John Cameron Mitchell has always been drawn to religious iconography, largely inspired by his late mother, who would travel the world seeking out visions of the Virgin Mary. “She said she had messages for us,” John says, looking up at his favorite Mary statue, which he found at a flea market in Bordeaux. “The messages are always very banal.”

This bit of personal history makes it especially fitting that John’s 19th-century home in the Bywater neighborhood of New Orleans served as a church for several religious denominations since at least the 1930s. The ground floor of the looming creamsicle-colored, two-story Italianate house is dominated by a 45-foot-long ballroom, perhaps constructed in 1934 as an auditorium for a Catholic church, fittingly named St. John’s. The building has also served as a meeting house for Seventh Day Adventists and been home to a mortuary, a Baptist mission, and, most recently, the secret society Ordo Templi Orientis (OTO), which was once led by notorious British occultist Aleister Crowley.

Vestiges of religious practices can be found throughout the building. In one room, a numerology mosaic called the Square of Jupiter is embedded in the tile floor; another has planetary religious symbology painted on the walls; the opening to the downstairs kitchen (yes, there’s an upstairs kitchen, too) is a dramatic arch that, before John decided to remodel, was covered in gold.

Since purchasing the house in 2021, John—star and cocreator of Hedwig and the Angry Inch—has morphed the space into a style he’s dubbed “modern gnostic nouveau.” Rooms are full of lush textures and bold colors. Floors are covered in a myriad of antique rugs. Much of the furniture comes from the Art Nouveau movement, or at least is inspired by it.

“It’s been two and a half years since I bought the house, and it’s been through a lot of things,” John says. “It’s been through hurricanes. It’s been through Covid and inflation. Supply chain problems kind of doubled everything. The whole thing fell apart for almost nine months.”

In that time, John also had to temporarily relocate to Australia to film Peacock’s Joe vs Carole, which meant overseeing an extensive renovation from the other side of the world. The endeavor might not have been possible if it weren’t for his friends Mitchell Kulkin, who worked as lead decorator, and Justin Barton, who acted as project manager. Kulkin, who’d previously been in theater design, became John’s close creative collaborator.

Buying in New Orleans also meant more room than John could afford in many other cities, a requirement, considering that he wanted his residence to double as an event space. For the restoration, Studio West Design & Architecture and Arch Builders were brought on as architecture firm and contractor, respectively.

Two half bathrooms were added beneath the fully reconstructed staircase to accommodate the large numbers of guests who might come for a musical performance or reading. The front parlor of the house—the small ballroom—was fortuitously outfitted with a stage already, thanks to the OTO. At John’s request, Arch Builders partner Jacques Magne had the stage extended; though it can fit a full band, it takes up only a small portion of the ballroom.

Many of his friends from the New York theater and art worlds had moved to New Orleans, seeking out cheaper rents and more affordable opportunities to create. “I’ve lived all over,” John explains, but “I haven’t really lived in the South. Obviously this is a different kind of South, but it has the good elements—the friendliness, the down-homeyness.” Though he still keeps an apartment in New York, he also wanted a home base that was more low-key.

While the New Orleans Historic District Landmarks Commission has strict rules regarding alterations to historic buildings, the regulations—in the Bywater, at least—apply only to building exteriors and what can be seen from the public right-of-way. This flexibility allowed John and his team to be more playful with the interior and backyard.

A major transformation on the ground floor includes the kitchen and dining area: Kulkin and John opted to keep the arch but swapped out the gold for white paint. A set of French doors, found at an antiques store in Texas, leads to the dramatic addition of a large screened-in back porch. Designed by Studio West, the arched, floor-to-ceiling screens show off John’s Art Nouveau preferences with curved, whipcrack muntins. The backyard, with a hot tub, has been newly landscaped for entertaining.

While the house’s downstairs was built out with hosting in mind, the upstairs is a haven of privacy. Technically its own apartment, the second floor is a particular point of pride for Kulkin, who turned a utility closet into a laundry room, thereby creating extra square footage for the primary bathroom. Of the dining area, John says, “This was the most crappy kitchen.” He and Kulkin have since transformed it with black cabinetry and appliances, along with a backsplash and countertops made from a dynamic green-gray quartzite.

“Before I bought the house, I talked to the neighbors. Did it have a good vibe? I’m not superstitious, but it was a somewhat occult church, and there’s energy in this house.”
—John Cameron Mitchell, resident

Around the corner is John’s bedroom, possibly the heart of the home—and not just because of the walls’ deep red color. He found his bed, a wooden tangle of curves, while filming the Netflix adaptation of Neil Gaiman’s The Sandman in London. The pièce de résistance is a pair of custom Nouveau-inspired pocket doors—designed by Studio West—that divide his bedroom from the sunny, street-facing, second-floor sitting room and allow natural light to filter through.

While the home is finally starting to feel settled, John still has his anxieties. The recent writers’ and actors’ strikes made it harder to move forward with building updates, and he worries about the amount of money he’s invested so far. But he asked himself a more important question when it came to his dream house: Do I want to die here? “And so when I’m buying things, I’m like, this is my death bed,” John says. “My death couch. My death kitchen. I mean, who knows?”

The touch of morbidity adds significance to his plans, not only for the house but for the people who have supported him and whom he continually works to empower. The home may no longer serve a particular religious doctrine, but it remains a spiritual place. “We want this to be useful to the community,” John says. “It’s going to be the queer art church.”

Project Credits:

Architect of Record: Studio West

Builder: Arch Builders

Antique Doors: Sugar Magnolia Farm & Design and Olde Good Things

Editor’s Note (1/16/24): This piece has been updated to correct Laszlo Tompa’s name and background, and the age of the home.

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