Art possesses a profound power, capable of consuming an artist until only their creations remain. For Rex, a visionary artist who emerged in the mid-20th century, this was not merely a philosophy but a lived reality. His prolific career, deeply intertwined with the burgeoning gay culture of the 1960s and 70s, explored the raw energy of homoeroticism, offering a powerful counter-narrative to the pervasive homophobia of the era. Rex didn't just create art; he was the art, his life a testament to self-definition and a fearless embrace of the erotic. Through his distinctive pointillist style, he didn't just depict gay life; he helped shape its visual language, leaving behind an enduring legacy that continues to resonate.
In the decades following the Stonewall Uprising, a seismic shift occurred within the LGBTQ+ community. A new era of visibility and unapologetic self-expression dawned, and artists like Rex were at its vanguard. As editor-in-chief of Drummer magazine during its formative years, I had the distinct privilege of witnessing firsthand the arrival of these pioneering artists. They'd present their portfolios, each a vibrant explosion of creativity, often pushing boundaries and celebrating the leather subculture that was simultaneously being forged. It felt, in many ways, like entering a modern-day Neverland, a realm where the imagination reigned supreme. And fittingly, Rex himself, who later explored themes of Peter Pan and lost boys in his work, was himself a kind of perpetual Lost Boy, forever seeking something just beyond the horizon.
Rex's life was a tapestry woven with threads of defiance and a deep-seated attraction to what he termed 'nostalgie de la boue' - the erotic pull of working-class life, the grit of skid-row adventures, and the intensity of ritualistic experiences, all often culminating in a transcendental orgasmic release. He remained an enigma, a solitary figure often clad in his signature leather jacket, yet his art spoke volumes. His creative process was as meticulous as his subject matter was bold. I recall him demonstrating how he'd take a single, tiny dot from one of his intricate drawings and, through relentless enlargement using a photocopier, transform it into a vast, abstract canvas. This singular dot, for Rex, became a metaphor for his entire existence - a universe contained within a minute detail. My own tribute to his artistic vision involved applying a similar macro lens, progressively zooming into one of his drawings until the subject dissolved into pure, overwhelming abstraction, mirroring the profound impact of his singular "dot" - his unique perspective.
Rex's journey was one of both profound connection through his art and, by his own design, significant isolation in his personal life. As an artist who poured his very being into his work, his passing around April 1, [Year of Death - inferred from context, precise date unknown], in Amsterdam, after a period of self-imposed exile, was met with a stark lack of fanfare. News circulated of his solitary death in a foreign land, with no immediate collectors or mourners to claim his legacy. The poignant reality of his end, far from the vibrant scene he helped to define, highlights the complex nature of his artistic persona.
For those who pass without kin, organizations like the Lonely Funeral Project offer a poignant way to acknowledge a life lived. One can only imagine what a poet might have conveyed about an artist who guarded his inner world so fiercely. Was he an individual grappling with autism, as some have suggested, leading to a profound social withdrawal and a sense of betrayal by the very culture and nation he once championed? His life, and indeed his artistic output, remained a carefully curated performance, an autobiographical visibility that often concealed more than it revealed.
Our paths, though running parallel, were marked by a unique dynamic. As a practitioner of New Journalism, I found myself drawn to his unwavering commitment to his craft. We collaborated, conversed, and debated - sometimes on the record, sometimes off, depending on his mercurial moods. He possessed an innate understanding of his audience, carefully orchestrating his public image. He declared his work belonged in historical texts, not what he dismissively termed 'porn smut gay rags.' His desire was to be presented in his 'best light,' a sentiment that underscored his deep-seated need for respect and recognition beyond sensationalism.
His meticulous attention to detail extended to his interviews. He once remarked, after an interview I published in my Mapplethorpe book, 'It sounded like me… all the pauses, the commas, it was exactly the way I talk.' This precision, this dedication to authenticity in representation, was a hallmark of his approach. He recognized the power of narrative, particularly within the context of gay history, where figures like Gertrude Stein, Djuna Barnes, and Margaret Mead offered frameworks for understanding.
Rex's artistic trajectory began in the vibrant, often gritty, art scene of mid-'60s New York. His early work, characterized by meticulous black-and-white drawings rendered in a distinctive pointillist technique, captured the burgeoning homoeroticism of the era. This style, employing countless tiny dots to build his explicit depictions of male intimacy, became his signature, a testament to his dedication and unique vision. His art was more than just a representation; it was an active force, pushing the boundaries of what was considered acceptable and forging a new visual vocabulary for gay male sexuality.
The era was a crucible of change. The 'Psychedelic '60s' exploded, and with it, the Stonewall riots, an event that irrevocably altered the landscape of gay identity. Rex, with his art, emboldened this new decade, challenging the staid conventions of established homosexual society. He was a modernist in every sense, unafraid to confront and push beyond the perceived limits of his time. His willingness to embrace the transgressive, to explore themes of male power dynamics and consensual dominance, often placed him at odds with more conservative elements within the gay community and wider society.
Was Rex an easy target for criticism? Perhaps. His 'politically incorrect' viewpoints, his unapologetic assertion of masculine eroticism in an increasingly prescriptive social climate, certainly set him apart. While many 'vanilla' gays navigated their identities with a cautious 'gay squint,' Rex and his contemporaries were actively constructing their own desires, building their 'teen spank banks' through bold artistic expression. The subsequent decades, the 70s and 80s, became a period of nostalgic recall, a celebration of swinging sex, transgressive art, and a vibrant pop-culture cosplay that Rex's work undoubtedly influenced.
His association with venues like the Mineshaft, a Mafia-owned club, during a period when gay men were often navigating complex social and legal landscapes, speaks to his willingness to exist in the liminal spaces. He was a figure who courted controversy, a subversive force who challenged norms and redefined what it meant to be gay and an artist. In a world often demanding conformity, Rex stood out. He stood out because he chose to stand out, his art and his life a powerful testament to individuality and the enduring pursuit of creative freedom.
His early life, shrouded in the mystery he cultivated, included stories of running away from home at a young age, of navigating the streets and finding solace and inspiration in the underbelly of society. Whether these were literal accounts or carefully crafted narratives, they contributed to the alluring mystique that surrounded him. His claims of being an orphan, of a difficult childhood, and of finding patronage in his youth all add layers to the complex portrait of an artist forged in the fires of personal experience and societal upheaval.
Reflecting on the cultural shifts of the late 60s and early 70s, Rex's presence was as impactful as any major cultural event. While the mainstream media might have overlooked the initial skirmishes of the era, like the Christopher Street disturbances, the gay press elevated these moments into symbols of resistance and identity. Rex, by creating art that reflected this evolving consciousness, became an integral part of that narrative, an eyewitness to the transformation of gay life from a clandestine existence to a public declaration of self.
Rex's artistic output, characterized by its explicit nature and its deep engagement with gay male sexuality, transcended simple categorization. He wasn't merely a 'gay artist'; he was a chronicler of a specific cultural moment, a fearless explorer of forbidden desires. His meticulous pointillist technique, far from being a mere stylistic choice, became a powerful tool for dissecting and reassembling the visual language of intimacy and power.
His work, often circulated through private memberships and limited editions, fostered a sense of exclusivity and a shared understanding among those who appreciated his daring approach. The phrase "Rexwerks" itself became synonymous with a particular brand of unapologetic, boundary-pushing gay art. From "verboten" male figure studies to explicit depictions of sexual encounters, his portfolio offered a raw and unflinching look at the gay male experience, particularly within the context of fetish and leather subcultures.
Even in his later years, as he contended with personal struggles and periods of intense mood changes related to themes of abandonment and betrayal, his artistic drive remained. His dedication to his craft, his insistence on authenticity in his public persona, and his deep respect for those who understood his vision all contribute to the enduring power of his legacy. Rex's art wasn't just a reflection of his life; it was, in many ways, his life's ultimate expression, a testament to a singular vision that continues to inspire and provoke.