It’s been 25 years since the UK finally ditched its homophobic policy banning gay people from serving in the military. But for queer artist Annabel McCourt, that dark era is still very much glowing—in neon.
McCourt, a 49-year-old Grimsby-born artist and proud lesbian, has transformed decades of silence and shame into a bold, twisted light installation titled Per Ardua. Lit up by Rainbow Youth this week at the 20-21 Visual Arts Centre in Scunthorpe, the piece features the Latin words “Per Ardua” spiraling into the center of a church window, drenched in Pride colors. It’s a defiant reimagining of the Royal Air Force motto, “Per ardua ad astra” (“Through adversity to the stars”), with a crucial twist: McCourt has crossed out “ad astra,” signaling that for queer personnel, those stars were once out of reach.
“My childhood bedroom echoed with A10 Tank Busters,” McCourt recalled. “But being a queer kid in Bomber County? That was the real war zone.” Her words aren’t poetic exaggeration. Homosexuality wasn’t just taboo in the armed forces—it was illegal until 2000. Careers were destroyed, dreams crushed, and service members were routinely outed, humiliated, and dishonorably discharged. And yes, queer people were still risking their lives for their country.
Queer Trauma, Queer Power
Per Ardua isn’t just a light show—it’s a glowing indictment of history, looping endlessly in a spiral of adversity. That shape wasn’t accidental. “It’s a constant loop,” said McCourt, describing the emotional toll on LGBTQ people who felt unseen, unworthy, and expendable in their own military.
The installation runs alongside her equally striking I’m Sorry exhibit, a deeply personal journey through grief, loss, and healing. “It’s inspired by the death of my father,” she shared. “I’ve spent my life collecting rusted metal, neon scraps, old arcade machines—thinking I was mad. But when it all comes together, it just works.”
There’s a haunting poetry in how McCourt melds sound, neon, photography, and cold industrial relics to tell her story. From the blunt “I’m Sorry” signs dangling like apologies that came too late, to Happy Hour in the Harmful Factory—a darkly feminist dig at false optimism—her dystopian dreamscape dares viewers to reckon with what has been lost and what can still be reclaimed.
Reclaiming What Was Stolen
This isn’t just about art. It’s about queerness, power, and reclaiming space that was violently denied. The armed forces’ gay ban wasn’t repealed until relentless campaigns from veterans like the Rank Outsiders forced a national reckoning. In 2023, the British Prime Minister finally issued a formal apology for the state’s brutal treatment of LGBTQ veterans. But as McCourt’s work suggests, healing is a process—and one that doesn’t always come from politicians.
“I remember walking into an armed forces recruitment office as a teen,” she said. “It was terrifying—just the fear of being found out. Now I see that fear in the spiral.” Her message is clear: the trauma of exclusion doesn’t disappear with a single apology or policy change. But it can be illuminated, confronted, and turned into something transcendent.
For the LGBTQ community, Per Ardua is more than an artwork—it’s a mirror, a megaphone, and a memorial. It tells the queer kids of today: yes, you were erased, but you can write yourself back in. In lights.