Jerry Torre shares his top ten

Jerry "The Marble Faun" Torre is an artist and writer who lives in Sunnyside, Queens. Torre received his nickname when he was a teenage handyman at Grey Gardens (the artist appeared in the legendary 1976 documentary of the same name). He has shown his sculptures at many New York venues, including the Bureau of General Services—Queer Division, Geary Contemporary, and SITUATIONS.

My mother took me to the 1964–65 New York World's Fair to see this extraordinary sculpture. Michelangelo was able to depict such tenderness with Carrara marble, which is so hard to carve—what a demanding material. The visit was a formative experience and became a catalyst for my own pursuit of stone carving.

When I went into the queen's chamber, I remember, I slid down the claustrophobic corridor into it, backward and barefoot. My feet were dangling off the edge of the shaft, and my guide grabbed my ankles in order to help me stand up. He lit a little lantern, and when we turned around, we saw that we were inside a grand room carved from one solid chunk of pink granite. Can you imagine hollowing out a rock the size of my apartment?

Albert especially needs recognition for his courage to record life on its own terms. He didn't sugarcoat anything and was a master of cinema verité. You know what that is? It's no filters: You see what you get, and you get what you see. It's like if you catch someone having sex and they don't stop, even though you’re looking at them. It's the purity of an act without varnish. When the Maysles brothers filmed us, we were being ourselves: Little Edie and Mrs. Beale weren't acting, and I certainly didn't plan anything. We were living our lives, and Albert had a camera. I will always miss him.

In my life, I did everything I wanted. I’m a free spirit, so I spent a lot of time at the Anvil, a New York leather bar. I was a beautiful dancer, so I would jump up on the stage and dance around in my jockstrap entertaining the other boys. There was even a trapeze. One day, Freddie Mercury from that band Queen came in and wanted to make it with me. Basically, the Anvil was a liberal social club, and that's where you went when you wanted to really live.

My gallery, SITUATIONS, is very worldly, and I love that it has no rules. Its founder, Jackie Klempay, allows artists to exhibit their work without prejudice. I was astonished by Felix Beaudry's most recent show there, "The Glob Mother" (2023)—it featured gigantic knitted figures lying on a couch. Amazing! What a trip! Hello! It takes courage to be who you are, and Felix is who he is, which is gutsy. Whether you’re a regular newspaper guy, a drag queen, or a pickpocket, own it and walk proudly.

I’m fascinated by Rodin's sculptures at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in Manhattan. His figures look like they’re living inside of the stone and ready to break, jump, or climb out of it at any moment. They’re demanding to be free. The way Rodin carves that hand reaching out through the marble, it's as if it's trapped but desperately wanting to be alive.

I feel deeply connected to Raynes, an artist who lives and works in New York. He's a free spirit, too. He's a thoughtful man whose art represents a period of our city's history that's now vanished and sterilized. When we speak, there's an understanding about certain subjects, particularly gay liberation during the 1970s and ’80s, when New York was alive and out of its mind. Raynes's art is a reflection of our crazy youth. I’m not sure many people can really understand. But with the way Raynes paints and sculpts, you begin to get a taste of that vanished freedom.

For me, going to Italy was the ultimate climax. I can't say who the finest Renaissance sculptor was. Bernini's works inside Saint Peter's Basilica are huge and magnificent, but honestly, I have a bias toward Michelangelo. On this tomb, allegorical figures representing day and night drape themselves over the sarcophagus. It's as if they literally climbed up and decided to lie on either side of this Medici's final resting place. They become guardians, unearthly sentinels. Michelangelo freed these entities from the stone. If you look at them closely, you can see what they’re saying to us.

When I was in Egypt, I rode a horse I called Confetti. He would shake his head in the wind and go Rrrrrrrrrrrr—his saliva was so dry it flew everywhere and looked like the stuff I named him after. I was so honored when the performer Candystore commemorated my horse through poems tucked into tiny boxes filled with confetti. It was a trip!

Here's Moses with two horns growing out of his head. There's always been a controversy over what this sculpture means—maybe he represents the darkness of man? Yet you can see that he possesses the wisdom of the ages; he looks defiant. He shows strength and tenacity through his long, flowing beard and thick, posed fingers. The work humbles me.