Miss Manhattan Hangs Out with Zac Thompson
Greetings from the neighborhood.
In New York it’s possible to lose what a neighborhood means. Not in terms of geography, but in terms of community structure and how that can define our time here. As the artist Zac Thompson takes me around their neighborhood, however, it’s clear this is not something they’ve misplaced. Rather, while moving in what will eventually be a full circle, it almost feels like a retelling of Mister Rogers. It is indeed a lovely day in the neighborhood, though this one has a queer bookstore, a photography gallery, wig shops, and punk bars, to name a few.
I first met Zac through their writing work at Hyperallergic–they reviewed Glitter and Concrete and attended a show we did at the Brooklyn Historical Society, and later invited me out to Double Ds, a drag show at All Night Skate in Brooklyn. They are rarely without a disposable camera these days, that show included. Their work chronicling friends and loved ones in Brooklyn’s drag scene is shot through with ecstatic flash, vibrant color, warmth, and intimacy. It’s work that reminds me what it means to photograph people we love, solidifying moments that show us what it looks like to be alive.
Given Zac’s relationship to their own community as a photographer, it’s maybe not surprising that they would be embedded in their neighborhood, too. We meet at their building, walking past a mural of swirled pastels and a surfing teddy bear (which they detest). Passing a bar called Boobie Trap, a massive skeleton wearing a breast plate greets us with open arms. We amble on to Hive Mind Books, “a queer-owned independent bookstore stocking Brooklyn’s largest selection of books by queer and trans writers.” Zac tells me Frankenstein is the only book they’ve read three times, curious about its relationship to queer and trans worldbuilding. They purchase an iced coffee from the owner, Julie, who’s behind the counter.
The next stop is Westlab + Gallery, where Zac regularly purchases and develops disposable cameras and film. Outside when we arrive, proprietors Shrey and Jacquey sit bundled in coats sipping coffee. Zac stays awhile and chats, then pops inside for more rolls of film, admiring the work on the walls.
We loop through Maria Hernandez Park, where someone flies a model airplane through the sky as a real airplane passes over us. Trees bright with autumn leaves press against grey clouds. One particular street leads us past cat sculptures and an explosion of murals, ones much better than the surfing bear.
We wind up at a flea market, where a display of DVDs calls to Zac, Save the Last Dance and Pat Robertson’s Be Healed! in particular. Zac’s “evangelical family…didn’t make room for queer non-binary artists,” they wrote, so they created the world they wanted to live in. One that takes them to punk bars, drag shows, flea markets, bookstores and more. But this is how to do it, to Frankenstein together a life, but one of joy and self-invention, and with a much happier ending.
