Words by Alli Patton
Photos by Ari Skin
“Come on in, Precious.”
Of all the things to look at inside Sister Louisa’s Church of the Living Room and Ping Pong Emporium, those words, etched in a tight script of buzzing neon, immediately draw the eye. Then, it’s only bound to wander—to the velvet depictions of Elvis Presley, Rev. Martin Luther King Jr., and Jesus Christ, all three of whom seem to be in equal standing here; to the army of Pee-wee Herman dolls and other purposeful clutter; and to the blinding, plug-in crosses and wall-to-wall artwork meant to keep heads on a swivel.
But between the paint-by-numbers portrayals of kittens, clowns, bouffanted women, and the Messiah himself—many of them defaced with paint-markered advice, like “Comfort the disturbed; Disturb the comfortable” or simply “Sin Boldly”—it’s those four words, “Come on in, Precious,” that speak the loudest.
That’s because Sister Louisa’s, known locally as just “Church,” is more than a wonderfully gaudy, instinctively pearl-clutching, religion-themed dive bar. Nestled in the Old Fourth Ward neighborhood of Atlanta, Georgia, the establishment is a shelter from the storm. A place that, at first, seems to parody the South’s often intense churchgoing culture, the watering hole is actually a sanctuary to those who have ever felt alienated by such institutions.
“Sister Louisa’s was created more as a safe space for all people,” owner Grant Henry—and Sister Louisa herself—says of the establishment he opened in 2010. The proprietor likens Church to “an art gallery that sells alcohol,” because that’s really how the bar came to be.
It was in the mid-1990s when Henry, a former theology student-turned-artist and soon-to-be accidental bartender, invented the persona of Sister Louisa, a nun from a convent outside of Baton Rouge, Louisiana. It became she who was responsible for crafting the tongue-in-cheek masterpieces that can be seen adorning every corner of the establishment today.
Initially, people either loved or were taken aback by the campy portraits of beehived beauties that read, “The higher the hair, the closer to God” or “She curls her hair with Holy Rollers,” and the tacky depictions of the Last Supper that proclaimed, “Separate checks, please!” But even then, they couldn’t deny the pull of Sister Louisa’s work.
Nestled in the Old Fourth Ward neighborhood of Atlanta, Georgia, the establishment is a shelter from the storm.
That art would evolve into something much more when Henry, a good decade after he had established himself as Sister Louisa and unintentionally earned some experience in the bar business in between, found himself with far too many paintings and an opportunity to open the spot that still sits on Edgewood Avenue.
“I had hundreds of these stupid paintings,” Henry remembers, adding, “I have sort of an addictive personality. Luckily, I’m addicted to aesthetic things. I’m not addicted to drugs or alcohol or stuff like that, but I like buying Jesus shit.” And that’s exactly what would fill the space: Jesus shit and a lot of it.
From the very beginning, Sister Louisa’s Church of the Living Room and Ping Pong Emporium and the art inside of it were never meant to offend. They were merely a physical embodiment of personal experience and expression.
“Even though it’s not my belief, Sister Louisa art is sort of an authentic expression of the play that I do with religion,” Henry explains, sharing how the endeavor grew into a healing one. “I think the only reason Sister Louisa’s didn’t get canceled was because it’s my authentic story. It’s not something I made up to hurt anybody, to dis religion or to dis sexuality or politics or whatever it was.”
Henry explains that the bar has not existed without its share of bumps in the road or feathers ruffled along the way. “Anything that’s real and worth doing might not please everyone,” he says, assuring that this hasn’t changed his mission. “We don’t really go out of our way to provide anything other than Church.”
Now, 15 years in, Sister Louisa’s and its sister location in nearby Athens are still open to everyone. In that time, it has become a go-to spot for ping pong tournaments, church organ karaoke, and drag performances, a place where the spiritual sangria flows freely and all who enter feel precious.
