They were wearing high heels, sequins, and little else! The intoxicating nights and glistening bodies of the PDA Queer Cult Club | Photography

FFor more than three decades, Liz Johnson Artur has photographed “the people I’m with”—a distinctively humble expression that belies the brilliance, intimacy, and unglamorous brilliance of her photographs, an extraordinary archive of thousands of images that celebrate beauty, resilience, community, and resistance. Her intimate, vivid images – often captured quickly on the streets, nightclubs and living rooms – draw you into the moment, before they disappear forever.

PDA, the photographer’s latest book, celebrates an old London underground music scene. PDA was a popular gay club night held monthly in a Hackney basement from 2011 to 2021. The abbreviation PDA appears to not represent a single phrase. Instead, the founders jokingly suggested that it could represent many things, including public displays of affection, please don’t ask, and even “nice penis available.”

The fluidity and inclusiveness of the club night were among the things that delighted Johnson-Artur. “I was taking pictures in a gay club in Brixton in the 1990s. Then it was very segregated, between men and women. There was mingling – but it was a completely different atmosphere.” Although it was “never a club,” she became a regular at the PDA. “There was a lot going on in front of and behind the DJ booth! The PDA embraced everyone. They didn’t have a door policy. I was 30 years older than everyone there, but it was nice to watch them take up their space.”

In black-and-white and color photographs taken over several years while attending PDA events, Johnson Artur, now 61, depicts party-goers showing off their high heels, bodies shiny with sweat on the dance floor, cigarettes, smiles and schwipes. The images sometimes seem to jump on the bass.

This isn’t the first time she’s photographed people partying. Why does Johnson Arthur like photographing music events so much? “They’re doing something for people,” she says, speaking on the phone as she walks through Brixton on Monday morning. “They can give it away. It’s the most generous art form we have, because it needs us. It lives from how we interact with it – and you can feel like it’s yours and no one can take that away from you.”

The book also reflects Johnson Artur’s lifelong interest in self-design and self-expression in temporary and unconventional spaces. She attributes this curiosity in the lives of strangers to the four-day train trips she took when she was a child with her mother, from Germany to the Soviet Union. “You might spend 24 hours with strangers in a cubicle, and you have to get through it — you start suspecting each other, but in Russian culture, you put food on the table and you share, and you start talking,” she says.

Sharing these small spaces with strangers has influenced the way she works with her subjects. “I photograph people because everyone has a story. I can’t tell it verbally, but I can point to the human being – we’re told that we’re all different, but the stories, when you hear them, are often quite familiar.”

Johnson-Artur’s story reflects a period in the 1960s when African students were sent to study in Eastern Europe – which is how her Ghanaian father met her Russian mother. Johnson-Artur was born in Bulgaria and spoke Russian at home, but later moved to Germany, where she was raised by her mother. “This is who I am. I don’t know any difference – everyone has their roots, and I don’t see mine as special. My work isn’t about black this or that or that. It’s about wanting to be yourself.”

They lived for some time as illegal immigrants. Since Johnson-Artur was unable to go to school, she spent a lot of time on the streets while her mother was at work. She got her first camera in the mid-1980s, when photography was expensive. “I never had the money to shoot like crazy. If I had five rolls, I had to stretch them to get the pictures I wanted. I couldn’t afford to mess up. I had to concentrate and learn how to work with my tools in whatever situation I found myself in. It’s important for me not to take pictures that I consider bad. This is my German upbringing. Every picture in the archive is important.”

In 1991, Johnson Arthur moved to London. She studied at the Royal College of Art, and immersed herself in the city’s music scene. “I suddenly experienced music in a completely different way. It was part of your life. Seeing those places where you can express yourself, where you can make something out of nothing and have power. People used to make clubs in whatever room they could for just a few months. But it’s changing. You can’t do that now. It’s harder to get any space. That’s a very painful thing.”

One recurring character in the PDA photos is Carrie Stacks, co-founder DJ and nightlife icon. They appear on rooftops, but also at home, getting ready and applying their makeup. These more intimate daytime images give the sense of a close-knit community outside the club. “I don’t look at it as a club book,” Johnson-Artur says. “It’s always about looking at people. It’s about how to create spaces to be safe with each other.” The book moves through photographs that capture the rhythm and energy of the night, from showing up in lavish outfits when arriving at the club, to moments of intense intensity, hands thrown in the air, when the dance floor is crowded and chaotic with limbs and people hugging each other.

It’s a mixture of striking, posed images of attractive young club audiences, with Johnson-Arthur’s subjects looking straight on, often wearing some sequins, high heels and sunglasses, and moments of undesigned candor, where the photographer and his camera are consumed in the excitement of the action: next to a DJ booth as someone grabs a microphone, or as two people share a laugh or a kiss. An irrepressible joy to behold, an account that pays homage to a time and place but also embodies timeless notions of desire, freedom, and escape.

Her subjects strut into the club in their best clothes, exuding a confidence that belies the hostility they often face outside. “Not just on the street, but also at home, where many people face significant issues around their identity, and in their communities.”

The book is the result of careful and close collaboration with some of the organizers of the PDA. Was that difficult for a photographer with such strict standards? “I’m used to keeping images, deciding what will be done based on quality – and I had to let go of that. It’s an interesting process. You can’t collaborate and just get what you want. You have to open up.”

The PDA also charts Johnson Arthur’s evolving role in society. “I think I almost felt my aunt’s feelings,” she says. Once her daughter was old enough, she started taking her with her as well. “We would all come back and eat at my house. It wasn’t just the nightlife. We really enjoyed each other’s company.” She says that this mutual feeling of respect and trust appears in the photos. “When people see you and trust you, they give back. That’s the beauty I get.”

A typical PDA night lasted until 6am, and the final image in the book depicts a reveler heading back out in the early hours, on his way home again. Shot from behind and in the distance, the figure flashes bright white against the darkness of the empty street, the soft focus reminiscent of a bleary-eyed vision after a long night out. It’s also a reminder that nothing lasts forever. “This is how we live as human beings,” Johnson-Artur says. “We were having a great time, and then suddenly it was over.” The PDA is a testament to that. “We’re only here for a minute,” she adds. “Let’s enjoy it.”