing process in a moment of stillness. The ambiguity of the characters’ positions and the receptacles in which they lie evoke the imminence of something about to happen. Whether awakening or death, hope or despair, the characters exist at the threshold.
Laid out in miniature below and distanced by scale, these figures inhabit a different world. It is only through deliberate approach that viewers can immerse themselves in the realm of these resting lovers. Our world has learned that kneeling is not only a useful gesture of supplication, but also a powerful tool for peaceful protest. Proximity allows understanding, and understanding in turn allows existence.