Calling the Shots: A Queer History of Photography is a vibrant look back in time
In what way can a photography collection at one of London’s most prestigious museums authentically narrate queer history? It is a question I asked myself while reading the fascinating new book, Calling the Shots: A Queer History of Photography. Written by curators Zorian Clayton, Lydia Caston and Hana Kaluznick, it employs the Victoria and Albert Museum’s (V&A) photographic archive to chart this history.
A museum collection like the V&A’s has wealthy, western privileges which arguably limit the different ways in which their photographs are interpreted. So I was interested to see how the authors would employ this valuable museum collection while grappling with its implicit issues of power, inclusion and representation.
The book splits its analysis into six key sections: Icons, Staged, Body, Liberty, Making A Scene and Beyond The Frame. Crucial themes develop throughout the book as each section builds on the one before. The final three chapters focus more on photography’s capacity to affect social change and advocate for the queer community.
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While there are many stand-out photographers and photographs in the book, the artists considered in the Liberty section were most memorable to me, because of their contributions to activism.
Billie Blossom’s Queer Porn Portraits (2018), for example, were taken “behind the scenes” of queer pornographic performances. They provide a distinctly sensual and intimate narrative that feels far removed from the stigmatising associations often made with the adult film industry.
The photograph of Yousef by Bex Wade (2022) – a transgender, Arab man at London’s Trans+ Pride event – resonated with me because I grew up in the Middle East. Yousef self-advocates, proudly wearing the trans pride flag. They communicate a crucial social message about the contemporary Arab experience, which could positively alter social and racial perceptions.
This chapter ends with an interview with the queer photographer Sunil Gupta regarding his seminal project, Christopher Street (1976). It vibrantly captured aspects of the gay liberation movement in New York at an important time in queer history.
Room for criticism
Through these inclusions and others, the book makes significant positive contributions to documenting a queer history of photography. But it would benefit from incorporating a critical reading of the V&A as a place for analysing queer representation, given the privilege and authority associated with the museum.
One of the book’s strengths is that the lead author, Clayton, is a passionate thinker in the field of queer art history. His commitment to the subject drives the book forward. But the fact that all the authors hold roles within the V&A may well be one of the reasons for the absence of this critical element.
Given the oppression of queer people in many countries around the world, the book would also have benefited from the inclusion of more international photographers to expand perspectives on the subject.
DeLovie Kwagala, a Ugandan activist, photographer and artist, would have been a smart inclusion. And the work of photographer Anthony Luvera, who has collaborated with diverse communities and produced socially engaged work and exhibitions, would also be a profound contribution to this important topic.
That isn’t to say the book has been put together without critical thought. The care the authors have taken in collating such a rich and complex history of queer photography is frequently moving.
The inclusion of Laurence Rasti’s portrait of a displaced refugee fleeing Iran’s strict regime, concealing their face because of the politics around their identity, is one such example. But I believe at times there are subtle indications about the limitation of certain photographs to truly represent queer experiences.
In the final section of the book, Beyond The Frame, Caston says that “experimental techniques have allowed artists to break out of the confines of photographic representation and empowered them to ascribe their own subjective meaning”. For me, these confines speak to the social limitations of non-queer people to really interpret the plight of gay people in certain photographs.
It is clear from this book, however, that one of the V&A’s greatest strengths is its choice of passionate and socially conscientious staff. I look forward to seeing what this prolific team do next.
Julia Johnson does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.