Marinos, also known as Marina or Mary the Monk, is an early Christian Saint whose story, to modern eyes, is distinctly transgender. Marinos was born Marina, but chose to change his name and present himself as a man to join his father in monastic life. Marinos was accused of impregnating a local innkeeper’s daughter, and rather than revealing his transgender status, he chose to confess to the crime and accept his punishment- expulsion from the monastery and the burden of raising a child as a single, homeless, father.
Despite the surviving texts being very clear that Marinos lived and died as a man, and raised his son “as a father,” he is remembered as a female virgin martyr and saint. In this way, a transgender figure is rewritten into a more socially plateable mold.
There are no physical records of Marinos that a layman could reasonably access. Even if one knew what to look for, the records of Marinos exist in manuscripts held in European academic and liturgical vaults and in digitally-paywalled academic articles. Without digitization of those records- a translation from the physical to the digital- and their digital dissemination, someone of my position would never have the chance to learn of the existence of the entire class of “transvestite” saints, of which Marinos belongs.
I seek to combat the estrangement of transgender stories from history by digitally sculpting and materially fabricating a monument to this forgotten Saint. Constructed from over 30 individual 3D printed pieces, accounting for over 1000 hours of print time, Marinos exists at the intersection of modern technology and queer discourse, and of historical record and artistic expression. From the front, the sculpture is reminiscent of polychromed wood icons, but on closer inspection points of tension become evident, including a small hole in the figure’s robes that hints at the hollow construction, inviting the audience to take a peek from a different angle. Looking at the sculpture from behind, the modern, rough construction- so different from the polished exterior- becomes evident.
The sculpture is a modern, digital, construction, imperfectly pieced together in much the same way that transgender and gender nonconforming people have had to piece together our history. Transgender history is constructed from the scant records of our ‘peculiarity’ and the remnants of the books about us that were not burned, but even from the margins and between the lines it shines vibrantly with the history of transgender resilience, joy, and love.
Marinos looks tenderly at his adopted son, who joyfully mimics his gesture. The stories we have of Marinos all reference his devotion to his adopted son, whom he raised as his father. This makes Marinos not only a representation of transgender divinity, but also transgender fatherhood, something increasingly radical in a time when the very visibility of transgender people is being called a threat to children. Marinos’s hand is held aloft, as if he is meant to be holding an icon, walking stick, or flag. There is something missing from the statue- a reminder that we can never construct a full picture of the lives of those who have come before us, especially marginalized lives.
