Down through the history of Western art, dominated by religious imagery, there’s a long tradition of associating the highest things—God, especially—with the lowest. It’s an unsurprising theme, given that it’s Christ’s own. That’s the reason it’s such a great technique—it can cut both ways, pitting Christ-ness against church-ness without getting the artist in trouble. Lots of artists have relied on this loophole to save their necks.
That’s a little bit of what I’m getting from Seattle photographer Michele Domingo’s photographs of Catholic omnipresence in the Philippines, where her family’s from. Her pictures of a plastic-wrapped Jesus, a colorful calendar showing the holy family endorsing a judge, and a “family hallway” are not outright critiques, but each has dark undercurrents.
Then you come to her portraits of underwear and crosses, Drying I and Drying II. These feel different. Softer, more curious, almost timeless. The critique of religion feels both bigger and less direct: How does something so personal get so organized?


“God is love. I have loved. Therefore, I will go to heaven.” – Imelda Marcos
I’m an agnostic, so I take no religious offense to this. But it strikes me as meaningless and juvenile. I don’t even know why I’m commenting on it. Suck my dick.