Of course I saw the Abramovic show in the MoMA. I mean everybody wanted to see it. Tourists from all over the world stood in line (only the Tim Burton show was even more packed). I was quite impressed by the show. I did not stand in line to participate in her performance, but was utterly blown away by the intensity of her re-enacted performances featured in the show.
I knew about Abramovic before, especially because of her performance at the Venice Biennale (yes, that thing with the piles of bones which she cleaned from rotting meat leftovers). Still, I had never seen any performance like that first hand. The most fascinating thing was that the actors did not even seem to act. All they did was more or less maintaining one pose. That made me think of her works as sculptures that are made of living human beings.
I had to write a response paper on the show, but I'm not going to drop it on you now. What I want to share with you is a kind of percept that I scribbled down frantically.
„She hangs on a white canvas. I am wearing clothes. She is completely naked. I see her chest rising and falling with every breath. Our eyes meet. She does not move. Breathe in. Breathe out. She is alive – mounted onto a wall like an inanimate object. We look at each other, not moving. I am looking up to her. She is looking down on me. She is completely exposed. There is nothing inbetween us. I am unable to move. Neither of us moves. We are just staring into each other’s eyes. I am looking at an artwork – the artwork looks back at me. When I was small, I was scared of the tv because I thought the people I see can look back at me. She is looking back at me. She is the artwork. I am the audience. The distinction blurrs. We breathe in at the same time. We adjust to each other. She is looking back at me the same way I look at her. Motionless. I am being watched and so is she. We are both paralyzed. We stare into each other’s eyes and minutes pass. No movement. I lose my sense of time. I am caught. She doesn’t let me look away. We don’t move. I don’t feel like I am looking at an artwork. I am looking at her and our souls intertwine. We are exposed. We know nothing about each other except for what we see in each other’s eyes. We feel. We feel this mixture of exposure, embarrassment and trust and closeness. I know she feels it. I can see it. We look into each other. She is naked. I am wearing clothes. It’s the same. We are one.“
If you think I'm retarded you should have a look at this.
Marina Abramovic Made Me Cry
I totally comprehend.
