June Pride Street Photography!

June 20, 2026

Or how I learnt to embrace quiet intimacy in photography.

So it's pride month again, eh? As has been tradition for the last couple years, I've pushed myself to get out there to as many events as I could to document them with my camera.

A progress pride flag waving in the wind from a flagpole.

I've previously been involved in many aspects of queer organizing, including but not limited to being directly involved with my local Pride Board as a board member. Earlier this year I resigned my on again off again board role with TransSask Support Services, marking the last leadership role I find myself in officially within the community. My resignation was in part due to my own failing capacities, but largely came about because it was time for new blood to take the helm. I've been directly involved in the non-profit power structure of Saskatchewan and Treaty 4 for over 10 years – it's time for new ideas.

However, after over 10 years of organizing queer and trans resistance and resiliency, I find myself growing restless if I don't contribute something to “the movement.” When planning this post, I spoke with the aforementioned “new blood” (my colleague known online as “HootOS”, “Roadie”, or “Hoot”) about her own role in her city of origin's local Pride movement. 10 years ago she worked alongside a number of provincial organizations to have pride month officially recognized by the city of Estevan – as well as an official flag raising. The tradition of Pride organizing has continued and survived to this day, even beyond her own personal input. It shared its own insights on the importance of queer history and its place within it. We discussed the question of preservation and who gets to preserve. And finally we shared our own respective histories of the people and bonds that got us to where we are today.

A sign language interpreter plies their trade in front of the Queen City Pride banner.

This got me thinking about the legacies we build and leave behind as queer people. All too often our history as queer people is as ephemeral as teardrops in the rain. I find it interesting that I have had my own hand to play in the queer/trans history of Saskatchewan that continues to unfold around us every day. In my conversation with Roadie, I found myself repeatedly speaking about actions and relationships from well before my own time. A verbal history that is uniquely my own, that is inseparable from my own perspective. Then we discussed the actions I had a hand in between 2020 to 2023 that laid the seeds of what we as a community face today. And more than anything, I lamented that so much of that history that I keep in my heart is lost to the winds.

What role do I have to play in preserving this history? What role can I play as a photographer? How does the choice I make when I point my lens at a subject impact the history that lens preserves? What does it mean to take photos of a disempowered community that so often does not get to choose how it is represented? I've been actively wrestling with these questions ever since I picked up a camera. Some of my earliest work I consider worthwhile preserving was taken explicitly to document a protest in Prince Albert. One of the reasons I wanted to get into photography in the first place was to document the struggles of my community.

A protestor holds up a yellow sign with handwritten black text that reads 'Regina Cops Hate Queer Kids'

As time has gone on however, my focus has shifted from preserving the moments of hostility and struggle. I do not find power in documenting the police surveilling a protest. I do not find purpose in documenting a politician failing to serve our community. Instead, what else can I explore with my lens? What stories can I tell with my camera that uplift? How can I use my photography to will into the world genuine kindness between strangers? I find myself constantly coming back to one singular question:

What story will my photos tell after I am gone?

After 10 years of working with and for the queer/trans community, I have learnt one truth over all others: it is not in moments of grand resistance that our futures will be made, but in the quiet moments of service and resilience. In my heart, I do not believe that the greatest impact an individual can have is through major political actions like protests and displays of civil dissent. Instead, I believe it is in the building of networks of care and support. I believe it is in the quiet sharing of love between partners and found families. You can find it in D&D nights and coffee dates and Drag Shows. You can find it at the gay bar or at the library. Any one place where two people dare to be themselves in a genuine way.

Two young people are showing each other affection, while a large sun-bleed slightly obscures their faces.

I find my photography has slowly shifted itself to reflect this internal dialogue that I have been having. While I do still try to take heavily politically motivated photography (see below), I find myself being much more drawn to small moments of intimacy and resilience. Street photographers often discuss their “photography triggers” (that is, what makes draws you to a photograph), many find themselves drawn to moments of action or intrigue. I however find myself drawn to moments of stillness amongst the chaos of a busy event. When I'm out on the street day to day taking photos, I try to take photos that remind me of the community I live in.

My politics now inform my photography more than they ever have. More than when I focused on taking provocative photos that forced the viewer to reckon with its content. Now I am much more interested in photographs that draw the viewer in and encourages them to ask questions. Why this moment? Why this frame? Why did the photographer choose to include this event? With the photo below, I felt there was great power to be found by including the police officer standing by at the flag pole. To have an officer of the law placed prominently behind a trans woman without any identifying features is to place them in a position of subservience. I was able to use this moment to raise greater questions about the inclusion of police in our communities.

HootOS stands in front of a police officer, speaking to the crowd with a pride flag in her hat.

However photos like the above represent such a small sliver of what the totality of our existence is as queer/trans people. Yes, our lives are so often monitored and policed – both literally and figuratively – by people who would rather we all just... went away. But our lives are also so filled with joy and love that so often lies under the surface.

So I began focusing my efforts less on traditional documentary street photography and more directly on impromptu portraiture. There is just something so truly magical about asking someone you might not know if you can take a photo of them. Building that connection, if even for a moment, can create such beautiful work that better represents the people in the community. And after all thats my goal, isn't it? To accurately represent my community?

A person wearing a boxhead cosplay and a bi flag as a cape poses for the camera.

As I continue to develop and mature as a photographer since my start in late 2023 and 2024, I find my work has continued to develop a more personal touch. As I continue to review my photography from time to time, I notice consistent trends amongst the work. Whether it be my apparent love of multi-generational candids or the eye for deep contrast and still frames, it all seems to lead to a singular nexus:

My photography is my way to shed light on the quiet, resilient moments of life as a disabled Metis transfemme and her community.

As my conversation with Roadie illuminated, there is power in preserving our stories. As I have discussed above, there is real world value in creating a record of “the movement” that preserves the truth of our community. Not a truth based in violence and oppression, but in love and generosity and connection. Since time immemorial queer & trans community has always focused on these primal points of connection between individuals and communities to survive and – most importantly – thrive.

I want to do my part in upholding and evolving that tradition.

A young person smiles at the camera, ready to carry the torch

Additional photos are available on my photography site via the following public galleries:

Stay tuned to my portfolio site over the coming months for even more pride and street portraiture! There is more pride yet this year!

Ariana Giroux

Situated in Treaty 4 territory, Ariana Giroux is an award winning advocate, photographer, and musician. As a self taught photographer, their practice is centred in her trauma informed, queer, and trans way of knowing. Through an experimental lens, she aims to capture the nuances inherent in the experience of living a queer and radical life.

Regularly working with clients from many diverse backgrounds, Ariana spends her time building community and seeking the best cup of coffee.

Find more of her work via her littlelink.