In The Argonauts, Maggie Nelson asks:
Is there something inherently queer about itself, insofar as it profoundly alters one’s “normal” state, and occasions a radical intimacy with—and radical alienation from—one’s body? How can an experience so profoundly strange and wild and transformative also symbolize or enact ultimate conformity?
Artie Thomas inadvertently explores a similar question through performance, trying to answer for himself, “Should I become a parent?” Stasia Coup, the drag persona of transmasculine performance artist Artie Thomas, shared an installation and performance piece through the Base Residency: Entry Point this weekend.
An archive of mementos, books, poetry, and documentation stretch across two tables like a gallery. Photos and props from past performances like the Stasia doll and jug of milk/sperm from “Mommy Complex” wink at the audience as tea lights flicker. Parenting books, childhood stuffed animals and quilts sit among a smattering of pregnancy tests and a sperm donor agreement document. Tiny golden babies are scattered across the tables, celebratory balloons float messages that read “Welcome Baby” and “Happy Retirement.” Beside each object are quippy labels that explain their meaning. Floating on the string of one balloon: “I wish people would stop telling me I can have a baby and still do drag.” A couch set with children’s books and stuffed animals is lit by a warm lamp to the side. A bowl of water sits on a podium front and center. Projected on the wall, a quote from Slyvia Plath’s Bell Jar, about navigating indecision through figs, reminding me of childhood memories lying beneath the fig tree in my childhood home.
Coup emerges veiled in black chiffon holding two lilies with outstretched palms. “Faith’s Hymn” by Beautiful Chorus plays softly as she floats across the back wall, Plath’s words dance across the veil. Placing the lilies delicately into the bowl of water, she traces the remaining droplets across her forearms. Raising arms to the sky, the veil is lifted. Addressing the audience, Coup earnestly recalls the past two years, navigating the question of parenthood. She describes the longing for a child, along with the pursuit of conception through a sperm donor. After the first round doesn’t take, Coup is met with relief, and asks “What does it mean for me to want something and not pursue it? Do I want this enough to uproot my life and pursue it on my own? What would a childfree life look like?” After a year of performing, chasing artistic ambitions, and cultivating local drag community, we meet Coup in the present, undecided about the future. The story mirrors the constellation of objects set across the tables, adding sentiment and significance.
Watching the two lilies float in the black pool feels like the two choices Coup is navigating, floating in space. Coup pulls out a frosted cake with strawberries and lights a birthday candle.
A galaxy of projected stars cover the wall as Coup reads us two letters addressed to her unborn child named Charlie. One letter for a world in which Charlie is born, and another for a world in which they are not. In the letter addressed to the unborn Charlie, Coup tells stories of the two of them connecting in different lives as whales, promising to never forget them. In a world in which Charlie is born, Coup vows to protect them fiercely, take interest in their interests, and to share her favorite art, music, and people with them (some of which are seated in this room). The honor to protect and connect with this child against all odds is cosmic and deeply loving, leaving not a dry eye in the house. Inviting her mother on stage, Coup expresses gratitude to her and they blow out the birthday candle together. The two take a seat, leaning heads on each other’s shoulders to watch home videos of Thomas as a child. We watch him grow from utero into a stumbling, dancing kid exploring the world through play. Mirroring the images of the letter in a circular and spiritual way.
The closing number of the show is a lipsync performance of “I Have Never Loved Someone” by My Brightest Diamond. In this emotional ballad, she promises to become anything to ensure this child feels her love and security. “I will send you all my love upon the breeze, and if the breeze won’t blow your way, I will be the sun.” She sings with sweetness, softness, and strength. The lights fade on Coup, leaving the tea lights twinkling in the dark.
As a donor-conceived person who was raised by a queer single parent, Thomas’s performance resonated with me deeply. Subverting the politics of parenthood, Thomas queers and clouds narratives of what fatherhood looks like in a profound way. Thomas’s work was legible to me in a way that depictions of family rarely are. The familial love he shares on stage is palpable beyond nuclearity. Thomas carves out a queer future on stage that I hope reaches children across the universe.
Stasia Coup/Artie Thomas’s Base Residency Entry Point occurred May 16, 2026 at Base: Experimental Arts + Space. You can read the program here. Featured photo by Allina Yang.
