Society loves normalcy. It thrives on conformity. It loves to choke every sliver of individuality out of a person and squeeze them tightly into a little box that never fits right. Society holds no place for experimentation, self-discovery, change or blurring the lines between who a person was then versus who they are now. Lukas Moll however, refuses to play to society’s rules. Instead, he chooses to walk his own path, blurring the lines between what society expects of us versus the evolving reality of who we truly are.
Lukas Moll is a queer artist based in Cologne, Germany known for creating works that focus on all of the people who don’t conform to the norms of society but instead challenge them. Through his oil paintings, Lukas explores themes of resilience, violence, isolation, sexual violence and abuse, topics that are all deeply rooted within the LGBTQIA+ community. Whilst many of these themes are sensitive in nature, Lukas’ work offers a a glimmer of hope for those who resonate with his work as he uses his artistic voice to advocate and promote healing through art.
Alongside his painting practice, Lukas is also the founder of Queer Art Hub, an online platform dedicated to showcasing and promoting queer talent within the art community. This project is also accompanied by the Queer Art Talk podcast in which Lukas is the host. Lukas is currently represented by PoetsArtists, an online platform and art community providing publishing and marketing opportunities to contemporary realist artists.
I hope my work helps people, especially queer people, feel seen in their complexity. Not just in moments of joy or defiance, but also in vulnerability, sadness, or quiet reflection. If someone looks at one of my paintings and feels less alone, that’s more meaningful to me than any gallery show or sale, I know it sounds cheesy, but it’s true.
Interview with Lukas Moll
Your art is all about representing those who are different and don’t play to society’s norms and expectations. How has art helped you explore themes of queerness, identity and breaking away from societal pressures?
Art has always been my way of processing the world—especially the parts of it where I never felt like I belonged. As a queer person who often felt “othered” growing up, painting has become a space where I can explore those feelings without having to explain them. The funny thing is, that when I was starting my journey in the art world I didn’t know that I was exploring my experiences of queer loneliness as a teenager. It took me a few years to figure out why the characters I painted were often melancholic, and emotionally complex – the feeling of loneliness and longing for belonging runs like a red thread through my work, but it took me going to therapy to understand that this was about my experiences when I was younger. Understanding this helped me shape my artistic identity and this on the other hand also shaped myself as a human being. Now I’m able to touch on themes of queerness, chosen identity, and the quiet rebellion of simply existing outside of what’s considered ‘normal.’ Painting gives me permission to embrace what makes me different, and to hold space for others who feel the same.
Who are some of your biggest influences and why do they inspire you?
I’m mostly influenced on a technical level in a way that artists have more an influence on my painting style than the themes I’m dealing with in my art. Of course Gerhard Richter is a huge influence, as you can see in the blurring effect of my works, but when I started trying this effect out I had no idea that Richter did something like this, I found out after the first comments on on social media compared my approach to his. Other artist that deeply influenced my technique are Andy Denzler and Wendelin Wohlgemuth, both use a unique blurring approach and there are parts in each of their processes that I deeply connected with. Very early in my art career I fell in love with motion blur, back then I was still using graphite pencils and smudged these with my fingers to create a blur effect. So you can really say, that I’m often inspired by artists who’re defying the lines between painting and photographic blur effects. Right now, especially Wohlgemuths approach, speaks deeply to me as his paintings give a nostalgic polaroid effect that is almost on the edge of dissolving and I’m really moved by the fine line between nostalgic melancholia and vanity.
One of the things I love about your paintings is your use of a blurring effect on your subjects! Is this effect used to show the disconnect the subject has from societal norms?
The blurring effect in my work actually serves two purposes. On one hand, it represents the internal experience of the character—the introspective journey of figuring out who you really are. Queer identity often involves a process of unlearning and rediscovery. There are parts of ourselves we’ve built as armor, and others we’ve hidden for safety. The blur reflects that complexity, the in-between space of not fully knowing or revealing oneself.
On the other hand, it also speaks to the viewer’s perspective. We can never fully grasp another person’s identity—we only see what we’re allowed to see. What’s visible is often just a fragment, a softened outline of something much more complex. So the blur becomes a metaphor for both internal ambiguity and the external limits of perception.
What lasting impact do you hope your art will leave long term?
I hope my work helps people, especially queer people, feel seen in their complexity. Not just in moments of joy or defiance, but also in vulnerability, sadness, or quiet reflection. If someone looks at one of my paintings and feels less alone, that’s more meaningful to me than any gallery show or sale, I know it sounds cheesy, but it’s true. Long term, I’d love for my work to be part of the broader conversation around queer representation in contemporary art—to offer nuance, softness, and truth in a world that often demands masks and to act as a counterpart to queer art that often focuses heavily on sexuality and erotic. Of course these themes are necessary as well, but queer stories have so much more to offer than just that.
What advice would you give to those who want to be different and break away from societal norms but feel afraid to?
Start small, and be gentle with yourself. You don’t have to scream your difference to live it. Sometimes the most radical thing you can do is to exist authentically in a quiet, steady way. Find people who reflect the version of you you’re becoming and appreciate you for being you. You won’t feel fearless all the time—but you’ll become braver by doing it anyway. Being brave doesn’t mean to have no fear, it means staying true to yourself and doing things despite the fear.
Given the mission of your art, do you have any stories you can share about your work resonating with people?
There are a lot of stories to share indeed! What I love about my work is that especially in group shows or art fairs it will always draw in the queer community, without screaming out loud “this is queer art”. But also other marginalized people are able to connect to my art, one time a POC stood in front of my works and was so moved by it and told me that they know the feeling of loneliness in my works. This connection through marginalization was something that inspired me a lot to keep going. At a recent art fair a woman told me that this is art queer youth needs to feel seen, and I couldn’t agree more that I’m creating art that my younger self would’ve needed. To see that it’s okay to have no clue yet who I am, but that it will come together somehow.
What are some of the biggest challenges you have faced as an artist and how have you overcome them?
The biggest challenge was becoming visible in the first place. When you’re just starting out in the art world, it can feel completely overwhelming—and honestly, it still does sometimes. I had no idea how to get my work out there, and I quickly realised that a lot of so-called “opportunities” are actually just schemes to make money off artists. Early in my journey, I worked with a gallery that made the artists pay for everything without offering any real support—no marketing, no collectors, just empty promises. That experience taught me how closed off the art world can be, especially for emerging artists without connections.
Fortunately, I have a background in marketing, so I was able to build my own website and promote my work myself. But the real turning point came when I fully embraced my identity as a queer artist. Finding that clarity and purpose gave me a strong artistic voice, and everything started to click into place. Talking about my art became easier because I knew what I stood for. That sense of direction also helped me work through my imposter syndrome—because I no longer felt like I had to fit into someone else’s idea of what an artist should be. I had found my own lane.
Alongside your work as an artist, you’re also the founder of Queer Art Hub and host the Queer Art Talk podcast. Can you tell me more about the importance of these projects, the inspiration behind them and how you’ve found the experience of running these projects alongside your painting practice?
Both of these projects grew directly out of my artistic identity. As I developed my voice as a queer artist, I also became more aware of the limits of individual representation. I realised that while my work explores queerness from my own perspective, I can’t—and shouldn’t—try to speak for the entire queer community. The experiences of a trans woman, an intersex person, or a nonbinary artist might be very different from mine. But what I could do was use my skills in marketing and communication to help amplify other queer voices.
That’s how Queer Art Hub was born—an online gallery dedicated to showcasing queer artists, with one to two physical exhibitions per year. It’s a space to highlight the richness and diversity of queer perspectives in contemporary art.
The Queer Art Talk podcast is a natural extension of that mission. In each episode, I invite different queer people from the art world to share their stories and creative journeys. It’s intimate, personal, and rooted in the idea that visibility matters—not just in galleries, but in conversation and community too.
Both projects are deeply connected to my painting practice—they’re like an extension of it. While they definitely add to my workload, they also energise me. They remind me that art isn’t just about self-expression—it’s also about connection.
Do you have any exciting projects coming up that you can tell our readers a bit about?
Yes, actually, this is the first year where my entire artistic calendar was already set by January, which feels like such a huge milestone. I didn’t have to wait around for opportunities to appear; instead, I get to focus on creating and preparing for things I’m genuinely excited about.
One of the biggest projects is ‘The Space Between’, an exhibition I’m curating in August with 17 artists from the Queer Art Hub. It’s a massive undertaking and definitely the most ambitious show I’ve ever organised. We’re transforming a World War II bunker in Cologne into a queer safer space—an act that feels both powerful and symbolic. I’m incredibly proud of what we’re building together.
In September, I’ll be receiving an art prize from the Künstlerforum Schloss Zweibrüggen, which includes an exhibition with the second and third place winners. It’s such an honor and a great opportunity to show my work in a beautiful historical setting.
And in November, I’ll be part of my very first museum group show at Art Museum Albstadt. The exhibition’s theme is Intimacy – Queer Contemporary Art, and I’m thrilled to have my work included in a show that feels so close to my heart, especially within the context of a museum.
So yes, a lot of exciting things are happening and I’m truly grateful for how this year is unfolding.
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