Queer spaces are anchors and places of resistance. These spaces are important before we even enter them, they offer refuge when the world outside becomes threatening.

What is happening right now can often only be seen on screens, but it is REALITY. At the same time, we are mistresses of our own reality. To quote actress Hunter Schafer:

**Trans people are beautiful. We are never going to stop existing. I’m never going to stop being trans. A letter in a passport can’t change that. And fuck this administration.**

I am learning what it means to hold space—to document without taking, to observe without erasing. Queer spaces are fragile, but they are also resilient. By capturing them, I hope to contribute to their survival and remind us that we will continue to dance.

When I showed up at the Eagle, my friend Shawn and I had the best time. The bartender kept bringing us free shots while we chatted with old gays and absorbed their energy. The bartender, owned the spotlight. It wouldn’t matter if you were down—he would remind you:

*Whatever the fuck is going on, you are here to get some gay energy, and I’ll serve you.*

We move, we shine, we fight. We build. We lose spaces, and we create new ones.

In this series, I intentionally show the tensions that become visible around queer spaces. There is no singular theme in my images. What interests me is the subtlety of these spaces and the people who shape them. — But also whatever burns into the film when the energy moves through the space. — The light shining down on me through the reflections in the disco balls make me nervous, while I sometimes wait for two minutes before I stop the long exposure.

But it is also the moment of stillness and deep breaths that reminds me: As long as we exist, there will be colored light reflecting off the disco balls.