My First Harlem Ball
I’ve been adventuring around NYC for around 3 years now. It’s wild to look back at my first year, and to think of all the changes the city and the queer scene has gone through. Three years is a very short amount of time, and yet I’ve already noticed how quickly things can ebb and flow here. I’ve heard seasoned New Yorkers describe how it used to be, how the city has lost its unique shine. The individuality, the spirit, the essence of what makes this city incomparable. I must admit, hearing that breaks my heart. New York is just a watered-down version of what it used to be? I can’t, I won’t believe it.
I started rummaging around NYC in 2016, right when the election was taking place. I was bemused at how dreamlike the city was, and it quickly became a haven from the jarring state of our country. I immediately sought out the queer community, and like following a trail of candy I went from party to party, taking pictures and making friends along the way. How could people think that the city has lost its spark? To me, it seemed thriving.
However, with only 3 years under my belt, I can see what people mean. Venues close, parties end, and people decide to stay in. We feel the loss. On the flip side, we see new shows in different places. Old friends come through and new participants come forward. There is a constant shift in focus, and I can only imagine what changes this city will have gone through when I hit my 10-year mark, and beyond.
With all of that being said, I wasn’t sure what to expect when I was gearing up for my first Harlem Ball experience. We’ve all seen Paris is Burning. Billy Porter was recently awarded an Emmy for his performance in the notable TV series Pose. These two impactful pieces of work give us a window into the lives of queer people of color in NYC in the ‘80s and ‘90s. Paris is Burning is a historic time capsule, capturing people at their most vulnerable. The documentary is rather short, only a little over an hour, but in that time we are exposed to an expansive and triumphant world. We get a feel of the community’s dynamic; the strong sense of family, the entrancing creativity, and the undeniable strength the community took to survive. Now, around 20 years later, I can only assume the ballroom scene has been through massive changes. However, to my surprise, I stepped into a world that felt untouched.
The documentary and TV series do talk of change – they describe that shift in focus that we still see in NY today. Of course, there is no denying that the ballroom scene has gone through inevitable changes since the early ‘90s, but it is clear that icon Freddie LeBeija, the curator of this weekend’s ball, had a clear vision to uphold the essence of ballroom. I stepped into a well-lit school gymnasium, with tables lined up and scattered with snacks and decorated with colorful balloons. A stage at the back of the gymnasium had more tables set up for the judging panel. I got there early enough that the ball hadn’t started yet. Music was playing. Friends and family were mingling and eating the hot food that was provided…it felt like I had walked into a Thanksgiving dinner.
I must admit I felt a little self-conscious, being a cis white boy at a function predominantly attended by QPOC. The last thing I wanted to do was intrude…I was there to take pictures, and I did have a fear in the back of my head that I might be perceived as someone who was there to capitalize on a beautiful culture that I wasn’t a part of. As I mentioned earlier, I’ve been photographing my friends and peers in NY for around three years now, which includes trans, non binary, queer folks of color. However this experience was already so different than the club, or a drag bar, where drinking and mingling with strangers is encouraged. Here it was well-lit, exposed, and the friendships were clearly already established. I was asked to attend the event thanks to Lexy who couldn’t come, so I ended up flying solo. I texted Lexy when I got inside and mentioned I wasn’t sure what to expect. They simply responded with “now watch and learn.”
A familiar scene started to take place…the crowd gathered and formed a runway in between the tables. The ball began with several prominent members of the community walking the floor, accompanied by cheers and applause. I quickly scooted my way to the end of the makeshift runway, kneeling to stay out of view but close to the action. The first category was virgin to the runway, someone who’s never walked a ball before. I was shaking in my boots, very tempted to walk…but I chickened out and remained a fly on the wall for the evening. The ball continued, and the energy in the room began to rise like water in a sinking ship. I quickly fell into autopilot and started to take as many pictures as possible. I don’t feel that I can describe the exceptional creative energy with any sort of justice, so I will let the captured moments speak for themselves. Frankly though, the photos I took don’t even hold a candle to the experience of actually being there.
No matter where we go, especially in New York, we are painfully conscious of the present, the state of the world. However the people attending the ball danced adjacent to that pressure, protected and timeless. It rings true to the roots of ballroom, a community that gathered to remain above the criticisms and adversity of the white straight normative. Although balls are competitions, the event felt collective, celebratory, and inspired. My favorite environments to photograph are ones that are victorious. Not victorious as in a win over a loss, but as champions of self-expression and achievement. This event honored the pioneers, the legacies cemented in the ballroom family tree. They are an integral part of the foundation of our community. We must attend these events, pay the cover fees, tip our queens, uplift their stories, and keep the tradition alive. I’ve heard New York City has lost its flame, but this weekend I photographed proof that the torch is ablaze, patiently waiting to be handed to those who follow.
I need to make a confession.
I used to make a habit of writing in journals and scrapbooks. Piecing together pictures then writing about the experience was something I really looked forward to. At the moment, though, writing feels completely foreign. You know, we’re always told in life to not cut yourself short, to step forward with confidence. In this present moment, however, I feel like the only way to truly proceed with this entry is to acknowledge to you that each word following the next is akin to the blind leading the blind.
Since I came to Provincetown in June of 2020 I’ve been playing catch-up. I tried to journal, but my fingers don’t move at the rate the Ptown vortex spins. I tried to record myself talking into my phone—to at least document my day-to-day—but even that was impossible when right in front of me there was always something to take in. The secrets of Commercial Street, the bleeding sky above the crisp ocean, the characters that roamed both—everything kept me from taking stock in myself and what was happening around me.
I was told Provincetown would do that.
Although I’ve been accustomed to getting myself in trouble, there is something unique about the social perimeters in this village. No matter who you are, or where you came from, something will present itself to you— a lesson, an experience, a person. I’ve learned the slot machine that is Ptown can leave you rolling into the jackpot or perpetually pulling the lever for one more chance. One more summer, one more beach hike, one more night out. Anything to right the wrongs. Anything to take one step closer to what we are consciously or subconsciously looking for.
This gut feeling, the itch that can’t be satisfied, resonates with the stories and other perspectives I’ve heard from fellow Ptownies. What brought us here? What’s kept us here? For me, I can say that the art scene in Ptown was what initially called my name. But after only one year here, I can see that there has been so much more to offer. Between the new friends, jobs, and different homes I am learning that I connect with the community on a much more personal level that I did not foresee. The challenges and the subsequent choices I’ve made in response have offered more opportunity to learn than any academic setting could. One thing is undeniable about Provincetown and the people here: a resounding desire to grow. The individuals I’ve met are exactly that—original and independent. No matter what our unique goals, we’re collectively working toward betterment. A passion to grow within our business, our creativity, love life, friendship, or our understanding of how we fit in the world.
Moving here during the pandemic was an interesting experience, as I have yet to live in Ptown when it functions as designed! I have smiled listening to the plethora of stories, the subtle and major moments that make Ptown singular and memorable. Despite the challenges of the pandemic, business like the Schoolhouse Gallery, Provincetown Brewery Company, the Bradford Inn, and the Stowaway Society have extended themselves in different ways that have ultimately changed my life and artistic career for the better. This is where I have seen the beautiful potential in what this town has to offer the next generation of people. Thank you, Mike Miller, for trusting me to write an entry for this Next Generation issue. Thank you, Gaston Lacombe with Studio Lacombe for displaying my first gallery exhibition. Thank you Mark Adams for sharing your creative excitement and pulling back the curtain to Ptown’s natural wonders. Thank you, PBC, for your work with Draftivism; thank you, Stowaway, for opening your doors to young artists; thank you, Bradford Inn, for hosting events that encourage diversity and inclusion in Ptown. Actions like this prove the investment the town has in its future—for Provincetown itself, but also the greater community outside of 02657.
The work I’m displaying in this issue of ptownie exhibits the efforts and investment of the Provincetown community. The images here reflect the heart of my experience. None of this would be possible if it weren’t for the patience and kindness of many people in my life. I am looking forward to sharing this with you, and to continue sharing with you. This entry is a drop in the timeline, a pitstop of reflection in my journey forward. The ideas and realizations I’ve had this past year, the moments I’m speaking of in this very entry are in the earliest stages of development. Thank you, endlessly to the people who have uplifted me this past year; I am looking forward to mirroring the love that Provincetown has shown.