Why I Love Religious Kitsch
Hi…I’m a Recovering Kitsch-aholic
Back when 99-cent stores were everywhere, I used to collect the small resin Catholic statues they sold—the ones found in the same aisle as the Sacred Heart candles you'd see at memorials. My small elementary school allowance was 3 dollars a week, so I would scheme, beg, and cry to buy yet another little Jesus or crucifix made in China. I've always been drawn to religious ephemera and art for as long as I can remember. At one point, the adults around me thought it was a little too much or a "hyper-fixation." (It takes a special level of "Jesus obsession" to alarm teachers at a Christian school.)
I still remember a parent-teacher conference in first or second grade where I was asked to agree to draw anything else before drawing Jesus. It became a personal insecurity I formed. Most of the other kids were into Yu-Gi-Oh! or Marvel superheroes. Meanwhile, all I wanted to do was search friend's houses during playdates for a Family Bible with pictures. Needless to say, my Jesus art obsession is still going strong!
Religious Kitsch usually refers to tchotchkes that are:
Garish: The word "kitsch" comes from German and basically means "tacky" or "cheap." It's used in art to describe things that feel overly crowded, cheesy, or just plain ugly. So, that bright cobalt blue Mary statue with the gold accents, naked cherubs, and the glow-in-the-dark halo…. that's garish!
Overly-Sentimental: Ok, I'll say it! Let's be real—most Religious Kitsch comes from Catholic traditions. Unlike Protestants, who often shied away from using images, Catholicism has long embraced visuals. So, kitschy items often try to capture significant spiritual moments, such as first communions, baptisms, weddings, or funerals.
Nostalgic: These objects are designed to evoke a sense of familiarity. Whether or not you grew up religious, there's something recognizable in them. You understand the feeling these objects are conveying; you know the vibe they are trying to communicate.
That being established, here is why I love Religious Kitsch: It fails!
Religious Kitsch often misses the mark. It can't fully express what it's trying to communicate. It's more of a reflection of what people have grasped spiritually than any part of the message itself. This is not simply a matter of "why are they still making a White Jesus." There are much deeper questions we can ask than that.
It's "How do we make art about something infinite and all-consuming?"
Or "Does creating formulaic imagery of the Divine effectively put it in a box?"
We all have a Human desire for transcendence. That means that we all want to be included in whatever grand story is being told. We want to be able to touch the mystery beneath the mundane reality we constantly find ourselves in. Religious Kitschy objects are one expression of how people have sought to have their own piece of this mystery. Take my Grandma, for example. Every Christmas, she would buy nativity sets, Santas, and angels—but they only sold White ones at the time. So she would modify them with brown shoe polish. That was her way of touching the mystery, of seeing herself in it.
Back in 2020, I was finishing art school when the pandemic shut everything down. Like many people, everything seemed uncertain. With the reports of deaths and the ordinances to stay inside, I felt like the end was near. Earlier in the semester, I had painted a version of an image from my Godmommy's house, depicting Jesus walking on the water. During lockdown, I hung it on my wall. Most days, I would talk to it. Now, I wasn't expecting an oil-painted image to respond to me. Still, it was my human way of touching the mystery beneath my current reality.
One of the core beliefs at Cosmic Christ is this:
"All art is a failure."
That's our way of saying no artwork can fully capture who God is. But that failure is what makes Religious Kitsch so relatable and human. It captures that longing humanity has for an encounter with God. So, whether it's a wallet-sized Warner Sallman family-style portrait of Christ or a strangely iridescent and painfully Caucasian set of Catholic stickers, all of it is pointing to our need for closeness to the ineffable.
