From clubland to the art world, Leigh Bowery shaped culture in ways that are still felt today. As Tate Modern stages a retrospective, his longtime friend and muse, Sue Tilley, recalls their nights out, the making of an icon and the quieter moments beyond the theatrics
“I get myself in a muddle saying things I shouldn’t,” is among the first utterances out of artist and model Sue Tilley’s mouth. Of course, oversharing only gets you in trouble if the stories you’ve got to spill are good – and that’s certainly the case in this instance. She might now live by the seaside, but she’s a London legend. A staple of the capital’s avant-garde nightlife scene, her social circle has included notables like Stephen Jones, Boy George, Princess Julia and, of course, the late Australian multimedia artist Leigh Bowery, who I’m here to talk about today. Fittingly, for two club kids, they met on a night out at the LGBTQ+ venue Heaven, shortly after Tilley moved to London from St Albans. “I met this lovely boy with a very cheeky face and not normal clothes, but same as everyone else’s, you know,” she recalls. “I mean, he wasn’t Leigh Bowery as such, he was just a boy on the scene. We made friends straight away.”
Despite having a day job – the dancer Michael Clark, with whom she lived with in a house share, “thought I was a bit boring because I worked in the Jobcentre” – Tilley spent many evenings immersed in London’s clubs as both a punter and front-desk cashier. It was in these hedonistic, experimental environments where Bowery’s creative spirit was able to flourish. While he would go on to co-found the infamous club night Taboo, he first attracted attention for his outrageous fashion sense. “When Leigh and I would go out, at first he was just one of the crowd. Then he started inventing looks,” Tilley explains. “He put his first look on Trojan because he was too nervous to wear it. When he saw the attention Trojan got, that was it, he was wearing it. Then his whole life changed.”
From there, Bowery gained the confidence to embody a larger-than-life persona that would launch him from the “boy on the scene” whom Tilley first met, to nightlife phenomenon and later art world darling. His multifaceted career would see him stage surreal art performances, craft colourful, kitsch costumes that scrambled the boundaries of gender and personhood, showcase his work as far afield as New York, and perform as part of the art-pop band Minty. Tilley sees Bowery’s rebellious spirit living on in the zeitgeist – particularly in today’s shape-shifting queer culture. “I see his influence in the fashion shows, I see it everywhere. Most of the people in the music charts are non-binary, lesbian, gay… people underestimate Leigh’s position in popular culture. He made dressing weird and being gay more acceptable.”
Now, Bowery’s energetic work is the subject of a major Tate Modern retrospective, a chance to bring together the ephemera of his career. Tilley features in the shadows – through letters, a painting she did of Bowery, holiday snaps and postcards. But her influence can be felt in other ways. Tilley recalls having gone with him to meet the musician Boy George for the first time, helping her artist friend to soothe his nerves as he met 80s music royalty. She also shares that Bowery’s iconic ink drip look was informed by her own practical nature. “You know, I helped him make . He was just using ink. I said, ‘I watch Blue Peter, you should add Copydex, like a rubber solution glue. Then it’ll stay and you can rip it off at the end of the night’.”
Some of Bowery’s best works, in Tilley’s opinion, are his visceral birthing scenarios, which he would perform as part of Minty. In these electric, shocking performances, he would carry his future wife Nicola Bateman (positioned upside down) in a harness attached to his front. Then, in an elaborate sequence, she would slither on stage covered in lube, sausage links and fake blood – as if she was being pushed out of a cervix. During these performances in the 1990s, Bowery was already ill with HIV. Looking back, Tilley is astounded at his physical resilience. “I think about the fact that he was ill at the time and how he had the strength to do it,” she recalls. “She’s only small, but it’s still heavy to have her hanging upside down. It was just an amazing thing they did.” As she notes, the performance has proved to be a rich reference in the world of fashion. “The look was copied by Rick Owens, you can see influence in the fashion shows.”
Despite the power of Bowery’s presence on the club circuit, Tilley points to his stint modelling for Lucian Freud as a major turning point in his career. “Nobody really takes club kids seriously, you have to have something more behind you,” she explains. “Lucian helped make Leigh more accepted in the art world.” It was Bowery who set up a meeting between Tilley and Freud. “Leigh thought I should work for Lucian, to be glamorous,” she laughs. “Leigh was a control freak and Lucian was a control freak. Leigh had to be the bigger control freak so he put the idea of me modelling into Lucian’s head, so that Lucian thought it was his idea.” Despite receiving advice from Bowery on how to navigate her first meeting with the celebrated portraitist, Tilley characteristically did her own thing: “I completely ignored Leigh’s instructions and did what I wanted.” Tilley would go on to become the subject of a series of arresting Freud nudes. Notably, one of the paintings – Benefits Supervisor Sleeping – broke the world record for the highest price paid for a painting by a living artist at the time of its sale in 2008 for $33.6 million.
In 1994, just three years after Tilley began sitting for Freud, Bowery passed away on 31 December, aged 33. Decades later, the memory is still fresh in her mind. “We heard the news in the clubs on New Year’s Eve, such a big, strong person going like that. No one could believe it, because no one knew he was ill – he didn’t want them to,” she recalls. “I can’t believe, in 30 years, how much has changed. Even if he lived about six months longer, he’d probably still be alive now, because they found new HIV treatments.” Following Bowery’s passing, Tilley was approached by The Guardian to write his obituary, an article which would cause editors to take notice of her passion and dedication to her friend’s legacy. Shortly after, she was entrusted to write Leigh Bowery: The Life and Times of an Icon, a 1997 biography of his life which includes interviews with his social and creative circles, all of whom were eager to dedicate his effervescent talent and wit to the page.
The book gathered cult status among Bowery fans, and has been recently reissued by Thames & Hudson. This has offered Tilley a chance to revisit the book, while the Leigh Bowery! retrospective at Tate Modern has reaffirmed her friend’s importance to contemporary art history.
But the Bowery commemorated in books and art galleries is not the only Bowery who Tilley remembers. While he was powerfully, formidably creative, Tilley liked him best as a “daytime friend”. “To be honest, when he was all dressed up, I didn’t really like going out with him, it was so difficult to chat to him,” she says. “I was more of a daytime friend. People think he was really peculiar but he was perfectly normal and he was so funny, hilarious even. If you had troubles and tribulations, he’d help. He’d always be there for you.” The kind-hearted boy who would sometimes get nervous or starstruck, who was generous to a fault, and who would spend hours on the phone with her talking about nothing – that’s the Leigh Bowery which Tilley will know and hold dear forever.
Leigh Bowery! is on view at the Tate Modern until 31 August 2025, find out more here
Leigh Bowery: The life and Times of an icon can be purchased at Thames & Hudson here
This article is taken from Port issue 36. To continue reading, buy the issue or subscribe head here
