Pulling Down the Sky: Envisioning the Apocalypse with Keith Haring and William S. Burroughs Lynn R. Huber Midway through Apocalypse by Keith Haring (1958‐1990) and William S. Burroughs (1914‐1997), an anonymous narrator tells John, the seer and author of the Book of Revelation, “don't bother…with all that junk” because “it's time.” Capturing the urgency of apocalyptic discourse, this 1988 collaboration, which includes ten prints by Haring and poetry by Burroughs, reverses the apocalyptic trajectory of its apparent, albeit distant, source text, Revelation. In lieu of depicting a recognizably male John being taken into heaven (Rev 4:1), Haring illustrates a hybrid woman/machine pulling down a tangled tape‐like sky. Burroughs writes: “Caught—burn—in New York beneath the animals of the village—with madness—the Piper pulled down the sky.” Through image and text these two artists queer the perspective of Revelation, replacing the otherworldly vantage point of apocalyptic with an earthly view, specifically from Greenwich Village, a center of queer culture in the 1980s. With this shift of perspective, we glimpse in the pages of this slim book both a queering of the ancient Book of Revelation, written in the first‐century CE, and a queer “revelation.” This queering of the text, which disorients Revelation's narrative and symbols, involves a critique of phallo‐centric culture, embodied in white, middle‐class religiosity. Moreover, rather than depicting John the Seer as an authority whose visionary account cannot be altered or amended (Rev 22:18‐19), Haring and Burroughs offer an ambivalent eschatology, vacillating between end‐time hope and anti‐social negativity. Engaging apocalypse queerly Not known for their subtly, Haring, whose pop art style captured the spirit of the late 1980s, and Burroughs, a founding figure of the 1960's Beat movement, borrow the title Apocalypse directly from the Book of Revelation, an apocalypse written in the late first‐century CE and the final book of the Christian Bible. The ancient text begins with the Greek word apokalypsis or “apocalypse,” when transliterated into English. “Apocalypse” serves as the text's title and is traditionally translated as “revelation.” Apocalypse also becomes a designation for a genre of literature for which Revelation is often thought of as a model. By adopting this title, Haring and Burroughs signal that their project revisions the canonical text. Biblical scholar Vincent L. Wimbush describes this type of appropriation as “signifying on” the text, a practice in which conventional and socially powerful scripts are leveraged, especially by those outside of the dominant culture, to address new contexts and create new meanings. There are a variety of reasons why interpreters signify on scripture, although the practice often involves using texts that have shaped a community's identity, for good or ill, to challenge and reimagine that identity. Through the practices of signification new scriptural traditions emerge, a phenomenon that Wimbush terms “scripturalization.” Focusing on African American biblical interpretation, Lynne St. Clair Darden explains that even scholarly analyses of texts function as scripturalization. This seems especially true when the scholar understands herself as a “carrier of cultural memory,” a process that entails both “looking (and talking) back while moving forward, reshaping identity construction and in so doing reshaping the discipline itself.” In other words, as a queer identified biblical scholar and as someone invested in queer cultural memory, my reading of Haring and Burroughs’ signification on Revelation makes me as much of a “scribe,” to use Darden's language, as Haring, Burroughs, and even John. By exploring Apocalypse as a scripturalization of Revelation in this essay, I effectively extend the queer canon, the ever‐shifting collection of texts and traditions with which queer communities engage. Making this claim is not intended to be an act of hubris; rather, it is an acknowledgment that I am embedded within an interpretive community and a recognition that my decision to engage Haring and Burroughs’ work is motivated by a sense of shared community with other queer readers of Revelation. The understanding of Haring and Burroughs as part of a queer community coalesces around a shared subversive affect, a “queer” posture toward social norms, especially vis‐à‐vis sexuality. Even before the emergence of the academic field of...
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