Ethel Waters, Carson McCullers, and Julie Harris at the Opening Night Party for "The Member of The Wedding," New York City, 1950

Why do I fall in love with queer artists of the past? I mean, I fall hard. I read obsessively on their lives. I find out when they woke up or how late they stayed up. Were they insomniacs? I wonder if they liked coffee or tea or water with a sprig of mint? When did they make art? What was their process like? Who did they love or who did they sleep with? Who were their friends and did they hang out in the park just like I do? History has a way of erasing the queer present. I know we just came out of the month of June where it seems the Pride flag has thrown up on the digital landscape. Corporate pride is a difficult pill of “acceptance” I am still not ready to swallow. Straight people telling me Happy Pride without knowing what Pride means is difficult. I should be grateful that they remembered, right? How could you forget if you opened your device and see that Zillow changed their logo to represent…what? I can find an inclusive house? No deal. The rainbow flag does not mean much without actions behind it. Our dominant straight society still often doesn’t greet us with an invitation. And it is not like we wear name tags for our queerness. The next generation already seems to be “beyond the label.” They are breaking barriers with their confidence and I am fully supportive of those discovering their personal sexuality as a more fluid experience of life. I am grateful for them. I did not have that experience and you can’t go back and re-do adolescence. That trauma is lodged in many queer bodies still. We are in a strange bridge period where histories are happening at different time across the world. I still live in a world if I openly flirted with a man, I am more likely to get punched in the face than an appreciative rejection. Not everywhere, but most places. And why run the risk? It isn’t just the normal hetero rejection, not my type, no thank you or nope. Tolerance is more the line for straight people in our current context. “We support you”, “we are your ally” until something makes them uncomfortable. How might we envision these futures of inclusion? It might not look that different, but it will feel at lot better than today, I know that much. I often find myself sifting through history to find my people, friends, and queer lovers of the past. The communities of the past give me hope for my future. Unrequited love? Maybe. Affirmation of my queerness and my personhood? Definitely. It is better to have loved, right? I think so. In this photograph by Ruth Orkin, she features three female powerhouses, of the stage (Julie Harris), word (Carson McCullers), and song (Ethel Waters). I first notice the pearls, then the cigarette in Julie’s left hand, then espresso cup? It was a late night cast party. The lonely cigarette, as if she has the confidence to hold two at a time. And a young Carson McCullers nestled in Ethel’s bosom. Maybe it was a moment not to be captured? Photographers seem to be there lurking and capture just at the perfect moment of intimacy and yet it does seem Carson’s eye is disapproving. Haven’t you had that feeling at a party when just don’t feel like having your picture taken? Throughout Carson’s life, though married to the same man twice, her queerness was shunned and not spoken of most of. Her queer journey is masterfully observed through a lovely new book “My Autobiography of Carson McCullers” by Jenn Shapland. I highly recommend it. They are wonderful sentences that are invitations to wonder about those unrequited loves in your own past. And ponder the great mysteries we hold as we go through life. This photograph made me think of a quote from the book I hold dear to my journey now. “What is the precise evidence for love? Documentation of sexual encounters? Examples of daily intimacies? Easier to tell and corroborate are stories of pain, dramatic events, betrayals. Love meanwhile lives in the mundane, the moment-to-moment exchanges, and can so easily become invisible after the people who shared it are no longer alive. But, of course, it leaves traces.” ― Jenn ShaplandI am grateful to Ruth for leaving this trace of Carson and her friends, her collaborators, sitting on a luxurious couch after a beautiful night of giving art to the world. And how lucky are we to get this trace, in a photograph. * Note: I incorrectly identified Carson in the photograph previously. I have updated the text and audio to reflect the change. I like Carson being more sensitively next to Ethel and possibly more disapproving of the image. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit gregorymeander.substack.com