Nia De indias

Recent movements of large-scale reckonings with a country’s colonial past and legacy have made the power of representation and visibility in art and history - particularly those displayed in public spaces - irrefutable. This rings especially true for the history of art that has been taught in Latin America, which finds its foundations in Europe. It is a way of spotlighting certain stories and constructing partial truths, most of which are inherited from a colonial past.

Today, there are increasing efforts to decolonise these narratives and sites of memory so that they can begin to encompass more representative histories and depictions of marginalised demographics, especially within public institutions. One such space that has continuously been at the centre of this cultural and generational shift to re-contextualise historical figures, events or artefacts is the museum.

Nia De indias inside room 9 at the National Gallery, London.

On the surface, they appear to function as their widely-accepted status as heritage institutions and sites of memory, which serve to preserve and educate the public about the history of a people. So, why is it that certain communities and their histories are excluded from their carefully curated past, and how does queerness fit into all of this?

From venerating controversial historical figures like Christopher Coumbus to presenting Indigenous history from a mainly colonial perspective, museums have played a vital role in selectively legitimising, humanising and giving value to the existence of the elite few. Conversely, the act of misrepresentation, underrepresentation, or outright erasure, does the exact opposite, with queerness and queer people being largely treated as subjects of controversy in art history.

For centuries, queerness has been excluded from such spaces, which has correlated with increased threats to the freedom and safety of LGBTQ+ people, with queer representation falling into restrictive categories: being depicted as mythological, queer artists having to conceal their personal life, or just not being represented at all.

Nia De indias approaches the room, walking through visitors in room 10.

Fast-forward to the present century in 2017, an art exhibition dedicated to LGBTQ+ artwork, ‘Queer Museum’, in Porto Alegre, Brazil, was forced to close by a right-wing pressure group, who accused the exhibition of promoting “blasphemy, pedophilia and bestiality”.

Nia Goes to the Museum is a photo collection that captures my journey through some of the most prestigious museums in the world, where my passage through the corridors of these great buildings helps me recognise myself in that history of art.

Nia De indias lying on a sofa in a museum.

Nia De indias looks straight into the camera wearing Sago Estudio.

Nia De indias is my drag alter ego – sexy, Latina, crazy, and sophisticated. She is a mix between Miss Universe Colombia and carnival matachín that allows me to be, for a short time, the most authentic version of myself. My performance as Nia follows a three-step method: to walk through the city, to wander through the corridors of art museums as any other visitor would, and then to imitate and pose in front of the artwork.

This photo series began in Bogota, Colombia in May 2017 at the national museum of Colombia, Museo Nacional de Colombia, as a 22-year-old exchange student from Chile, accompanied by Colombian artists María Montoya and Mónica Mosquera.

During the tour, I was met with stares from other visitors, the visible discomfort of some museum goers, and questions from strangers. Even before I stepped foot inside the museum, I was questioned by guards and staff members about the way I was dressed. They declared that the way I looked was “not the right way to visit a museum."

We walked through the museum’s quiet corridors, finding iconic works of Colombian art, colonial paintings of saints and heroes, and meticulously detailed marble sculptures and decorative objects.

However, despite the focus on history-making brilliance, there was no representation of queer bodies like mine. But I was there as Nia to challenge this status quo.

Nia De indias outside of “Museo Nacional” in Bogotá, Colombia in 2017.

In July 2022, five years since Nia’s first appearance in Colombia, I found the perfect opportunity to continue this performance at the National Gallery in London. After years of being interested in decolonisation as a research topic, I took the chance to confront one of the most renowned institutions that safeguard the images that have saturated the history of European art.

This time, I wore a custom dress made with prints of my makeup wipes designed by Sago Estudio, and was accompanied by Chilean artists Antonia Canales, a photographer who specialises in analogue photography, and Vivian Gabel, a professional dancer from Perú. Once again, upon entering the museum, we felt the intense gaze of the guards.

Nia De indias with museum visitors in front of Van Dyck’s “Charles I”.

Artists such as da Vinci, Caravaggio, Turner, Vermeer and Velasquez remain solemn as Nia De indias passes through the halls where they rest and are exhibited to the public, who place their gaze on them daily. But how can you draw attention away from these acclaimed paintings, and force the visitor to look only at you? How does a person react when they encounter a drag artist in a classical art museum? Am I considered art to them as well?

Nia De indias in the east wing of the gallery.

Discrimination within, and exclusion from, the national museum of Colombia, and the lack of representation in these cultural institutions was the main point of departure for Nia Goes to the Museum.

By walking, imitating, and wandering through the museums of the world, I want to say it loud and clear that history can be rewritten to include those who have been deliberately written out, and that queer artists exist. We have the right to step into museums as we are, just like any other individual. Despite efforts to hide us, we will not be exiled from art or concealed from history again – we will use our voice and artistic production to generate a new sense of belonging for future audiences.

We must continuously ask ourselves: who is allowed to enter the museum? Who is written into, or out of, history? From there, which identities are welcome in these spaces? My performances in London and, most recently, in São Paulo, Brasil, are my answers to these questions.

They are my resistance to our cultural status quo.