Things I learned on the dancefloor
God, do I miss clubs. I mean don’t get me wrong – of course, I miss the theater too; it’s where I spent the most time, it’s where I did my best work, it’s where I helped build worlds that we could all escape into. But clubs? Clubs are where I LIVED. They are the spaces where I could be myself, where I could be with my people, where I could belong. Now some definitions may be useful here: When I say “club” I am referring to a dance club, not a bar – a place with a dance floor and a live DJ, with different spaces to hang out, chill and dance in. There’s nothing wrong with a bar, but I have a special space in my heart where physical movement is the main purpose of attending. Also, when I say “club”, I’m talking about queer or gay clubs – I have no idea what you straight people are doing out there, but I’ve never felt the same quality of liberation in a space that is not specifically built for queer people. Having said that, for many years I had the reputation for bringing my straight male friends to gay clubs and making them dance until dawn. I’m certainly not a segregationist – I love when straight people are able to attend these queer spaces and see how people are with each other there. But there is a ratio of straight to queer people which, once tipped, causes a space to no longer be a space of liberation. I’ve seen many parties go from wonderful to problematic to boring because when word gets out that there’s a cool vibe going, the entire heterosexual world comes crashing it. There is so much wisdom in keeping a thing on the DL – keeping it underground, saying no to making it bigger, being careful who you invite, keeping it local, for as long as you can. And, lastly, when I say club, I also mean a space where art occurs – dancing and DJ’s naturally, but I mean LIVE PERFORMANCE ART! Strange experimental movement performances, drag, radial pop stars, hanging rope fetish instillations, political protests through live painting – you know what I mean, do you KNOW what I mean? I mean, I miss it so much that I literally don’t know who I am without my clubs.
It wasn’t always this way. When I first started going to clubs I was 17 years old, green as the spring in New York City and sneaking into Limelight and Twilo, when it was still possible to do such scandalous things. I remember so clearly just beginning to explore that path into the dark woods when I was pulled off it by learning I was HIV + when I was 19. That colossal news separated me so fully from the person that I was, the path that I was on and the gay community in general. It wouldn’t be 10 years until I went into a club again, a development produced by falling in love with the A Village Raid, who later become my husband for 5 years, Danny. Danny was a DJ, nightlife promoter and helped run underground queer club spaces. And I wouldn’t be the person I am without him. I can’t even begin to describe the mountain of issues, hesitations, insecurities and mental blocks he forced me to overcome. He showed me that clubs were spaces of community, clubs were spaces of art, clubs were spaces of resistance, and clubs were spaces where actually people were generally pretty kind. And slowly over the next ten years, clubs became my home – and club people became my people. We would meet on the dancefloor as strangers and leave as friends, lovers, confidants, mentors. The club world would spill over to my living room for birthday parties, into my existing friend groups and into the theater where I would encourage collaborations between theater people and club people. There’s so much in common between the two live performance spaces – people come to see a think happen in real life, to experience a thing with other people, to listen to music and watch people DO things. But while theater has nothing but difficulty inviting people of color and trans people and young people into it – clubs do it easily, and in fact, those people actually PAY to go there. There’s so much knowledge that we in the theater can learn from dance clubs – about how to invite people in, about how to make people comfortable and help them have a good time, about the politics of being with each other, about how to create a vibe, and about how to make people forget about the outside world.
My life exists in the intersection between reality and non-reality. Clubs and theaters. Fantasy and Dream. God bless this crossroads. I can’t wait to come back to it. To come back to my life. To come back to the person that I actually am.