On 30 May 2014 the public memorial service for HR Giger was held at the Fraumünster reformed church in Zurich. It was an occasion to bid farewell to a man who influenced so many and so much. I wish I could have attended with my Giger Gang friends, but sadly my budget was not in shape for European travel. So, I thought maybe a personal tribute was in order, a way to pay my respects and say goodbye.
Note: I am still gathering things related to the influence Giger had on tattoo artists, I do want to broaden it to include people with Giger tattoos, but that project is taking a while to come together and truthfully I’d love one day to see a book of Giger and Tattoo Culture. So, maybe my efforts can help with that. 🙂
A few years ago I wrote a blog essay on my ‘Birth Machine’ thigh tattoo, one of the most obvious ways to see Giger’s influence on my thinking and my body. Check it out here. For all things Giger, check out his personal website. And some great posts about Giger can be found here and here. And there’s many more online.
I first became acquainted with his artwork at a very young age, in the 1980’s. I fondly remember being mesmerized by the Debbie Harry ‘KooKoo’ album cover, and the Emerson, Lake & Pamer ‘Brain Salad Surgery’ album cover (both were owned by family members). I have a soft spot for the first two Alien movies; I saw both before I turned 13. I loved the creatures, the sets, and I loved the fear they induced.
Giger never failed to put me in a total state of awe with his smoky velvet textures, the heavy moods present in his works, and his alien or industrial landscapes. I have always loved his depictions of strong, maternal, sexual female creatures. His female creations are never victims or purely objectified pieces of meat to be devoured. They always seem very confident and fierce, something you’d love and fear at the same time. The sexuality in his paintings is thought-provoking and aesthetically beautiful (never pornographic or tasteless). He had such a unique way of blending sexual content with power, maternity, fear and anguish, and he did so as seamlessly as he blended human and machine elements.
The most wonderful feeling I have when I look at Giger’s work is that of being at home: It feels like I’ve found an artist who speaks my language or rather paints my mind on a page. I’ve always been fascinated with things many people consider dark: I love reading about the history of torture devices, or the ways they would test if someone was a witch during the trials in the USA and in Europe. Ever since childhood, I found myself more interested in the villain in books or movies, or even taking their side and wishing they had won: I cried when Darth Vader died in Star Wars. And ever since I can remember I have had horrible nightmares. Often as a kid I didn’t like going to sleep because I had so many monsters in my head. I knew once I shut my eyes I’d be running from something. I was so embarrassed of this too, I felt so alone, since none of my friends had this issue. When I learned that Giger too suffered from nightmares, using them as inspirational material for his art and thus achieving a kind of catharsis, I felt at ease and like I’d found a friend in terror. I never feel alone when I look at his work, and studying it deeply helps me exercise some demons as well.
Thank you, Giger, for being my friend in the darkness. I will never forget you or what you have meant to me. I am surrounded by your work; you are always here to inspire, to heal, to provoke, and to push the boundaries of those who enter my work space.
