Queerness Isn’t Just for June: Documenting Our Stories All Year Through the Lens of Love and Resistance

Pride Month is powerful—but queerness isn’t confined to June, and it certainly doesn’t fade when the rainbow logos do. Queer lives, queer love, queer joy, and queer resistance happen every day, in every season. And as a photographer, I’ve learned that the most honest and radiant moments of queerness don’t always happen on a float or a stage—they happen in the spaces where people are brave enough to be fully themselves.

A scene from a photo shoot for a Sacramento Drag Brunch promotion.

When I started shooting festivals, I wasn’t thinking about queerness explicitly. I was just chasing light, color, and connection. I loved capturing portraits of sparkling rhinestones catching the sun, of colorful irises framed by wild lashes and even wilder makeup. There was something sacred in those moments—like the costumes weren’t disguises, but armor. Like people were finally becoming in front of my lens.

The deeper I went into the Burning Man scene, the more I began to understand what I was truly drawn to: freedom. Freedom to be weird, loud, soft, sexy, spiritual, broken, bold—all at once. It was in that desert dust that I met the most fabulous cast of humans I’ve ever known: burlesque dancers, drag queens, circus freaks, radical queers who welcomed me in without hesitation. I had never had so much fun, never felt so seen. Finally, people who could match my sass and dark humor. My people.

Burners from Pirate Ninja Training Camp pose on Playa, Burning Man 2016.

That joy cracked something open in me—but it didn’t take long to realize that the joy was hard-won.

Because alongside the glitter and laughter, there’s a weight. A tension. A reality that queer people, especially trans and BIPOC folks, are still fighting for safety every time they leave the house in heels or with a lover’s hand in theirs. I’ve watched people I love have to pause their joy. Wondering who’s watching. Wondering if it’s safe to be proud. Wondering if today is the day someone’s hatred will bubble over into violence.

It’s not always safe to sparkle in public. That’s the reality of living in a world that still punishes people for being “other.” A world where small communities have historically been kicked down—and are still climbing, still dancing, still loving, still resisting.

Juice Box, a Sacramento queer takeover party bumps all night long on Saint Patricks Day, 2024

So yes, I document queer joy. But I also document queer resilience. The unapologetic survival. The making of something from nothing. The shows in backyards and bars, the art on a dime, the drag looks pulled from thrift bins, the tears wiped off before the curtain call. These artists, my friends, don’t wait for the world to give them space—they create it. And that’s radical as hell.

Outside the festival scene, I’ve photographed drag brunch promos, DIY portraits, burlesque showcases, and queer creatives doing the most with the least. And through it all, I’ve seen that what fuels them isn’t just ambition—it’s community. Pride. And the push of chosen family saying, you can.

And now, more than ever, they need support. Not just during Pride, not just when it’s popular to be an ally, but always. It’s time for those who have a platform—big or small—to use it. To show up. To speak up. To lift up our rainbow family with intention, action, and consistency.

What the Queens think of bigots.

I may not be able to change every law or silence every bigot, but I can wield my lens like a mirror, like a megaphone. I tell queer stories as an act of resistance. A love letter. A promise.

Because we are more than a parade. We are a constellation. We shine even when no one’s looking. And I’ll keep capturing that shine, all year long.