In the month of November, 2015, a work by artist Conor Collins appeared on social media outlets around the globe. Thousands of people were captivated by the ordered streaks of red which formed the likeness of the late Alan Turing, the British mathematician and World War Two codebreaker. There may be a few discernible reasons for the reaction this portrait incited. The portrait was an incredible display of skill and attention to detail, capitalising on the reinvigoration of Turing’s fame that came with the release of The Imitation Game. However, it was the medium ― that is, human blood ― that seemed to transfix the portrait’s vast audience above all other factors, or rather, it was the feature most commented upon by critics and fans alike.

 Of course, art is no stranger to the substance. Aside from blood, other bodily fluids have found their way into the world of art, examples being the highly controversial Piss Christ by the photographer Andres Serrano, or the spit art performances of Albert Reyes. However, regarding mediums, it is blood that seems to have retained an almost sacred status, creating both awe and fear in a work of art’s audience.

 Without a doubt, blood maintains an ancient cultural significance. Going as far back as the blood sacrifices of the Aztecs,almost every culture on earth reveres the substance as something incredibly powerful. It is seen by certain religions, such as Judaism, as the essential essence of life ― something much more sanctified than a composition of plasma and cells. Therefore, when it is used in art, it could be seen as something akin to sacrifice, and perhaps this is why it grants a certain strength to art which is rarely seen with other  artistic mediums.

 Of course, artists such as Marc Quinn have literally sacrificed their bodies for art. Quinn’s ongoing series Self, which began in 1991, consists of five sculptures depicting a cast of Quinn’s head. Each piece contains at least four or five litres of the artist’s frozen blood, extracted over a period of five months in each instance. Similarly, Phil Hansen’s pointillist-esque portrait of Kim Jong Il also uses the artist’s own blood. In some severe cases, such as with New York based painter Vincent Castiglia (who paints exclusively in blood), the health of the artist has been compromised due to improper bloodletting practices. In cases where the artist uses their own blood, the line between art and artist becomes blurred and the work itself becomes comparable to a body part.

 Speaking on the Alan Turing portrait, Collins described his own views on the significance of blood: “There are certain things we associate with life and a person. If you compare a skull to a thigh bone for example, both are bones. However, in one all you really see is a bone, but in the other you see a person and you start to lay into it different thoughts about their life, their love and their death. The same goes with blood. It’s so primarily related to life that we cannot see it as just a red liquid, it’s the life I have drawn from a person.”

However, on occasion, this same significance serves to overshadow the subject matter itself due to what some describe as the medium’s “shock value”. In some cases, when pieces created in human-blood (especially the artist’s own blood) are released to the public, the medium is the first point of interest. In these instances, arguably, the painting loses its intended substance to the overpowering, shocking presence of its medium. The art becomes Kitsch, somewhat meaningless ― an observation which has been applied to the work of Marc Quinn. Whether this is the case or not, is up for debate. In certain ways, blood as a medium has become rather problematic, and so artists have had to take certain precautions when using it.

 When speaking to Collins on using his own blood for future pieces (the Alan Turing portrait relied on blood donations), he expressed his concern for the “shock” aspect of blood. He went on to say, “I would use my own blood, however only for the right piece. If I keep using blood I think the paintings will start to rely on a shock value that I’ve always hated. […] There was a fad of being shocking in art which has since passed, […] but it’s not enough to be shocking anymore, it needs to have substance.”

 Indeed, the Alan Turing portrait is certainly lauded as an art work with substance by critics and general audiences alike. The portrait was commissioned by the UK-based Freedom to Donate organization as part of its 2015 Awareness Week. The organisation campaigns for the freedom of sexually active homosexual men to donate blood, which, under current UK law, is banned. For the creation of the portrait, Collin’s took donations from gay men ― most of them in the health profession ― who are unable to donate blood according to UK regulations. Of course, Turing himself, who is arguably responsible for saving thousands of lives thanks to his contributions in the war effort, was completely ostracized for his sexuality. Having been sentenced to chemical castration following prosecution for homosexual acts in 1952, Turing died two years later in what is suspected to be a suicide.

 In this light, the use of blood in the portrait exudes an element of protest, perhaps reflecting the life lost due to stigmas which still survive in society today. There certainly seems to be a trend existent in human-blood art, that being the genre of portraiture. Other artists use blood in depictions of non-human subjects, one example being Jordan Eagles, whose swirling abstract designs are created using cow’s blood, usually the run-off from slaughterhouses. However, when it comes to human blood, portraiture appears to be the genre of choice.

 There may be many reasons for this trend. Possibly, it is the combination of the blood, a substance shared amongst all humankind, with the face, a bodily feature which differs in every individual. Together they create an image which is both powerfully universal and yet incredibly personal at the same time. It is for this reason that blood-portraiture often conveys undertones of human mortality in some instances, as with Marc Quinn’s Self, and strong messages of protest in others, as is the case with Collins’ recent portrait.

 Of course, the colour red, in itself, is commonly known as a colour used to represent violence or passion. In a nutshell, it is a colour which communicates power, whether or not it derives from evil or from virtuous sources. Perhaps this is because red is the colour of blood. Across all artistic mediums of protest, be it posters, banners or logos, red is the colour that has become commonplace. It is possible therefore, that when blood replaces the mere pigment, a conceivably more primal, human element is introduced. When it was revealed that the Alan Turing portrait was rendered in blood, as opposed to streaks of red ink, it garnered a strength, a resonance with its audience, that may not have occurred had Collins opted for a more conventional medium.

 On the other hand, blood undermines the immortalizing aspect of portraiture. Since its inception as a genre, portraiture has been used to record a certain period of a sitter’s life, thereby immortalizing them within the realms of the canvas. In the series Self, by using blood, as opposed to stone or some other conventional medium of sculpture, Quinn attempts to remind the viewer of their own mortality. Though his likeness will be forever enshrined in his own frozen blood, it is this very substance that keeps him alive, and eventually, he, like all living things, will succumb to death and decay as the blood ceases to circulate. Through his series, Quinn has played on, and indeed exploited, the morbid fascination with death, a fascination which seems to be innate in human nature.

As for the quality of the medium itself, Collins describes it as encompassing qualities of numerous conventional mediums: “It goes on like acrylic paint, but then in a few seconds begins to behave like ink, then after a few minutes behaves like oil paint. I think there’s a lot of possibilities with a piece when a medium behaves that way.” 

Perhaps, if blood was easier to come by, it would become a popular artistic medium. Indeed, it is rarely used in art due to the ethical issues of harvesting. However, blood could lose its symbolic significance if this became the case. Arguably, it is simply the rarity of this medium which lends it this “sacred” status in human culture. Perhaps the art world will never know,  especially given the constant need for blood supplies for medical purposes. What we can be sure of is that blood, when used for art’s sake, takes on a personality, a significance of its own, and as if by magic, the face on the page becomes a human in its own right.