Jenna "J" Wortham Collection - I See My Light Shining
Waterfront queer stories: Elders' resilience amidst changing tides
Against privatization and gentrification, how will queer life in places like Provincetown and Fire Island survive? Looking to the past for clues, this collection traces the experiences of queer elders who have forged vibrant lives on the coast against many odds.
Against privatization and gentrification, how will queer life in places like Provincetown and Fire Island survive? Looking to the past for clues, this collection traces the experiences of queer elders who have forged vibrant lives on the coast against many odds.
Meet the fellows
Jenna “J” Wortham (she/they) is a sound healer, reiki practitioner, herbalist, and community care worker oriented towards healing justice and liberation. J is also an award-winning staff writer for The New York Times Magazine, and co-host of ‘Still Processing.’ J is the proud editor of the visual anthology “Black Futures,”and is also currently working on a book about the body and dissociation for Penguin Press. J is committed to decolonization as a way of life.
Breathing Underwater
Maritime destinations along the East Coast, such as Provincetown, Fire Island, Riis Beach, Cherry Grove, and even city piers, have become known in pop culture as iconic queer settings. These coastal places have lived many lives, becoming military bases, private property, and recreational zones—as well as unbecoming through natural disasters, policy change, and resistance. Just as water is always changing form and moving, so are these landscapes that have become important bastions of queer life.
In this collection, Jenna “J” Wortham explores first-person accounts of queer pleasure on East Coast waterfronts, as well as the ways that water has been a home for queer exploration, expression, resistance, and ultimately, survival. Despite the ongoing metamorphosis of these spaces, this collection carves out a sonic preservatory space for the queer elders who have called them home.
I think I've always just felt safer in water. And even as an adult, the only reoccurring dream I have is that I can breathe underwater.
"And, yes, I love it. I love it so much. So I learned how to scuba dive. I only really did it this one time, when I went to learn, I found this really gentle Italian lesbian, and I was the only student in the class, so it was just me and her, and she was amazing. I haven't been able to return to it, although I would like to. But the conditions of being with her were so specific and different. She had this philosophy of slow-dive. And in the beginning of when she was teaching me, we were underwater, and she went like this [makes gesture], which is like ‘go up’ to the surface. And she said, "May I ask you a question?" And I was like, yes. And she was like, "Are you stressed?" And I was like, excuse me? She was like, "You're very good at hiding it when we're on land, but under here I can see it in your body."
The ocean has its rhythm. It has the tides; it has a practice for handling what we give it. I think of course it's threatened now. I think that that kind of, the movement in the water, the rhythm of it has been important to me too. I love the quiet, the depth, like in this last performance I wrote, River, there's this thing about being, having water just above your lip and under your nose. This is a thing I'll do where I just kind of hover. And it's just this kind of shelter. The buoyancy, the way it holds.
- Every Ocean Hughes
Pleasure in Resistance
The elders in this collection invite us to think about the role of pleasure in resistance. In contexts where queer life is suppressed, joy and pleasure, for their own sake, can become forms of resistance. Given these contexts, love, safety, and expression as explored in this collection are not merely aesthetic categories. Listening to narrator Alexis DeVaeux, it becomes apparent that even fabulousness is an important marker of resistance.
And so this idea of fabulousness was what we were able to show. That our bodies were fabulous, that we were living fabulous, that we were resisting, fabulous.
"I mean it was just about like—we knew we were everything. And so in that cultural reality that was American of the 1980s when we were beginning to understand things like police violence against Black communities, and the shooting of Black people, and the realities of people who identified as gay or lesbian or queer, the larger realities of the economics of the times, of just living communities that would just, oh, nearly destitute. And of a Blackness and a queerness that was being shut down and shut down in the most brutalizing ways. We had Riis, we had this space that on any given hot day in the summer, you could go to, and that's where you could exercise freedom. That's where you could exercise freedom, queer, Black freedom, and it was exercise, it was seriously exercise. Or you'd smoke your joint, and you could just get out of the city and get near the water… you could get away from all that and go to freedom, and you could live in freedom until the sun went down, until there was no more sun to warm your body. You would have whatever you needed to go back to that apartment building in a stressed-out, fucking life in New York City and try to make it another day. Riis was very much a part of how we resisted, very much a part of that."
- Alexis DeVauex
Defining pleasure
What is pleasure? Is it a place, a person, a feeling? A first love, a last love—or a person you never got to love? n her interview, Grammy winning artist Meshell Ndegecello describes pleasure as the experience of epic memory, spanning across thousands of years and miles between oneself and their ancestors: “And then, so riding in the train and having the Hudson River alongside of me, that, too, was like, it was the Nile to me. Heading up and I’m going to be free. [Laughs] You know? The walks by the water. Like I said, it was cleansing, it allowed me to dream and be in my fantasy world in my own mind. But it’s always been just like, I’ve escaped the pressure of other people’s perceptions of me. That’s what the water means. And it allows me to escape the perceptions people have of me. I hope that made sense. It’s stream-of-consciousness.”
Some elders compare pleasure to the relief of weightlessness. Tei Okamoto explains: “Your body in terms of the color of your skin or the body in terms of the way in which your body is formed, or shaped, or holds—how it holds weight or how it holds—it doesn’t hold weight. And the buoyancy of water and the ways in which water has that memory right? So, it’s like going back to—I can think of one of my friends who wrote a book around just what the ocean holds in the middle passage, you know? That there’s so much memory there, right?”
To others, pleasure means seeing bodies that remind one of themselves, who in community allow one to be oneself. For Kai Davis, Riis Beach is and was a safe haven—a place to be wholly free.
So, why do we [queer people] need that? Because I think we need a place where we can be ourselves. We don’t need to feel like we’re being put on display, where we’re different. I shouldn’t have to feel like I’m different. I should be able to feel like I’m just me. And this place gives me that.
"It’s a safe haven. It’s a place where I know I’m safe, right? I don’t have to think about what I’m saying, or who hears it, or where—I don’t have to think twice about, “Am I in a safe place to hold my wife’s hand?” I don’t have to worry about, “Am I in a safe space to kiss my wife?” I think every group needs some place like this. It’s a place where I can come and recharge."
Alternative presents
Described by elders in this collection, pleasure in any sense can take people far outside of their ordinary. In her interview, Sheree Ross shares, “There is this euphoria of being in the club and being able to hear music at a decibel that you will never be able to get in your own home. Just being swept away by an experience. I can still feel those moments in my body, of every disco that I’ve been to, and just being in that humanity, there’s nothing like it.”
As such, pleasure can help create spaces of refuge from the structural stresses and pressures of everyday life, especially those among the most marginalized. In their interview, founder of G.L.I.T.S., Ceyenne Doroshaw remembers the beauty and refuge of Riis Beach: "[...]Riis was kind of, I had heard about it, and they kind of helped me, when it was warm, not have to depend on staying in anybody’s house. And that time, child I could find a little hole on the beach to fall asleep in and wait until the next morning and wake up to the beauty of Riis Beach. It kind of saved me in many ways. Not the rides, so there was always a problem and always a problem with me even getting to the beach, or getting out of the beach at that age, as I would have to walk through a gauntlet of bottles being thrown at me, and it was at a time when trans women were still being called transvestite and cross-dresser, and I was clearly “in that umbrella” because I had already started wearing women’s clothing and bathing suits and everything. And Riis was one of the places where I could just do that, and not be judged."
“There's something about water that feels particularly liberating…there's no greater feeling of freedom than floating in that water and that sense of weightlessness, and also of a baptism, that sense that you're being—I mean, it's like, I don't know, floating in the womb… that sense of security and freedom and safety and just, I don't know, being cradled by this element…” Lydia Polygreen
For these elders, water, as an element, serves as a physical and emotional symbol for queer expression self-discovery.
Robicheaux: We had a big bathtub.
Okamoto: We did. It was a big clawfoot—
Robicheaux: We had two bathrooms, which was always really great when you’re having a whole bunch of people over to your house. It’s always great to have more than one bathroom.
Okamoto: Totally. Yes, that was such a convening—
Robicheaux: This is so funny, to bring back all these memories of, like—
Okamoto: To be sitting in the bathtub, and then just, like, everybody coming in the bathroom or just holding a conversation while we’re bathing. [Laughter]
Robicheaux: Oh, my God. That’s so funny.
Okamoto: But I think, for me, it was really liberatory because, coming from a Japanese culture, where modesty is everything, and then also just, really, in a huge fight with my own body and all the dysphoria, and also growing up biracial in a predominantly Asian environment—like, my body was always big, right? It was always bigger than—and to have those moments of being in the water, where we were gathering, and bathing, and whatever. But also, like, our bodies were so different, right? And that was so empowering for me. That was so—dare I love my body. Dare I be like, “I’m okay.” That was very tricky for me. Like, I don’t know if I should accept this.”
This collection invites listeners and readers to interrogate entangled dynamics of oppression and pleasure. Through these interviews, we learn that pleasure can be a tool not only for escaping the pressures of structural oppression, but also for imagining alternative presents.
Cayenne Doroshaw reflects on the importance of documenting and remembering these sites of pleasure:
Stepping back to create something that’s going to change lives, and change the world. They’ve got so many other places in the world that we have strong histories that there is no documentation, there’s not [unclear]. So people can’t fight, because there’s no research being done, so they can fight for it, because there’s no level of proof. But at Riis, we have proof. We got Audre Lorde who sat on that beach and wrote books and daydreamed and was in love.
Interviews ( 23 )
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Kafi-Akua discusses her journey from music and media to activism and education, involvement in New York's art and LGBTQ+ communities, connection with Fire Island, and commitment to celebrating diversity through her work.
New York City, NY
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De Veaux retraces her life from childhood struggles in Harlem to becoming a queer artist and writer. She recounts forming a Black queer artists collective, navigating the publishing world, and liberating experiences at Riis Beach.
New York City, NY
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Doroshaw reflects on her survival journey from homelessness and sex work to becoming a staunch advocate for LGBTQ+ rights, as well as her transformative experiences at Riis Beach, community organizing, and visions for the future.
New York City, NY
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Phipps and Grant share their evolution as a couple, reflections on gentrification in New York, cherished summers in Cherry Grove, and their pursuit of community, joy, and solace amidst changing landscapes and social dynamics.
Fire Island, NY
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LaBeija discusses her life, including her childhood, surviving on the piers of NYC, familial acceptance, embracing her trans identity, and finding love and stability amidst chaos, forging a path of resilience and self-awareness.
New York, NY
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Bakaitis delves into their journey from Brooklyn graffiti artist to New Orleans drag wrestler, their queer identity, the impact of waterfront graffiti, and navigating life's changes amid familial and societal challenges.
Brooklyn, NY
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Newton discusses her early upbringing in New York City surrounded by communists, her family history, navigating homophobia in the '50s, therapy, her academic journey, and the evolution of queer spaces and identities.
New York, NY
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Hughes reflects on the influence of early personal losses, her journey through grief, and the transformative process of changing her name. She also discusses queer spaces and water's thematic presence in her life and work.
Stockholm, SE
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Waters shares his life story—growing up as a Black Lutheran in Denver, his experiences in New York before AIDS, his family and career transitions, activism, navigating his sexual identity, and his impact on theater and community.
Minneapolis MN
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Sayers shares their path to Riis Beach and environmental psychology, discussing the importance of physical spaces for queer communities, challenges in academia, evolving language on gender, and envisioning a future for Riis Beach.
New York, NY
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Gomez paints a vibrant picture of New York in the '70s and '80s using her experiences, including her first ventures to Riis Beach, navigating queer spaces, building community, and her engagements with theater and philanthropy.
New York City, NY
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Dorcelien discusses his evolving connection to Fire Island, the Pines, and Cherry Grove, touching on their significance for queer and Black communities and his commitment to maintaining safe spaces for queer people.
New York, NY
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Davis delves into the vibrant history and evolution of Cherry Grove, Fire Island, sharing their insights into intergenerational queer support, community, systemic racism, and their personal journey with gender affirmation.
New York, NY
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Villarosa reflects on growing roots in Chicago, facing racial hostility in Denver, evolving as a Black lesbian in New York, her journalism career with a focus on health, and fighting against the invisibility of Black narratives.
New York City, NY
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Flash details her journey from Montclair to Manhattan, delving into her childhood, passion for photography, experiences in LGBTQ+ communities, her transformative years in London, activism, relationships, and art practice.
New York City, NY
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Polgreen and Feit explore their connection to Provincetown, from their first visit to the impacts of gentrification to their personal reflections on water as a symbol of freedom and restoration in their lives.
Brooklyn, NY
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Harris reflects on his upbringing in the Bronx, transformative years in Tanzania, his family and their involvement in anti-apartheid activism, experiences in Provincetown and Martha's Vineyard, and evolution as a photographer.
New York, NY
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Robicheaux and Okamoto share tales of building a vibrant underground queer community in San Francisco, navigating love and loss, overcoming addiction, creating party spaces, and the evolution of their identities over decades.
Fire Island, NY
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Ndegeocello discusses her experiences with identity, the significance of water in her life, her work in music, her thoughts on nonbinary representation, and the connections between her personal history and her creative work.
New York, NY
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Ziegler discusses their experiences as a nonbinary individual, deep connection to Riis Beach, and efforts towards community safety and land stewardship, highlighting the importance of queer sanctuary and preservation.
Brooklyn, NY
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From Newark to the dance floors and beaches of New York, Hopkins shares stories of his childhood, his passion for cooking, his achievements as an award-winning lindy hop dancer, and bringing people together at Riis Beach.
New York City, NY
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Narasimhan shares insights from their experiences as a queer, trans, and South Asian immigrant navigating New York's diverse scenes—recalling cultural shifts, Riis Beach, and reflections on identity, community, and belonging.
New York City, NY
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Journeying from Ohio to New York, Ross' story reflects on experiences in the LGBTQ+ club scene, the importance of community spaces, financial literacy work, creative pursuits, and personally significant queer spaces.
New York City, NY
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Map
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Chelsea Piers
The Chelsea Piers now host a variety of sports activities, entertainment venues, and curated outdoor spaces. In the past, the Piers were an important gathering place for queer communities, providing a home for artistic creativity and queer expression.
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Cherry Grove
Known as "America's first Gay and Lesbian town," Cherry Grove has served as a safe haven for queer residents and visitors for nearly a century. Originally a Coast Guard station site, it was later left undeveloped before transitioning into a nude beach and eventually developing into a popular spot for community building.
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Far Rockaways
The Far Rockaways are renowned for their diverse beaches and LGBTQ+ groups and centers, such as the LGBT Freedom Fund, Out Rockaway, and Generation Q.
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Fire Island Pines
For many years, Fire Island Pines was one of the few places where members of the LGBTQ+ community could gather and express themselves freely. Today, it is also home to the Carrington House and the Cherry Grove Community House and Theater, both listed on the National Register of Historic Places for their significance in LGBTQ+ history and activism.
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Provincetown
Provincetown, located on the northern tip of Cape Cod, Massachusetts, has been a haven for LGBTQ+ inclusivity for nearly 60 years. The town hosts events and celebrations year-round.
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Riis Beach
Since the 1940s, Jacob Riis Park, and more specifically Riis Beach, has been an LGBTQ+ hub for leisure and activism.
