They wore heels, sequins and little else! The heady nights and glistening bodies of cult queer club PDA
NEWS | 24 November 2025
For more than three decades, Liz Johnson Artur has photographed “the people I’m with” – a characteristically modest expression that belies the radiance, intimacy and unshowy brilliance of her pictures, an extraordinary archive numbering thousands of images that celebrate beauty, resilience, community and resistance. Intimate and alive, her photographs – often shot on the fly, in streets, nightclubs and living rooms – pull you right into the moment, just before it disappears for good. PDA, the photographer’s latest book, celebrates a bygone London underground music scene. PDA was a popular queer club night that ran monthly in a Hackney basement from 2011 to 2021. The abbreviation PDA did not stand for a single phrase, apparently. Rather, the founders playfully suggested it could stand for many things, including Public Display of Affection, Please Don’t Ask, and even Pretty Dick Available. A lot went on in front of – and behind – the DJ booth! The club night’s fluidity and inclusivity were some of the things that enraptured Johnson Artur. “I used to take pictures in a queer club in Brixton in the 1990s. Then it was very separate, men and women. There was mixing – but this was a very different vibe.” While she’s “never been a clubber”, she became a regular at PDA. “There was a lot going on in front of and behind the DJ booth! PDA embraced everyone. They didn’t have a door policy. I was 30 years older than everyone there, but it was beautiful watching them take their space.” View image in fullscreen ‘The pictures seem to jump to the sound of a bassline’ … dancers captured in PDA. Photograph: Liz Johnson Artur/Bierke In black and white and colour pictures taken over several years attending PDA events, Johnson Artur, now 61, captures party-goers flexing their thigh-high boots, bodies glossy with sweat on the dancefloor, cigarettes, smiles and Schweppes. The pictures at times seem to jump to the sound of a bassline. It’s not the first time she has photographed people partying. Why does Johnson Artur love photographing music events so much? “They do something to people,” she says, speaking on the phone as she walks around Brixton on a Monday morning. “They can let go. It’s the most generous art form we have, because it needs us. It lives from how we react to it – and you can feel it’s yours and no one can take that away from you.” I guess I almost developed aunty feelings – we’d all come back and have food at my place The book also reflects Johnson Artur’s abiding interest in self-fashioning and self-expression in temporary, DIY and unconventional spaces. She attributes this curiosity in strangers’ lives to the four-day train journeys she would take as a child with her mother, from Germany back to the Soviet Union. “You would spend 24 hours with strangers in a small compartment,” she says, “and you have to get on – you start out being suspicious of each other, but in Russian culture, you put food on the table and you share, and you start talking.” Sharing these small spaces with strangers informed the way she works with her subjects. “I photograph people because each person has a story. I can’t tell it verbally, but I can make a point about human existence – we’re told we’re all different, but the stories, when you hear them, are often quite familiar.” Johnson Artur’s own story reflects a time in the 1960s when African students were sent to study in eastern Europe – which is how her Ghanaian dad met her Russian mother. Johnson Artur was born in Bulgaria and spoke Russian at home, later moving to Germany, where she was raised by her mother. “It’s who I am. I don’t know any different – everyone has their roots, and I don’t see mine as special. My work is not about black this, that, or the other. It’s about wanting to be yourself.” View image in fullscreen ‘We have a wonderful time, then suddenly it’s over’ … one of the stars of PDA. Photograph: Liz Johnson Artur/Bierke They lived for a time as illegal immigrants. As Johnson Artur wasn’t able 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 film was prohibitively 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 focus and learn to work with my tools in whatever situation I found myself in. It’s important to me not to take pictures I consider bad. That’s my German upbringing. Every picture in the archive counts.” In 1991, Johnson Artur moved to London. She studied at the Royal College of Art – and dived into the city’s music scene. “I suddenly experienced music in a totally different way. It was part of your life. Witnessing those places where you could express yourself, where you could make something out of nothing and have agency. People were making clubs in whatever room they could just for a few months. But it’s changing. You can’t do that now. It’s becoming harder to have any space. That’s a very painful thing.” One of the recurring figures in the PDA pictures is Carrie Stacks, the night’s co-founder DJ and nightlife icon. They appear at the decks, but also at home, getting ready, doing their makeup. These more intimate, daytime images give a sense of a close-knit community beyond the club. “I don’t look at it as a club book,” says Johnson Artur. “It is always about looking at people. It’s about how they create spaces to be safe with each other.” The book moves through photographs reflecting the rhythm and energy of a night, from posturing in lavish outfits on arrival at the club, to moments of high intensity, hands-in-air abandon, when the dancefloor is packed and chaotic with limbs and people embrace. It’s a mix of striking, posed portraits of the club’s attractive young crowd, in which Johnson Artur’s subjects look directly back at her, often wearing little more than some sequins, heels and sunglasses, and moments of unchoreographed candour, in which the photographer and her camera are devoured in the fervour of the action: right next to the DJ booth as someone grabs the mic, or as two people share laughter or a kiss. It’s irrepressibly joyful to look at, an account that pays homage to a time and place but also captures timeless notions of desire, freedom and escape. View image in fullscreen ‘Irrepressibly joyful’ … PDA dancers on the floor. Photograph: Liz Johnson Artur/Bierke Strutting into the club in their finery, her subjects emanate a confidence that belies the hostility they often face outside. “Not just on the street but also at home, where many people have big issues being who they are, in their own communities.” The book is the result of a careful and close collaboration with some of the PDA organisers. Was that difficult for a photographer with such stringent standards? “I’m used to holding on to pictures, deciding what goes where based on the quality – and I had to let go of that. It’s an interesting process. You can’t collaborate and only get what you want. You have to open up.” PDA also charts Johnson Artur’s evolving role in the community. “I guess I almost developed aunty feelings,” she says. As soon as her daughter was old enough, she started to take her along too. “We’d all come back and have food at my place. It wasn’t just nightlife. We really enjoyed each other’s company.” That mutual feeling of respect and trust, she says, comes through in the pictures. “When people see you and they trust you, they give. That’s the beauty I get.” A typical PDA night went on until 6am, and the last picture in the book depicts a reveller back outside in the early hours, making their way home again. Shot from behind and from afar, the figure flashes bright white against the darkness of the empty street, the soft focus reminiscent of the bleary-eyed vision after a long night out. It’s also a reminder that nothing lasts for ever. “That’s how we exist as humans,” says Johnson Artur. “We have a wonderful time, then suddenly it’s over.” PDA is a testament to that. “We’re only here for a minute,” she adds. “Let’s enjoy it.”
Author: Charlotte Jansen.
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