Calpernia by Robert Vargas
Last night I had the pleasure of performing “Stunning” at the glamorous and wild birthday celebration of Ernie Omega, with dancers provided by the House of Extravaganze and House of Face. It was a classic, debauched club night of the kind that I haven’t done in quite some time. As a frazzled working mother, I don’t have the time or energy to get out there and “debauch” like I did in my teens. The party, “World War III”, was held at Mustache Mondays, a club night at La Cita in downtown LA. La Cita is a dark, shiny Mexican restaurant and bar at times, but I’ve only ever met her at night in her party clothes. I’ve seen all the LA club kids and celebs of the freaky-deeky set… everyone from the Miss Kitty’s crew to David LaChapelle. I’m usually there performing, tricked out in some crazy outfit, too much makeup and hair, and glowing from a strong cocktail or three courtesy of club impresario Nacho. Last night was no exception.
After performing “Stunning”, I was dancing with some of the younger kids, gorgeous little Mexicana trans debutantes and gay boys in thigh high boots with no shirt. I was thinking about how this is my life, and I do love the wildness of it all. I think I need it to be this wild, just to hold my interest. There was a red-velvet-and-gold throne on the small balcony-like stage, and Ernie and Walki grabbed me and led me to the throne where amazing oil and charcoal artist Robert Vargas was doing quick portraits. He asked me to sit still for five minutes, look him in the eye, and avoid looking at the drawing itself until he was done. He dropped to his knees on the floor behind a spread out sheet of posterboard and began to draw in fast, slippery swipes of oil and charcoal. Somehow the alcohol and after-show rush had left me feeling strangely languid, and the knowledge that I had been in this world thousands of times before gave it all a comfortable dreamlike quality. I sat awash in thumping music on a red velvet throne, on a gold-trimmed stage surrounded by a teeming dance floor filled with all manner of shapes and styles of people. I watched a likeness of myself pour out onto the floor in black from Robert’s fingers, wondering if I would see myself in his perception of the showgirl mask I had created with my own lines of pigment, powder, grease and dust, beneath the strands of my giant curling wig.
Ernie & Walki
I think he did pretty darn good.
