A lot of queer photography from this period doesn’t happen in public squares. It happens in basements. In small clubs. In dimly lit apartments.
Safe spaces weren’t trendy buzzwords back then. They were necessary.
Nightclubs became temporary utopias. For a few hours, you could dance, flirt, perform, experiment. Outside, the city might be tense, nationalist, violent. Inside, there was music and sweat and freedom.
The camera loved these spaces.
Flash photography in dark rooms creates dramatic contrasts. Glitter reflects light. Faces glow in the darkness. There’s something almost cinematic about it.
These spaces weren’t perfect. They were fragile. Raids could happen. Gossip could spread. But they allowed queer communities to exist physically together.
And photography turned those moments into memory.
When you look at those images today, you’re not just seeing people dancing. You’re seeing survival. You’re seeing community being built in real time.
Those basements were more than party spots. They were laboratories of identity. And the camera was always there, quietly documenting.
