Cruising Archaeology and the Need to Protect Queer Spaces
Words: Misha MN
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For as long as there have been cities, there have been secret places for men to meet for illicit gay sex. Forgotten alleyways, neglected parkland, overgrown bushes, even station toilets, the homes of anonymous connections are always present. Cruising is an ancient art that is in danger of being lost in this high-tech era of instant communication and app-based hookups, and that would be a tragedy. Like queer nightlife, cruising has been on the decline since the invention of the internet, but nothing can ever beat the thrill of diving into the unknown, the palpable tension of locking eyes on a dancefloor, or of walking into a clump of trees and witnessing the kind of sex that changes you forever.
Places like this can become famous, but beyond some directions scribbled on the wall of a public toilet, how do we archive sites of such queer importance in the modern world? Some, like Hampstead Heath in London, or Duke’s Mound in Brighton, have historical importance and survive through tradition and word-of-mouth. Others are commemorated in ancient internet message boards, describing the layout of the land and the kind of men that go there, and at what times it gets busy. Some of the more esoteric places exist just through personal diaries, and websites like Everything Is Queer, which lets users mark memories on a map where they experienced mutual joy for all the world to see. SMUT Press, and the anonymous artist behind their newest book Cruising Archaeology, have created a new way to memorialise these liminal spaces, and the press’s co-founder Jack Scollard joined us to tell all about their latest print.
Cruising Archaeology began life as an Instagram account, pictures of a curated collection of things left behind in various cruising areas from all over London, transforming the detritus of desire into unique cultural artefacts. “I was interested in a lot of the litter left behind, what it can tell us about the event, about the space,” Scollard tells us. “It’s called Cruising Archaeology because [the work] is trying to figure out various patterns of sexual behaviours, and bigger demographics based on material cultures. What can we deduce from the prevalence of condoms, or drug paraphernalia, in one area compared to another? What does it say about these spaces in particular, and who is coming to them?” I remember the time a friend found a discarded anniversary card in cruising ground, something that triggers a whole narrative that exists only in our minds. I ask what the strangest object this project has turned up. “One of the first objects that was first found was a Calvin Klein waistband. Just the waistband, strung between two trees, very high up.”
“Cruising grounds can be sacred spaces to queer people, being both a veiled world and a public place.”
The curation of the images is an interesting process. “We’ve tried to keep the collection as objective as possible, which is why I scanned every artefact, I never photographed them in order to keep that objective lens.” This archival way of working also explains why the artist themselves remains anonymous. “Anonymity is part of the question of authorship, particularly in relation to things like condom packets, or poppers. Apart from making the selection, my voice isn’t central to the project. Also, keeping it anonymous alludes more to the nature of cruising itself.”
Whilst the artistic vision remains objective, Cruising Archaeology contains several interesting literary contributions, including an interview with local litter picking groups, and a foreword by human rights lawyer and queer author Marcus McCann. “He messaged the Instagram page, right at the beginning of the project, saying that he was a really big fan. I’d just read his book Park Cruising: What Happens When We Wander Off The Path, and invited him to write a foreword. I’m very indebted to him for his contribution to the project.” The inclusion of the litter picking group also happened organically. “I began to notice lots of bin bags stapled to trees, with signs and the name of the volunteer group above them so I reached out. Ostensibly, we are doing the exact same thing, only they aren’t interested in keeping the objects, and Cruising Archaeology is making an art project out of them.”
I asked what they thought about the connection between the policing of cruising grounds and the loss of queer nightlife spaces. “This is the big thing that Samuel R Delany [American critic and author] wrote about, how small businesses and sex institutions like bath houses and tea houses have been shut down in order to clean up an area. The rhetoric about safer sex was used as a weapon to shut them down, even though they actually housed community knowledge about the specifics of transmission and safety.”
Can this academic, archival approach to cruising grounds coexist with the anonymous sex that actually inhabits the space? “One of the launch parties we are doing will take place in one of the featured cruising locations. I’ve been thinking about the ethics of this a lot, so it’s invite only in order to keep the location secret, and we’ve reached out to regular visitors to let them know there will be an event happening.” Questions about ownership and authorship resurface; how can one connect with a space when its social status is preordained? “There’s no Council of the Cruising Areas. No one owns it, but at the same time I am aware of the sensitivities. I owe these spaces so much, they facilitate a blurring of the social and sexual. I think this space will be receptive to us.”
Cruising grounds can be sacred spaces to queer people, being both a veiled world and a public place. They remind us of the history of our persecution, when we could only meet in secret, whilst also offering us comfort, friendships and solidarity. Cruising grounds are hiding in plain sight, invisible to a casual observer, but rife with signals and messages for those who know how to read them. Now more than ever it is important to keep the spirit of cruising alive, experiencing real life before it becomes consumed by yet another app with yet another subscription paywall. “Cruising grounds become a mythical thing, and people like to feel a sense of ownership.” Scollard concludes, “We feel ownership over public spaces, which is a good thing, because they belong to us. They’re ours to use.” In a world where so much is constantly being taken from us, it’s good to remind ourselves of the things they can never truly take; our communities, our sexuality, our history, and our land.
Photography: Jack Scollard | Spreads from the book: Cruising Archaeology / SMUT Press | Screenshots: Cruising Archaeology
Cruising Archaeology is available to purchase online here. Distribution in collaboration with Public Knowledge books and full list of stockists is available from the SMUT Press Instagram.
