PERFORMANCE ART REVIEW : Sermon From a Love Pulpit : Tim Miller’s ‘Naked Breath’ attempts to purge paranoia and restore lust in the age of AIDS.

Tim Miller is a patron saint of the gay performance world. He’s an evangelist on a mission, a priest offering absolution for fear of sex. His “queer body,” as he calls it, is the sacrament, and our “naked breath” the holy ghost.

Miller’s latest work, “Naked Breath,” is at Highways in Santa Monica. The solo piece emerges from Miller’s aesthetic ambition to mirror gay society’s cultural conflicts while “trying to find an artistic, spiritual and political response to the AIDS crisis.”

But after more than two years on the road touring his previous piece, “My Queer Body,” Miller’s return to the theater he co-founded has a messianic tone. The cross around his neck, his naked body’s crucified poses, the laying on of hands with his audience--all this comes perilously close to hubris. As such, “Naked Breath” is more agenda than art, a confessional catechism designed to purge paranoia and restore free lust. But moments of genuine catharsis are undermined by a meandering focus and wavering shape, resembling the breath Miller intones.

“Do it like your life depends on it,” Miller declares, breathing rhythmically and deeply, “which it does. In and out. Breathe. Breathe out the lie that we don’t belong together. Breathe in the love. Run naked through the streets of L.A. Proclaim the end of sadness. Celebrate the miracle of us.”

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Wearing black jeans with a stylish hole in the knee, a red plaid shirt with ripped-out sleeves and tennis shoes, Miller moves among the audience, commanding patrons to breathe on him.

During these segments, Miller resembles a New Age sex therapist; Dr. Ruth with a lean, mean body championing lust and love.

The show is divided between stories about his sexual encounters before AIDS, and later ones with HIV-positive men. His piece hinges on carpentry, “the one place where Dad and I connected. I’m good with wood.”

He specialized in loft beds. “I am a carpenter and I will build beds and I will build a place inside myself to honor my journey and the streets I stroll.”

But carpentry is “a blood contract. Accidents happen.” After a maiming injury, Miller remembers imagining the sky as “a wall of angry blood.”

That 1981 accident ends the first half of “Naked Breath.” Then Miller strips and an anonymous stagehand bathes his nude body. Arms akimbo, Miller assumes the crucified posture of an earlier carpenter. In the background, the late AIDS activist Michael Callen sings “They Are Falling All Around Me.”

The second half of “Naked Breath” describes his willing sex with HIV-positive men.

“I’m positive,” said one lover after their initial encounter. “Just found out. How about you?”

“I’m negative,” Miller casually answered, “last time I checked.”

“So what’s safe?” Miller asks. “This kiss? I’ve gotta have it. I get scared. . . . Clap. Amoebas. Herpes. Hepatitis. HIV. This fear chews me up for breakfast. I’ve been trying to turn this fear around.”

It’s a courageous confession, at times even a compelling one. But then Miller disingenuously asks, “Am I being too sentimental right now?”

The answer is yes.

* “Naked Breath,” Highways, 1651 18th Street, Santa Monica. Fridays-Saturdays, 8:30 p.m. Ends March 19. $12. (213) 660-8587. Running time: 1 hour, 30 minutes.