Diane Arbus is an iconic figure in photography, and her work has profoundly influenced me.
What draws me to her images is her ability to capture the essence of individuals living outside societal norms, particularly those the world often overlooks or marginalizes.
I would have loved to have a mother like her.
If I’m bringing her up today, it’s because I recently watched the failed film about a moment in her life, Fur: An Imaginary Portrait of Diane Arbus, by the very poor director Steven Shainberg, starring Nicole Kidman and Robert Downey Jr. Worlds away from the transgressive power of Diane Arbus’ iconography, this film pushes the boundaries of ridiculousness, and Nicole Kidman’s ethereal performance does nothing to help. How can someone make such a terrible film about a subject as powerful, profound, complex, and brilliant as Diane Arbus?
Arbus turned her lens toward people on the fringes—those who didn’t conform to conventional standards of beauty, normality, or acceptability. She photographed individuals such as transvestites, disabled people, outcasts, and outsiders. In this quest, I find a deep resonance with my own work.
Like her, I strive to immortalize those the world sometimes prefers not to see.
For me, drag queens represent beings both admired and misunderstood, navigating the boundaries of society, expressing themselves while struggling for acceptance. By capturing their lives, I aim to reveal the beauty in their differences and challenge societal norms surrounding gender, identity, and freedom.
What’s remarkable about Diane Arbus’ portraits of transvestites and other marginalized individuals is her refusal to exploit or reduce her subjects to their differences.
She presents them in their full complexity, with a raw humanity that makes them accessible.
What I admire most is her ability to capture the vulnerability of her subjects while imbuing that fragility with a sense of dignity. Her photos are poignant because they force us to see the individual from another perspective—one of raw truth, without artifice or compromise.
My own work with drag queens follows a similar trajectory.
Through my project Deep into Drag Queens, I’ve immersed myself in the lives of these artists who, like Arbus’ subjects, are often seen as marginal figures.
By documenting their lives, I strive to highlight not just their struggles and pain but also the beauty and freedom that radiate from their art. Despite the social obstacles and judgment they may face, their performances represent acts of resistance and reclaiming identity.
Diane Arbus inspires me in my quest for truth in the moment, in the raw expression of emotion.
She said: "For me, the subject of a photograph is always more important than the photograph itself."
Then there’s the street, a place where these marginal figures are often found, and the stage, the cabaret, where drag queens perform.
These two worlds intersect in my work, just as they did in Arbus’.
The street is a mirror of society, a space where bodies, gazes, and emotions converge.
Here too, one must have the courage to look beyond appearances to discover the humanity hiding beneath every facade.
Arbus’ subjects are often perceived as people from “other worlds,” yet she photographed them in all their humanity. It’s this same desire that drives me.
Drag queens, like Arbus’ transvestites, are symbols of freedom and a reclaiming of identity that deeply resonates with me.
Their struggle to exist, to be seen and respected, speaks to the human condition as a whole.
Their presence challenges us to rethink our perceptions of gender, beauty, and normality.
Ultimately, Diane Arbus and I share a common vision: to reveal invisible truths, to seek to understand those we often prefer to ignore, and to make them worthy of our gaze.
Our work serves as a powerful testament to human diversity, which, in all its complexity, simply asks to be seen, heard, and respected.
By pushing the boundaries of photography and transgressing the norms of social acceptability, relentlessly pursuing what both fascinated and frightened her, Diane Arbus ultimately burned herself out.
Exhausted by an unrelenting work pace, plagued by recurring bouts of depression, burdened by debts, and enduring unstable relationships, she took her own life on July 26, 1971.
She slit her wrists in her bathtub after taking barbiturates. She was 48 years old...
What about you? Tell me what you think of Diane Arbus' work!
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