Thomas Weisskopf: Cut

Thomas Weisskopf: untitled 001

Let's stick to the recent theme of portrait series mixed up with Switzerland a little longer, and introduce Thomas Weisskopf. This Swiss photographer provides the extensive series Cut, an unequivocal commentary on identity, beauty standards and orientalism. He photographed trans women and transvestites from Thailand for his portraits, in the same way continually: a simple dark blue background, the focus on the naked torsos - cut off across the chest, mostly just a hint of breasts - and on the faces, enhanced with make-up, framed by well-cared hair, the gaze often drifting into the unknown around the lens.

Weisskopf became acquainted with many of his subjects during his stays in Bangkok, and when you have a look at the index on his gallery's website, it becomes a sea of women photographed in the same way, united by fairly many attributes: the make-up, the hair, the full, sensual lips and so on. While each of the portraits shows as an individual, they become an anonymous mass, like-minded and forced into line.

The title Cut refers, of course, to the sex re-assignment surgery many of the women supposedly underwent. It can also stand for the metaphorical cut in the women's lives, the change from a outwardly male appearance to a full female identity. For Maja Peter it further indicates the way in which "illusion and reality blend in a scintillating semblance into which yearning is etched like a wound". But what is the root of this yearning, and what do these women desire? Do they, on the basis that they look, to an untrained eye, very much alike, desire the same things, or is the portrait in the end about the individual again?

Cut is certainly multi-layered. Weisskopf's subjects are exposed to the gaze of others - and there is the crux of it. As much as the series is about the quest for self-identity, it also hits on the fulfillment through others, and on the beauty standards these women pursue in order to please (and make money, presumably). It is a 'standardised femininity', achieved through facial feminisation surgery (another cut!), and make-up - prominently featured in these images. Trans women underly the struggle for beauty in a world in which beauty is defined by the patriarchal system just like most other women.

And this is where yet another layer comes to play: Who, in particular, sets these beauty standards? It is the mighty white man from the Western world - the light skin tones, the dyed hair, the accentuated big eyes hint to it. Without claiming that all of Weisskopf's subjects are prostitutes (they are not), it remains a fact that the sex industry gains Thailand up to $4 billion every year, and that the clients' wishes have subtly taken over the traditional value of feminine beauty in Thai culture.

Therefore another, and the most interesting, layer of Weisskopf's work is the commentary on the exploitative gaze on what seems exotic to the viewer. Presumably the majority of Weisskopf's audience is white and middle class - as is the author of this blog. It is exactly this audience which is establishing and re-enforcing the beauty standards Weisskopf's women follow - and which is mostly (sadly) not able to tell one Asian women apart from another. That is why one tends to get the terrible impression of uniformity when seeing too many of the Cut images at once. Peter Stohler asks the question: "How 'individually' can 'exotic' people be shown in photographs?" It is this audience which is responsible for the cut - not the literal, but the metaphorical one, the gap between self-identity and identity of the mass, self-fulfillment and the desire to please others. 

Cut is not as much about personality as, for example, Zanele Muholi's portraits. Weisskopf does not even give us the names of the women. It remains a meditation on the meaning of the individual in a uniform world with homogenous requirements. And yet, finally, Weisskopf takes us back to the individual. It is almost an invitation to look longer at one of the many singular portraits, engage with one of the women, in the helpless attempt to compensate for the negligence. 

Thomas Weisskopf: untitled 037

Rob Lebow/Masha Kupets: Gorgeous

What happens if you take popular drag culture and pimp it up with "glamour, glamour, glamour"? Photographer Rob Lebow and Creative Director Masha Kupets have tried and the result is Gorgeous, a 'coffee table photography book' aimed to be released in 2014. Gorgeous will feature several well-known US-American artists from the LGBTQ scene, or as Lebow puts it: "It will include the entire LGBTQ spectrum: androgyny, drag queens, drag kings, gender benders, trans, plus a few surprises for shock and awe", all glammed up for spectacular portrait shots, their personal stories added in text form. According to its makers, the book is an attempt to celebrate the culture, and at the same time to educate about non-binary gender expression and challenge gender norms.
The mainstream fascination with drag culture is nothing new - think of La Cage Aux Folles from the 1970s, Priscilla, The Queen of the Desert from the 1990s, or RuPaul's ever so popular Drag Race. While the gay website Queerty assumes that the topic might be "challenging or unfamiliar to a lot of people", I'd argue that most people have seen and are not too fussed with a drag queen here and there. By nature it is fun and exciting on the surface, and deep at its best and tragic at its worst underneath. It has a history - after all, the Stonewall riots in 1969 were led by transvestites and trans people - and it has its own, brilliant, successful way of answering problems such as gender dysphoria, homophobia or transphobia. But most of all, it is so outspoken, so flamboyant, such a feast for the eye and the mind alike that it deserves to be celebrated.
I believe that Lebow and Kupets do not really need the slightly superficial educational approach which they repeat in empty phrases in their interviews over and over. Gorgeous has all the potential to be, well, gorgeous the way it is. The portraits are stunning, echoing great photographers such as Richard Avedon and playing on old-school Hollywood glamour in their simplistic, straight-forward, studio style. They are celebrating the diversity indeed, by capturing the great personas of the subjects, reverberating the vibes, the pride, the playfulness in simple and always beautiful black and white.

Cake Moss 

The Kickstarter for the project just failed to raise the required funding. The Gorgeous Project is not giving up, though. I'd love to see it succeed, because these pictures are so great to look at, they deserve a bit of good paper and nice printing. Maybe a good book will actually help the matter, and promote progressive gender conceptions, just by being lovely and approachable - a little bit of iconic glamour never hurts, and if there's one thing you can say about drag artists, they never fail to stand their ground.

Ernie Omega

Nazik Armenakian: Transgenders in Armenia

Today is the Transgender Day of Remembrance. This year, at least 238 trans people have been murdered - and this count does not include the numerous cases of suicide after transphobic violence. We need to remember them - "We can't bring back the trans people that have lost their lives but we can stop the body count increasing." (Ava Vidal)
Most murders were counted in Brazil, Mexico, and the United States. We must not forget, though, that transphobia is the daily fare in many other countries, too - it often starts with a smirk or a sarcastic remark, and ends in physical assaults, and many people are not even aware of what they are doing, when they casually use the word "tranny", or misgender a trans person. In other cases, people are fully aware - because hate is spreading, and as Russia is currently pointing out, gender and sexual minorities are an easy target.

Nazik Armenakian is a photojournalist, and in her long-term project about the LGBT community in post-Soviet Armenia, she sheds light on a few lives which are well-acquainted with transphobia and violence: the lives of transgender sex workers she met on Armenian streets. In an interview she describes how difficult it was to take these pictures, how afraid many people were: "Unlike biologically female sex workers, transgender sex workers are always in danger and are frequently assaulted." Armenia legally ruled out discrimination against homosexuals and transgender, but in everyday life, the threat remains. It needed a lot of time to build up trust until the women would let her into their apartments.
The result are sensitive, careful pictures, showing the fragility of the women. Some of them play with light and shadow, hiding parts of faces and bodys; often, the faces are averted from the camera. Armenakian rejects any blame of victimising, however: "For them, being photographed is a way of establishing themselves among society".
It is an innocent, curious approach that Armenakian takes there - the equation of visibility with establishment. It is only fair when you read her describing her confusion when she first met these sex workers, and found her notions of 'male' and 'female' were seriously challenged. She overcame her first shock, began talking to the women, learned their stories, shared their stories. It's a beginning, and sets a good example not only for her Armenian compatriots, but to everyone. To end with Ava Vidal: "You don't have to be personally responsible for anyone's death, being complicit by remaining silent is bad enough. Be better. Do better."

Sara Davidmann: Ken. To be destroyed

Visual artist and photographer Sara Davidmann has been an outspoken ally for the queer and transgendered in the UK for a long time - starting in 1999, and publishing her book Crossing The Line in 2003. Although I know the book pretty well, she disappeared off my radar for a while, until yesterday, when the Guardian published a piece on her latest project, Ken. To be destroyed, in which she carefully tells the life of her transgender uncle Ken. I took the opportunity and checked out her website. I was surprised by the extent to which she had dived into the subject matter, and the variety her work encompassed. She has certainly come a long way since Crossing The Line.
Davidmann has always had the best intentions. "I quickly realised that generally accepted ideas of cross-dressers are drastically inadequate", she writes in Crossing The Line before embarking upon a tour de force through cross-dressing, drag and male-to-female transgender. One of her main assets is definitely her close collaboration, which includes using a smaller, unobtrusive camera and editing the pictures with her subjects (as she recently told Coventry photography students). After the book, she would go on to explore gender, sex and sexuality in all directions, unbiasedly and with a natural curiosity; many of her projects express important thoughts about the ambiguity of gender, or about power relations between photographer and subject, or as in the case of her project view point, the viewer and the subject.
However, I always felt that her good intentions not necessarily do her photography a favour. Many of the pictures in Crossing The Line felt intrusive, slightly voyeuristic, and were in no way aesthetically pleasant - I thought her bystander's POV in the images dominated the book and unfortunately undermined her honest words and sensitively conducted interviews. Her later projects - visible on her website, unlike the images from Crossing The Line - look a lot better, are nicely lit and carefully framed. Yet they feel somewhat overthought, the brilliant texts under the pictures too ambitious for the images. Davidmann is an outstanding thinker, and an important ally, publishing, exhibiting and giving talks a lot; her commitment to make the invisible visible and open the public's eyes to the whole spectrum between 'male' and 'female' can only be applauded. I am just not sure whether her photography is living up to it.
Having said this, I am left to wish her the best for Ken. To be destroyed. The story in the Guardian about the family secret around her transgender uncle is thorough, deep and promising. Handled carefully, it can become beautiful and touching - and without wanting to be mean, I think it is a good thing that Davidmann is working with archive pictures this time.

If you have seen Ken. To be destroyed in Liverpool, let me know what you think!

Jennie Livingston: Paris Is Burning

Pepper Labeija in Paris Is Burning (Screenshot)

Paris Is Burning is a documentary film, directed by Jennie Livingston and published in 1990. It deals with New York's Ball culture in the late 1980s. The balls were, and are to the present day, large events where everyone, but mainly gays, lesbians, transgender, transvestites, and queer people of Afro-American and Latino origin, could have a great time "being fabulous", performing in drag or presenting extravagant dance styles.

The balls are extravagant, something for the eye to feast, giant parties, serving as well-needed upbeat moments in the film. They are so exciting, and the viewer immediately gets why the protagonists spend most of their days stealing clothes, planning outfits and performances, and organising more balls. It makes you want to go back to the wild New York of the late 1980s and early 1990s.

And then there are the quieter, pensive moments of the film. The excessive balls serve as a distraction from the often miserable life of the characters: Many of them deal with poverty, violence, homophobia and transphobia on a daily basis, prostitute themselves to make a living, or are ill with AIDS. To Livingston, they open up their dreams of gender reassignment surgery, or becoming a successful model, but also of security, wealth, a home, steady relationships - and it is these moments when you really start to relate to the protagonists.

Paris Is Burning also shows an alternative to the traditional nuclear family - many of the ball participants live in Houses, substitute families founded by and named after Ball legends which function as "mother" or "father". There are the Houses of Labeija, Xtragavanza, Ninja - united in their competition. It is heart-warming to see the love and care shared by the House members, and Livingston approaches this environment very sensitively to document the protagonists in private moments, off their outspoken Ball personas. The making of Paris Is Burning took seven years - and it is palpable. Livingston came really close to her subjects and achieved a honest insight into their lives, by conducting excellent interviews and mixing them with observed moments.

The ball culture exists still, but most of the protagonists of Paris Are Burning are gone. They died of AIDS or were murdered - Venus Xtravanza's death is one of the shock moments in the film. In this context, Paris Is Burning becomes kind of a memorial, mourning times and people long gone. But the way it celebrates life, diversity and self-expression is exemplary and highly enjoyable; a fundamental documentary to watch when you are interested in LGBTQ history.

Hollywood

P. Lorca diCorcia: Marilyn, 28 years old; Las Vegas, Nevada; $30

Last night I came across an interesting interview with Philip Lorca diCorcia in which he - whilst casually having a haircut - talks about his long-time photo series Hustlers. One of the moments that got stuck in my head was when he talked about the picture above, Marilyn, 28 years old; Las Vegas, Nevada; $30 [their name, age, place of origin and what diCorcia paid them].

The picture is outstanding from the rest series, as diCorcia admits, for being "fully front-up and clearly the imitation of an actress" - the latter struck me in particular. Apparently, diCorcia had no influence on Marilyn's pose, the prostitute chose it. A certain resemblance to Marilyn Monroe is undeniable. This reminded me on an article I had read earlier, an examination of Indonesian trans women living in Europe. They, too, were majorly influenced by Hollywood movies and actresses: in the way they presented themselves, in they way they imaged romances - basically, Hollywood shaped their entire lives and hopes. The Indonesian women, trying to survive in the Netherlands, seemingly share their dreams with diCorcia's Marilyn - is it, in the end, the beginning of the American Dream?

Hollywood is, inarguably, the big thing. We're being flooded with images from Hollywood every day, there's no escape. No other industry has promoted the American Dream more successfully - the idea that you can change your life, your identity, if you only believe and work hard enough; tempting particularly for those struggling with gender dysphoria, or unrequited sexuality. But what diCorcia and the story of the Indonesian women show and Hollywood conceals: Only few can make it, and the rest remains a hopeless imitation, an empty performance.

Phil Bicker sums it up perfectly in his LightBox article about Hustlers: "Masterfully depicting the bleak underside of Hollywood, they also capture the town's unfulfilled dreams and its fake intimacy." 

A. Eisenstaedt: Marilyn Monroe, 1953

Found this on little rant by @Wiscodiz on Twitter just now: "Fuck the American Dream. Its a white cishet capitalist dream. Its a nightmare for poc, trans/queer folks, the poor, and the disabled." I am not sure whether Marilyn Monroe would approve, but for me, it's true.

Christer Strömholm: Les Amies De Place Blanche

Jacky, place Blanche 1961

"This is a book about the quest for self-identity, about the right to live, about the right to own and control one's own body.

(...)

These are images of women - biologically born as men - that we call 'transsexuals'.

As for me, I call them 'my friends of place Blanche'. This friendship started here, in the early 60s and it still continues."

Christer Strömholm, 1983

I could have titled this blog post: "Why Les Amies De Place Blanche is my favourite photo book in the world", or "Why I am completely in love with Christer Strömholm's photos". But no - let's keep up at least the weak pretence of neutrality, shall we?
(This mere semblence of an unbiased photo book review won't last for longer than a few lines, I fear. I'm way too much in awe.)

Published in 1983, Les Amies De Place Blanche regained quite a bit of attention lately when the popular website BuzzFeed picked it up and the photos subsequently circulated on Facebook and Twitter. The book has been on my bookshelve for a while by then, and it was a lovely surprise to see the new attention to it.
The pictures are Strömholm's record of his time in Paris, when he lived in the red light district of Pigalle and became close friends with many of the trans women - some post-op, some pre-op -, the so-called 'nightbirds' who mainly earned their money by prostitution. The Swedish photographer and the girls lived on the same floor of a cheap hotel, and shared their lives in the night.

"Often, around 2 o'clock in the afternoon, I heard knocking on the wall of my room. It was Cobra, telling me coffee was ready. We had coffee with milk in her room on the 5th floor of the hotel Chappe. There were breadcrumbs in bed. We had been sleeping since dawn and it would soon be dark."

Nana, 1959

It is a lovely book, the 2011 edition printed extraordinarily well by Dewi Lewis. The pictures are of astonishing quality - beautifully lit and framed, great portraits and observed moments. But it is not the quality alone that makes the book outstanding to me. It is the story that the pictures tell.
Unlike many other projects (particularly from the last ten years, surprisingly) the subjects in Les Amies De Place Blanche are not treated as outcasts, as curious struggling individuals defined by their fleeting gender alone. They are not exploited, not photographed solely for the sake of the spectacle or a political agenda. The pictures tell the story - the title gives it away - of a deep and lasting friendship in the first place; the gender plays only a secondary role. In the 2011 book, you'll find a short introduction to all the girls and their stories, the so-called 'family album', and the personal accounts of Nana and Jacky, two of Strömholm's closest friends and favourite subjects.

Gina & Nana, place Blanche 1963

The girls in these pictures have dignity, and Strömholm treats them with respect - and because he is so close to them, he is able to look behind the facade. Just look at Jacky's upbeat personality that punches you through the frame, or Nana's subtle sadness. I feel that the trust the girls had in the photographer is tangible. A few of the pictures are snapshots of the girls joking around in their rooms, or meeting their boyfriends. Anybody could be in these pictures - I think its great that neither Christer Strömholm nor the 'nightbirds' let themselves be reduced to photographing/being trans. It is a message to all of us (attention, pathos!): Trans people are having lives that go beyond their gender, they enjoy life as much as others, they don't want to be pitied all the time. Meet them, talk to them, get to know them. Les Amies De Place Blanche serves a splendid example of how portraits are made with respectfulness and love. Given the fact that the project was made in the 1950s and 60s, it is a shame that not many photographers seem to have learned from it since.

Christer avec Panama, 1968

All pictures by Christer Strömholm.

Lindsay Morris: You Are You

(Click to enlarge.)

The first proper blog post is always the hardest, or so they say. So many things to write about, where would you start... I decided to present to you one of my favourite projects of the past few months, Lindsay Morris' You Are You.

You Are You is about with a summer camp for non-gender-conforming boys in the US. There, far away from their kindergartens and schools, from bullying and oppression, the boys can wear dresses, put on make-up and "be themselves" in the sheltered environment of their families and nature. Morris documented the camp over the course of three years and took a number of lovely images, floating dresses, kids on an improvised runway, and a lot of bright pink included. 

The pictures have been included prominently in an excellent article in the New York Times magazine, titled What's So Bad About a Boy Who Wants to Wear a Dress?. The title already points out: You Are You is not necessarily about transgender children - after all, before puberty gender and sexuality are hardly set in stone. It's more about the fluidity of gender, the courage of some children and their parents not to conform to society's ideas of male and female - and to what these binary opposites are characterised by. You Are You is a fantasy, the utopia of a world in which little boys aren't harassed for heart-shaped necklaces and pink dresses, in which being queer is being accepted, in which, maybe, gender doesn't matter any longer.

Of course, Morris' project is terribly romantic, almost corny - look at that light, the warm colours, that touch of princess life in the waving rose tulle - but then, why shouldn't it be? There are enough bleak, depressing stories about LGBT youth out there, even the most positive of them with that ever so subtle hint of sadness, with a sense of not-belonging. Morris herself states on Slate's Photo Blog: "I'm saying this is a new story. This is not a tragedy." In its own special way, the romanticism is beautiful - just like the depicted kids.

Morris' project inadvertently addresses another, old problem - the whole gender bending only ever catches attention when it is boys dressing as girls. Why do we need a special summer camp for boys who like dresses but none for girls who like cars? Why are drag queens all over the media, but no drag kings? I'd love to see a good photo project on women dressing as men but alas, I haven't found one yet. And hell yes, I wish the world would be a bit more like in Lindsay Morris' summer camp. I'll keep dreaming, looking at her pictures again and again.

All pictures by Lindsay Morris