ries, people. I travel frequently, so I take pictures of new spaces and appreciate new environments. I began photographing my surroundings in San Francisco upon arriving. So, I suppose moving to San Francisco sparked the beginning of this “San Francisco story.” HH: When did you get the idea to make a book out of your San Francisco photos? CS:As I began to review, unpack, and rediscover many of these images, their narrative content and historical aspect seemed appropriate for a book. I was offered a solo show in Berlin at F3 Gallery, and incidentally, a book deal—if we could compile and publish in time for the opening of the exhibit. HH: Could you tell me the back story for Anna Joy PostSurgery at Home? CS: That was just another afternoon visiting Anna Joy Springer at her house. We are close friends, and I was visiting her after a surgery and taking photos as usual. I spent lots of time at her place. I’m sure I was struck by her red satin robe and the recovery ephemera surrounding her, and the huge wooden green ashtray she brought back from a trip to Bali. 22 TheG&LR HH: On the Way to Folsom St. Fair, 1994 is intriguing. This group portrait has an intense lesbian vibe, with all the women making eye contact with you. What’s the story here? CS: This photo is very early; it was black-and-white film and before I actively chose to switch to color. The location was Red Dora’s Bearded Lady Café, a go-to gathering spot and meeting place. Before cellphones and the digital age, we basically showed up at the Bearded Lady before every event, and to plan for the day or night: wake up, exit flat, stumble to the Bearded Lady to get coffee, breakfast, and hang out on the patio waiting for the place to fill up with friends and acquaintances. This photo was a gathering for coffee around the front counter, with women ordering and talking with whoever was working there before making their way to the Folsom Street events. People were confidant and flamboyant and happy to be photographed. HH: I was struck byDaniel Sea, Mid-90s. What’s the story behind this photo of the actor who played the trans character Max inThe LWord? CS: Daniel was not in The LWord yet. We were in a band together, Cypher in the Snow, with Anna Joy Springer and five other musicians and friends. We spent a lot of time together for gigs and on tour. This shot was just a casual moment out with people, not from a notable event. HH: How is it different doing documentary photography of friends versus strangers? CS: I often become familiar with and even close to the people I’m photographing. Documentary photography chronicles people in their communities, in both their public and private spaces. It requires building trust to be allowed access to people’s lives, to quiet moments. Photographing my San Francisco community, I already had access, trust, and familiarity. I was already on the inside. This inside access allowed the extensive time span, as these photos span a whole decade. HH: Renegades includes some great photos of very fashionconscious, butch lesbians. In your observation, has butch culture largely faded away? If so, do you have thoughts on why that is? CS: I would say the access to medical care to transition from one’s birth gender is more present now than it was twenty or thirty years ago. It is true that now many of the butches in my photos have since transitioned from their birth gender. In this way, butch culture has shifted. However, it certainly has not disappeared. HH: If you were going to do an edition of Renegades set in the 2020s, where would you go to take the pictures for it? CS: I think there are many major cities where you can find a strong community that has hints of what I present inRenegades: London, Berlin, Chicago, New York, LA. I’ve been amazed at the diversity and strength of queer communities today. HH: What projects are you currently working on? CS: I would love to do a “book two” with this work in some capacity. I’m working on a project that holds promise to be a book—we’ll see. And my solo showRenegades will continue to tour through Europe. Pleasure A bright dead day. Two black boys walked shamelessly into a bar, and time came to a standstill. A fly, golden-winged, hung mid-air and the waiter’s face —all stained with shock—lingered on the bluescreen. Everything was listening but nothing dared to speak. The boys —dead, dead things—held hands and took the center seats. Their milk-white eyes scanned the room and they laughed at the ocean of drunk men. They laughed the way dead people laugh and danced with their dead-thin legs. The ordinariness of the flesh. Their obvious-green veins popped from their twink arms, and they danced wilder and wilder as if to spite memory. Their bodies touched, and their mouths groaned, and warm breeze blew through the holes in their heads before scattering their story into the morning air. Nobody cared, so nobody listened. In time, the golden-winged fly circled and buzzed, before landing on the waiter’s face. On the far end of the bar, a glass cup dropped on the hard floor and the silence shattered with a delicate grace. AMEENANIMASHAUN
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