Story of An Artist Transcript

Hello, I’m Sorcha Mercy…
Ufff, sounds so weird to say my full name… I’m so informal. Uhmm, anyway, my name is sorcha- you almost guaranteed don’t know me or how I am. Not by name at least. I’m usually the tall skinny gorgeous girl with the stank face in the back. And if that doesn’t it narrow it down, just look for the bitch holding a white claw …. cause That’s me…. That’s sorcha…..

I was asked to answer a couple of questions on who I am and why I’m here to perform for you… well, I’m happy to give you a long roundabout answer to basically none of them….

Why do I do drag? That’s a question that everyone always asks, a question that I was asked tonight…. It was asked so it could help to explain my performance… Unfortunately, it’s not as simple as saying I saw an episode of Rupauls Drag Race and decided to crossdress because I wanted to be famous…. There’s pieces of that that fit my story, but that’s not the honest truth… unfortunately, for you, and fortunately for me (because I love the sound of my own voice)  to get to the answer of why do I do drag is a much longer story….

I was a weird and artistic kid, I was in children’s theater, choirs, bleaching my hair and painting my nails to pretend that I was Andy Warhol…. Did sports for a bit, that wasn’t my strong suit, although it did help shape my fabulous set of legs… In high school I was THE speech and debate nerd, 2 speech camps a summer and traveling to compete every weekend, winning and losing national competitions, and once getting yelled at by one very mean nun…

However, I sat in a weird limbo…. I was somehow popular and everyone knew me or wanted to be my friend, but nobody wanted to hang out with me, nobody wanted to include me or invite me to things…. (Foreshadowing, I think this is why I like the attention that drag gives someone, so I guess the answer to why I do drag is attention… but you’re still stuck with the rest of my story….)

When I was 20, I went through a bad breakup with a guy I had been with since the age of 15— Let me break this one down real quickly… he was 19, I was 15, almost 16, don’t get crazy…  I was out of the closet and living in northern Florida, which is basically Alabama, which is basically Mississippi, which basically means be straight or be quiet….

In case you were wondering we didn’t meet on Grindr… BUT Grindr does play a part later in my story…

   we actually met while going to college together. College? But you were 15? Yes, I know… She’s a stupid bitch now, but at one point was a very clever boy! Anyway, he moved in with me and my family while I was 17, soon after he and I  moved to Orlando for me to continue with a degree in theatre design and tech….

For me to push the story along  and save you from the stories of smashing plates, stomping on rib cages and a couple  tales of dodging speeding cars…. We broke up…
So now I’m living alone and trying to get a degree that will scratch my itch for my creative health… Well, I HATED that program, I hated that degree, my teachers were bitches and I was running on empty….

I was alone, not a lot of friends and no focus on what was next….
Well, some guys that I had met on Grindr had invited me out to the clubs with them a couple of times previously… I always said no, my ex didn’t like clubs, drag or drinking, so I assumed I also didn’t like those things. And one night I said yes. Then a second night. Then a third, a fourth, and suddenly I’m out 5-6 nights a week and have a whole new group of homosexual, flamboyant, gorgeous trans, talented performing, heavy pouring bartending, shady but securing new family surrounding me.

I was welcomed. I… was invited.

People wanted to hang out with me, they wanted me to come to their houses and get ready with them, and pregame before the clubs. BUT we had to be there by midnight. (Except for my college friends. That was 10 for free entry and an hour of free Long Island ice teas.)  The show was always at midnight….. on the flyer, the dolls would normally take stage 10-15 minutes late, ya know, drag time. The girls would take the stage lip syncing, dressed gorgeously to the theme of the night… I loved, the queens, I loved the themes, I’d always come in a new costume to make sure I matched the ambiance of the evening…..and THAT’S when the needle scratched THAT record… All of the sudden THE most popular people in the club wanted to be MY friend… “you’d be a gorgeous queen” “you’d be so beautiful in drag” “you should do Julia Roberts from pretty woman” said one very famous drag queen that every one of you have heard of and she also let me borrow this tank top….

So… I did it… I started to do drag. Poorly, at first… obviously. But I practiced every night. Until I was at least presentable enough to go to the clubs, doing a lot of talent shows, I wanted to be different to help me stand out, so in a matter of months I was a hardcore goth drag queen doing aerial acrobatics suspended over the Pulse Nightclub dance floor.. what those gorgeous queer, fabulous, loving ladies in the dressing rooms didn’t realize is that they nurtured me into becoming someone that can not only produce art, but allow their love to accept and help others feel welcomed.

The realization of knowing when I’m on stage all eyes are on me. I can present whatever I’d like and speak to whatever I’d like… I can be a distraction for someone who needs it or even be a voice for those who may not be able to make their own voice be heard.

I’ve presented myself on stage to bring awareness to things such as mental health, breast cancer, drug addiction, torture, rape, pain or even in a silly way just to make you smile and laugh and forget about how tough life can be….

But with this being said, I went from being the lonely boy, to somewhat of a jester that everyone loves to see perform for you on stage, to make you think, forget, laugh, clap, smile, chuckle, to post about on your social media to show how fun your life is…..

But the more I give myself to you, the less I have for me….

Nobody thinks about the jester, the artist. How long I spent to make the costume for you to be wowed by, or the money I spent in rhinestones so you would be impressed. The weeks I took learning to style the perfect wig so you wouldn’t make fun of my flat cheap hair because it was all I could afford. Who I am or how am I after I take off my makeup? How I was an extrovert that became and introvert. If I had a bad day and if my lashes were wet when I pulled them off… The stress of coming up with a perfect concept to tell you my story as an artist… someone who bleeds their love into everything they do so that you as an audience member can  have one singular smile but then shortly forget about it once you find the next new thing to be entertained by-

Recently the art of drag is on the incline and social media has created new standards and popularity of styles- these new quickly fading trends is now what is considered drag, what is considered art…. Everyone has become a fucking expert on what everyone should be… and now when you no longer keep up with the trends, you are kicked away from the popular kids lunch table….
And suddenly as a 33 year old married, confident, established and dare I even say handsome man—  I’m my childhood self again, forgotten, lonely, somehow popular that everyone knew, but they didn’t want to see.

Finding self love, and coming to the realization that my art is allowed to be for me, has been my greatest gift to my drag. That I AM allowed to be my own art… So, tonight I present to you a story that many have wanted to tell, but tonight it’s mine, the story of an artist….