In an era of mounting political attacks on LGBTQ+ rights, a groundbreaking new art exhibition at Wrightwood 659 in Chicago offers a sweeping counterpoint: a rich, global history of queer and trans existence that predates our modern terminology and affirms its enduring presence.
“The First Homosexuals: The Birth of a New Identity, 1869-1939” runs through July 26 at Wrightwood 659, 659 W. Wrightwood Ave. It features more than 300 works from 40 countries, exploring the emergence of the term “homosexual” and the profound shifts in sexual and gender identity during the late 19th and early 20th centuries.
“This exhibition is a rebuttal to centuries of queer and trans erasure in art history,” said Johnny Willis, associate curator, during a preview of the exhibition. “This exhibition is also also an affirmation that … queer and trans people have always existed—and will continue to exist.”
A global and historical frame
The show’s lead curator, Jonathan D. Katz—one of the country’s foremost queer art historians—emphasized that the exhibit does more than trace the rise of the word “homosexual.” It challenges the assumption that sexuality is natural and fixed.
Instead, sexuality is historical, with its meanings and boundaries shaped by the cultural context of colonialism, Katz said.
“The more you look at a global frame for sexuality, [the] more you come to realize that it’s Europe, the United States and Canada alone that had a problem with same-sex desire,” Katz said. “The rest of the world had created plenty of roles, opportunities and possibilities for same-sex sexuality.”
The exhibition begins in the pre-binary era—before the invention of the heterosexual/homosexual divide. Viewers encounter homoerotic myths in neoclassical sculpture, depictions of two-spirited figures in Native American communities and portraits of historical figures who defied gender norms long before “transgender” entered the lexicon.
One early highlight is a Japanese scroll from 1850 that chronicles a young man’s sexual education—alternating between man and woman without judgment or rigid identity.
“Among samurai, it was famous that if you wanted to be a samurai, you essentially apprenticed to and served in every regard an older samurai warrior,” Katz said. “You were his, and that’s how you became a member of the samurai. Japan had no prejudices against same-sex sexuality—until colonialism.”
The exhibit takes its title from 1869, the year German writer Karl-Maria Kertbeny first used the word “homosexual” in a published letter. But the moment was not only linguistic—it was political, Katz said.
Kertbeny believed everyone had the capacity for both heterosexual and homosexual desires. But his ideas were fused with the essentialist theories of Karl Heinrich Ulrichs, who posited that homosexuals were a “third sex.” The result was a shift from fluidity to binary thinking, solidifying gay and straight as fixed categories.
As language narrowed, visual art picked up where words left off, Katz said.
“As the language for homosexuality grew increasingly specific and narrow, … art picked up the slack,” Katz said.
Erased narratives and colonial violence
One gallery features early queer icons, including writers like Oscar Wilde and Gertrude Stein, artists like Romaine Brooks and Marsden Hartley, and lesser-known figures like Florence Carlyle, a Canadian painter who portrayed her lover in lush, Dutch-inspired interiors.
The only known lifetime portrait of Wilde is on view, alongside an accompanying teapot—a subtle relic of Wilde’s persecution for “gross indecency.” Nearby, a tender painting of James Baldwin, created by his mentor Beauford Delaney, highlights Black queer lineage in the arts.
Another standout is a drawing by British artist Simeon Solomon, arrested twice for his homosexuality before dying in prison. His work, “The Bride, the Bridegroom and Sad Love” (1865), predates the coining of “homosexual” but vividly conveys a queer love story and the heartbreak of social censure.
“He chronicles essentially the weight of social censure, as he must relinquish his male beloved,” Katz explained. “It’s an incredibly important image, in part because it dates from 1865—three years before the coinage of the word homosexual.”
Throughout the show, curators intentionally contrast European art traditions with the cultures they colonized.
In one section, a Spanish print depicts indigenous people—identified as gender-divergent—being torn apart by dogs. Nearby, a painting of a Two-Spirit ceremony, once described as “disgusting” by a white observer, celebrates an annual tradition of gender nonconformity among Native communities.
The exhibit also features rare Chinese and Japanese erotic art, much of it preserved outside the countries of origin due to censorship or destruction. Several of these works offer unfiltered depictions of same-sex desire.
“Part of what we do in this exhibition is chronicle history as it falls, not as we wish it to be,” Katz said.
A timely call to action
Beyond reclaiming erased narratives, the exhibition also issues a warning.
“This exhibition is a warning,” Willis said. “A warning that fascism and authoritarianism can take away all the freedoms we’ve worked for—and a chilling reminder of the dangers that await us under the current administration. It is therefore also a call to action.”
The curators witnessed this first hand after loans from Slovakia were canceled after the election of a right-wing government and some partnerships were more difficult to secure due to the show’s LGBTQ+ themes, Willis said. Some archives refused to collaborate altogether.
“Thanks to the tireless efforts of dozens of individuals, we have an exhibition that is nothing short of a miracle,” Willis said.
Wrightwood 659 Executive Director Jan Kalish said the show has already sold more advance tickets than any exhibition in the institution’s history. In response, the museum has added extra days and launched a new symposium series with contributing scholars.
Katz said the exhibition invites viewers to see sexuality through a historical lens—and in doing so, it offers the possibility of cultural change.
“Once we stop thinking about sexuality as natural and start thinking about it as a product of a collective consciousness, maybe we can finally get past the battles that have weighed us down—and begin a new era in which this country finally achieves the dream it set for itself,” Katz said.