Want to take out your phone and text? Please, I dare you, and I hope I’m there to see what happens. Maybe Young will want to take a selfie, or share your photos, or throw your phone out the window. Anything could happen.
The work is the group; the group is the work. It is an antidote to work that devalues the human. The individual is decentralized, but not devalued.
Drag has challenged me to re-examine and expand my gender identity, which I now see as a continuum between my “everyday self” and “performance self”.
You feel, given the virtuosity and care demonstrated onstage, that you owe this much. You can carry all this. If you let it fall, it’ll break the spell. Don’t spill the water.
I will not say “I’ve grown up” since then, because truly I see this acceptance of paid monotony as a bit of my idealism seeping out. A necessary bloodletting, at long last, giving up my mulishness in favor of a little ability to tame the storm that was my inner mind each day and each night.
From Bushwick to (off-off) Broadway: How Sasha Velour marries her night club roots with modern theatricality
This is best drag: rooted by a simple movement vocabulary elevated with full design elements embodied by a queer figure in complete control of her material.
A Humble Utopia: Liliana Dirks-Goodman’s Dinner Party 1960-2000s with chef Kristin Worrall at New York Live Arts, March 10th 2019
Feminist philosopher Grosz asks: “How can we understand space differently, in order to organize, inhabit, and structure our living arrangements differently?” Dirks-Goodman takes this as provocation for her homespun meal and her other, more intangible, offerings.
When it comes to representation, the question of whose vantage point is accepted as the default. Whose story reads as universal?
John Gutierrez writes from inside “This Bridge Called My Ass” from Miguel Gutierrez
There is an open mic and a fantasy slow dance to memories yet to occur, and a dance party that is pretty cute. I fall in love for exactly 15 minutes and it’s the best.
We share our sweat, our humidity, our heat. We weather it, as Kelly does inside the box.
“Nothing happening,” I wrote in a heavy slant down the page, “but I can’t look away.”