You know the scene from To Wong Foo, Thanks for Everything, Julie Newmar where the entire town is standing firm that they are all drag queens. I’d have to say that is me. I’m standing here in this Lust in the Dust back drop, red dress all Stockard Channing saying I am a drag queen.
They’ve questioned me forever. Am I a gay boy? Shall I be a male to female transgender person? Am I just a drag queen? Transvestite? Transexual? I think I was exhausted before it all began. I don’t really give a rat’s ass what I may be other than I am me, The Artist D.
But I am a drag queen. I’m a drag queen because I love shock value. I love rich thick culture that is steeped in underground stage shows and feces. The glittery dark sparkles of Elvira Mistress of the Dark as she dumped that bucket down on her like a gothic Dirty Dancing. I’m a drag queen that my every day walking in sunlight life is lived like any John Waters flick starring Divine. I do not have a character. I am a character. I am The Artist D. I am the compilation of my Hollywood movie screen upbringing. I am Faye Dunaway as Joan Crawford scrubbing the floor or tearing down the bitch of a bearing wall. I am Norma Desmond walking into the foggy ether of the camera close-up. I am the smug aloofness of Gloria Swanson on any couch in any interview at any time. Darling. Hunty. Henny. Sweetie pie. I was all of those things before coming out of the womb and I am more of those things after I realized that I could be anything I wanted to be.
I enjoy the term drag queen because it means that my personality is bigger than my gender and my sexuality. A simple human capacity to be a sexual being who feels femme or masc is overshadowed and cannot contain the culture of my character. The over the top of everything that is me has so little to do with the binary.