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The Bureau of Queer Art

The Bureau of Queer Art

A conversation between Micheal Swank and Leo Herrera

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Leo Herrera
Dec 17, 2024
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The Bureau of Queer Art
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A conversation with Micheal Swank, director of The Bureau of Queer Art in Mexico City for Artsy. We discuss Queer history, sex, The Fathers Project and Analog Cruising.


Analog Seduction

by Micheal Swank

Boomer Banks with Analog Cruising—Photo by Roland Fitz

Leo Herrera is a rare artist whose work exists at the intersection of history, activism, and creative storytelling. Equal parts historian and provocateur, Herrera bridges the gap between queer history and culture with a sharp wit and a deep reverence for the past. In a spirited conversation with Micheal Swank, Director of The Bureau of Queer Art, Herrera reflects on his visionary ‘Fathers Project’, the provocative ‘Analog Cruising’ guide, and the threads of intimacy and community that connect queer generations. Their discussion spans decades of queer history, the devastating impact of the AIDS crisis, and the evolving role of technology in shaping how queer people connect. Through it all, Herrera’s humor and insight shine as he reimagines queer futures and resurrects lost traditions, offering a poignant commentary on resilience and renewal.


At the heart of Herrera’s body of work lies the ‘The Fathers Project’, a multimedia opus that imagines an alternate universe where AIDS never existed. “It’s a utopian-dystopian documentary,” Herrera explains. “In this world, poppers prevent STDs, Vito Russo becomes president, and Robert Mapplethorpe is feuding with the Kardashians on Instagram.” Fantastical yet deeply rooted in queer history, the project channels Herrera’s archival work at the GLBT Historical Society in San Francisco. “I photographed Harvey Milk’s assassination suit, which was just tucked away in their archives at the time,” he recalls. “Handling those artifacts was transformative—it confirmed how much knowing our history can fuel both art and activism.”

Herrera’s connection to queer history began long before his time in San Francisco. Growing up in Phoenix, Arizona, in an environment where queer culture was largely invisible, he scavenged for traces of representation. “I’d scour this tiny bookstore for poetry, biographies, scraps of history—anything I could find—and devour it,” Herrera says. Moving to San Francisco in his early 20s, he entered a community still reeling from the AIDS epidemic. “Retrovirals had only been around for seven years,” he notes, “and the shockwaves were everywhere—drag nights, punk shows, even the underground leather scene carried this raw mix of grief and resistance.”

The ‘Fathers Project’ channels that ethos, blending speculative storytelling with historical fragments. “It’s a bait-and-switch,” Herrera admits. “You get this glittering utopia, but under the surface, you see the cracks—hierarchies of access, systemic inequalities. Even without AIDS, the world isn’t perfect.” Released just before the COVID-19 pandemic, the project’s themes of disease, community resilience, and systemic neglect became eerily prophetic. “Suddenly, people were experiencing isolation and fear in ways that mirrored what queer communities had faced during the AIDS crisis,” Herrera says. The project gained traction in academic circles, with universities incorporating it into queer media courses. “It’s taken on a life of its own,” he reflects, “but it’s also a reminder of how much work there is left to do.”

Fathers Project, 2018-2020 Streaming now at iftheylived.org

While ‘The Fathers Project’ explores speculative futures, Herrera’s ‘Analog Cruising’ returns to the present with a playful yet practical exploration of queer cruising traditions. Far from being a nostalgic throwback, the guide is a bold reclamation of analog intimacy in an increasingly digital world. “It’s not ‘Cruising for Dummies,’” Herrera jokes. “It’s more like ‘Cruising for Humans.’” The guide demystifies spaces like bathhouses, parks, bookstores, and dark rooms, offering advice for those navigating these environments for the first time—or after years away. “I break it down to the basics,” he explains. “What do you bring to a bathhouse? How do you find the cruising spot in a park? What’s the etiquette in a dark room?” Beyond practical tips, the guide tackles complex issues like consent and rejection. “Apps have made rejection feel impersonal, even cruel,” Herrera observes. “In a cruising space, you’re face-to-face. You must develop your ‘emotional immune system’—a resilience from handling rejection with grace and giving it with kindness.”

A natural extension of the guide is Herrera’s ‘Analog Cruising Kit,’ a curated collection of essentials for modern cruisers. Initially conceived as a playful bag of necessities—lube, mints, and a lighter—the kit has evolved into practical items like bug spray for outdoor cruising and a pocket-sized guidebook. “It’s not just functional,” Herrera explains. “It’s an artifact. We’ve lost many physical mementos in the digital age—party flyers, zines, postcards. This kit is my way of creating something tangible.”

The project draws inspiration from mid-20th-century pulp booklets that circulated covertly among gay men. Herrera leans into this tradition, blending instructional content with vivid personal vignettes. “Some stories are triumphs; others are total disasters,” he laughs. “Like when I stumbled into a park cruising spot after a fight with my boyfriend. I thought it was some divine sign that I was right—spoiler, I wasn’t. Or the time I broke all the rules in a video store cruising area and got brutally shot down.” Humor, Herrera insists, is an essential survival tool in queer culture. “Cruising can be exhilarating, but it can also be awkward. Humor helps us navigate those moments and, more importantly, connect.”

Herrera and Swank emphasize the cultural significance of reclaiming cruising traditions, particularly in light of the generational losses caused by the AIDS crisis. “There’s an entire generation that didn’t get to pass down their stories, tips, wisdom,” Swank notes. Herrera agrees. “I call myself the last first generation,” he says. “So much knowledge about our community’s traditions didn’t survive. This guide is my way of ensuring we don’t keep starting from scratch.”

The pandemic underscored the enduring relevance of analog spaces. With bars closed and indoor gatherings restricted, queer people rediscovered cruising spots in parks and other outdoor venues. “Younger folks started to see what older generations had known for decades—how to connect without apps,” Herrera says. “I wanted the guide to speak to both groups: the newbies venturing into these spaces for the first time and the veterans who might feel out of practice.”

Photo by Roland Fitz

Herrera’s work resonates deeply with audiences across generations. Readers of the guide have shared stories of empowerment and connection. “One guy in his 40s told me he’d been nervous about going to a bathhouse for years,” Herrera recalls. “After reading the guide, he finally went—and had a great time. A younger reader said it helped him understand consent in ways apps never could.” For Herrera, the guide and kit are more than nostalgic tributes—they’re tools for survival in an increasingly censored world. “We live in a time when queer content is being policed more than ever,” he says. “Platforms like Instagram are cracking down on anything remotely sexual. That’s why analog tools—books, kits, zines—are so important. These are things they can’t take away from us.”

As the conversation with Swank winds down, Herrera reflects on the enduring spirit of queer resilience. “Our community has always found a way,” he says. “Whether through a cruising guide, a utopian documentary, or a bag of lube and bug spray, we’ll keep building, connecting, and carrying our history forward.” Swank nods in agreement. “Your work is a celebration—a reminder that queer culture isn’t just about surviving but thriving, laughing, and finding joy in connection.” Herrera smiles. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned, our history is a living thing. It’s messy, hilarious, heartbreaking, and beautiful. And it’s up to us to keep it alive.”

Leo Herrera’s work is a testament to the power of history, humor, and human connection. Whether imagining alternate queer futures or reclaiming analog traditions, Herrera’s projects challenge us to confront the past, embrace the present, and envision a future where queer culture continues to thrive. In a world where physical and digital spaces constantly evolve, Herrera’s voice reminds us that resilience, humor, and love are timeless.


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