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Dance photography is difficult. You can’t exactly ask everyone to hold a pose. You have to be familiar with the work and have keen instincts to know when the exactly most beautiful and electric moment is going to happen, and hit the shutter just before that.
Perhaps these instincts are what make Robbie’s more casual shots of friends, family, and trips so warm and loving. He is familiar with the material and knows the exact moment to capture all the emotion and beauty of the action at hand.
Robbie Sweeny is an Irish-born, internationally published photographer and artist. Having exhibited extensively throughout the U.K., most notably part of a group exhibition at Tate Britain in 2009, he relocated in June 2010 to San Francisco, where he works closely within the performance art and dance community.
In an interview with Mica Sigourney on TheOffCenter.org, Robbie explained his love of photography: “Photography is so many things to me; it's my memory, it's my stamp, and it's my voice. It’s a way with which I feel I can communicate with people where other forms fail me. I remember, many years ago, when I was living in Ireland, going to a photography exhibition of images from Dublin’s city center from the turn of the 19th century. There was the familiar background of the city with these faces that were long gone; it just really hit me that that single fleeting moment in these people’s lives was captured forever, they were made immortal, and they may never have known. Here, over 100 years later, was some Irish fag, killing time looking at an image of them. That’s why I love photography."
Marsha P. Johnson was a beloved and revered figure of the New York City LGBT community from the 1960s to 1990s, fighting back against the police raids during the Stonewall Riots of 1969. Legend has it she threw the first brick in the Stonewall riots. She was regarded as a mother figure, specifically helping the homeless. In 1992, Marsha's body was found in the Hudson River and police wrote the death off as suicide, but many believe Johnson was the victim of a hate crime.
When we started talking to people about this leader and unsung hero of our community, the question we kept getting asked was “Who’s Marsha Johnson?” Queers of all ages did not know who she was. Was this because she was trans? Wwas this because she was black? Did she not fit into the narrative that our community felt comfortable presenting to the world?
You gotta dig deep when looking for real queer history, it's there, but it's hidden. It's been hidden by men in ties for hundreds of years, we happened, we loved, we fucked and we got white washed over. History is written by the victors and queers were rarely the victors in this ongoing battle of sexes, genders, colors, and tastes. But even in our own recent queer folklore, there are stories that are missing, stories that should be told more, stories that we need to fill in the gaps. But our community has done its own white washing. We have covered up and re-written the past. No fats no femmes? We may see it all over “Grindr” now, but we have been conditioned to think this through the ages. Sissies, drag queens, non traditional body types, people of color, it's all missing from our story. Its been “made pretty”.
Drag queens have been our leaders, our voices, and our community organizers since the 1950s. Perhaps its because they were that much more marginalized that they felt what else could they loose by really being themselves. But our community was ashamed of them. Yet they still lead us and loved us. When it came time for some legal protections to be granted to the LGBT community, the T was left out. When it came time for us to stand up for them, we were silent. Yet they stuck with us. We have always treated our drag queens like royalty in the clubs, but in the cold harsh morning light, we ignored them in the street. Where as they were still dolled up but we had removed our drag so as to fit in with the world. Our community will be forever haunted by the ghosts of drag queens, kings and trans folks who we have let down time and time again.
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