This Generation’s Population of Ghosts: Near Death Performance Art Experience

 

 

 

 

 

 

This Generation’s Population of Ghosts*

Near Death Performance Art Experience BOSTON 2013

Sandrine Schaefer

As performance art moves into a phase where it faces the same commodification, professionalization, and institutionalism that other art mediums have endured, artists and organizers are challenged with how to maintain the authenticity of the medium and it’s history.  Within this medium, where artists call upon their physical, mental, emotional, and intellectual endurance to challenge the parameters of real time, it is impossible to remove mortality from performance-based work.  As artists connected by this medium watch one another’s practices evolve and mature, they are simultaneously watching each other age.  They witness their bodies change, ideas develop, and they can see their impact on each-other and the future generations of performance artists with whom they are connected.

Working with the concept of Life and Death, Vela Phelan conceived of Near Death Performance Art Experience(NDPAE), a performance art event that offered an opportunity for multiple generations of artists to create live works around this theme. In a simple stroke of irony, NDPAE had its own experience with death. Originally scheduled to unfold over 2 days at Fourth Wall Project in Boston and after months of planning, Fourth Wall was temporarily shut down due to permitting issues, a historic plague among Boston alternative art spaces.  NDPAE was postponed until further notice.  The event fortunately found shelter at the Boston Center for the Art’s Cyclorama, a stunning space with a history of being used as a war memorial.  NDPAE was rescheduled for April 21, 2013, coincidentally the birthday of the late Bob Raymond, and less than 1 week after the Boston Marathon Bombings.

For 7 hours, audiences were given time and space to contemplate how we make sense of the cycle of life and death through the lens of action-based art.

Marilyn Arsem "Edge" 2013 photo by Daniel S. DeLuca

MARILYN ARSEM “Edge”
The work began at 4 pm (3:55 to be exact) when Marilyn Arsem sat down at a square wooden table in the center of the Cyclorama. 2 glasses of water, filled almost to the brim, were placed side by side at one end of the table.  The natural light that streamed in through the Cyclorama’s dome silhouetted her form.  A spectator excitedly whispered that she was holding the room in the glasses.  Taking a closer look, I saw that she was, indeed the keeper of the room, as passersby’s reflections danced across the water.  Upon closer inspection, I noticed small bubbles lining the insides of the glasses. A reminder that the water itself had already stood still for a period of time, or a foreshadowing of Marilyn’s prolonged presence within Near Death.

The beginning moments of Marilyn’s piece, titled “Edge,” were perfect. The Cyclorama was almost silent except for the sound of a clock ticking, emanating from Marilyn.  I was grateful for these beginning moments with her.  The materials present in the other artists’ installations set around the room suggested that chaos would soon ensue.  I meditated on the methodical opening and closing of her eyes.  She looked spent, but her presence filled the entire space with a level of intensity that I had never before experienced in a performance art piece.

 

Faith Johnson "We Are What We Dream" 2013 photo by Daniel S. DeLuca

FAITH JOHNSON “We Are What We Dream”

Tucked away in a corner of the Cyclorama, The question, “If we could dream a new world, what would it be like?” was subtly scrawled across the threshold of Faith Johnson’s interactive installation, “We Are What We Dream”.   A woman approached with a map of the installation.

On one side of the space, people sat on pillows wrapped in silver heat blankets, reminiscent of images of the marathon runners after reaching the finish line.  The map invited me to choose a crystal from a carefully arranged circle on the ground.  After selecting my crystal, I was instructed to travel to the “Silver Mountains” to choose a place to sit and meditate on the question: “If we could dream a new world what would it be like?”

As I wrapped the heat blanket around me, I noticed the color of my skin reflected in the material.  It transformed into a second skin and made me think about all of the people who had worn it before and would wear it after I left. I was able to forget that there are people watching, focusing on the warmth of my “mountain” and the sounds it produced.  The crinkling of the Mylar reminded me of the sound of animals rummaging through piles of trash I experienced during my recent travels in India.

Faith Johnson "We Are What We Dream" 2013 photo by Phil Fryer

When I climbed out of my “mountain”, a wall displaying a growing “waking dream map” confronted me.  Sitters were invited to write their thoughts directly on the wall.  Faith nailed their crystal next to what they had written.  With delicate silver thread, she integrated each crystal, each thought, into the map. I felt thankful for Faith’s choice to directly engage her audience in a way that was instantly gratifying.  It was fulfilling to see my direct influence on the piece.  Exercising this control offered a much-needed respite from the intensity of Marilyn’s individual focus.

After I made my contribution to the piece, I stood back and watched the sunlight from nearby windows dance across the crystals and the “silver mountains.”  Before leaving India, I spent several days in Varanasi, where I observed the Ghats where bodies of the wealthy are cremated in open air.  I watched bodies covered in golden blankets (much like the heat blankets used in Faith’s piece) burn a steady stream of smoke as roaming cattle and goats ate fallen marigolds from the garlands that decorated the corpses.  Watching participants interact with “We Are What We Dream” was a similar experience.  As people emerged from their “silver mountains,” there was an air that they had been transformed, perhaps even transcended their understanding of time and space.

 

 

Travis McCoy Fuller 2013 photo by Daniel S. DeLuca

TRAVIS MCCOY FULLER:

Back in the main space, the glasses on Marilyn’s table appeared to have moved, making clear that she was pushing the glasses across the table with a tedious pace.  Using the ticking of Marilyn’s clock as a sonic foundation for his piece, Travis McCoy Fuller was first to activate the outer edge of the circle of the Cyclorama.

Travis employed subtle variations to ask for participation in his piece.  He asked out loud, gestured, and spoke softly to offer a more intimate experience of the performance.  One of the beginning actions in the piece included two volunteers transporting a pile of rocks on the table to small piles on the floor around the space.  Simultaneously, Travis pulled a bag of sand with a hole in it around and through the audience, an arbitrary line of sand marking his path.  This was the first in a series of actions that broke the traditional performance space, clarifying that this piece required the audience to witness actively.

Travis asked the audience if there was anyone who would like to sit at the table.  A man sat on top of the table.  Travis adjusted his semantics and asked if anyone else would like to sit at the chair that was next to the table.  A woman sat in the chair.  Travis joined them and the three engaged in the act of eating basil plants in silence.  The man and the woman negotiated sharing the plant, the woman taking delight in nibbling the stems.  Sometimes when I witness delegated tasks in performance, it feels like an attempt to control the audience’s experience or nothing more than a practical choice.  As I watched the woman (who chose to stay at the table for the majority of the piece) it became apparent that Travis’ choice to solicit help was an invitation for participants to explore their own performativity.  He cultivated a community within the piece, giving the audience the choice to directly contribute to its creation, if they wished.

The performance space was broken again when Travis sat with the audience, took a swig of vodka and passed the bottle around the room.  This offering was a gesture that leveled the playing field between the performer and audience.  He proceeded to cut his arms and rubbed curry into the fresh wounds.  The bloodletting directly referenced the corporeal self, while establishing empathy between the audience and the artist.  This empathy was ignited again when Travis “challenged” several people in the audience to hold ice cubes until they “turned to water”.  This immediately induced the same visceral response that I felt watching Travis cut himself.  Although I was not holding an ice cube, I could feel my own fingertips growing numb as I watched and waited with the people in the audience who were given ice.

Travis McCoy Fuller 2013 photo by Philip Fryer

 

Travis seemed to be moving between meditative and aggressive states.  I interpret this as another technique for breaking the performance space.  There was time for quiet contemplation (eating plants, balancing stones, watching sand fall) but there were also moments that demanded the audience to be alert (pushing stones, hammering, using a staple gun).  While these aggressive actions could be misinterpreted as angst, the destruction served a function to the cycle of the piece.  After smashing holes in the center of 2 square tables, Travis balanced one table on top of the other.  He stapled the neck of a pair of coveralls around the hole in the bottom table.  With the help of the audience, he lifted another pair of coveralls filled with sand onto the table on the top. The sand from one body poured into another, a symbol of reincarnation that took on the form of an hourglass.

Travis McCoy Fuller 2013 photo by Phil Fryer

The piece evoked infinite notions of how humans structure, understand, and attempt to control and change time.  Melting ice, the image of the reincarnation hourglass, a loop of John Cage’s saying, “But when we don’t measure time…” fusing with the ticking of Marilyn’s clock all culminated into an experience that questioned perceptions of time.

The piece ended with the action of Travis nailing himself to a wall holding nails in his mouth.  He ripped himself from the wall as if he were shedding his skin.  He spit out the nails, a letting go of sorts, another suggestion of a transformative process.  After Travis nailed himself to the wall and tore himself free a second time, he stopped, releasing the entirety of the space back to Marilyn.

 

Jamie McMurry "Flawed" 2013 photo by Philip Fryer

 

JAMIE MCMURRY “FLAWED”

The wall and floor of Jamie McMurry’s space was covered in faux-wood paneling.  A white suit and various tools hung on the wall, while a dusty colored recliner awaited action in the middle of the space.  The installation placed the audience somewhere reminiscent of a basement, a trailer, or a houseboat.  A microphone on a stand was presented, making the space feel a bit like a makeshift nightclub.   Wherever Jamie had taken us, it was steeped in nostalgia and felt a bit creepy.  To add to this aesthetic, he used an over-head projector to share an article written on the 1953 murder of Mable Monahan.  The article claimed that the only clues in the murder were 2 shoe prints and a bloody handprint smudged on the wall of the victim’s Burbank home (Jamie explicitly referenced this by leaving his own imprints on the wall of his installation). He lunged in front of the article, one hand extended towards the projection, the other, jiggling a ring of keys attached to his belt loop.  This action, like so many in the piece, oscillated between feeling antagonistic, ritualistic, and humorous.

He moved throughout the space, shifting between aggressive movements, ceremonial-like gestures, and childlike explorations of the body. He engaged in actions like gargling, gagging, and attempting to piss in a bucket.  Many of his actions forced the audience to make quick decisions about proximity.  He threw things around, created aggressive sounds, jumped rope with a long chain, and created slingshots that catapulted glass jars full of paint-covered wooden beads against the wall. Some may consider this irresponsible behavior, but I appreciated this tension as a strategy for breaking the traditional performance space.

Within the piece, Jamie engaged in a cycle of activating, referencing, and reframing images.  We saw this first with an image of a palm tree.  He wore the image on a T-shirt, projected it and proceeded to paint it on the wall in white.  Jamie then spit the same white paint out of his mouth, referencing the tree through symbolic action.

Jamie McMurry "Flawed" 2013 photo by Phil Fryer

The most dynamic icon he used was an image of two hands in a gesture that is commonly read as “OK”.  Between the hands was an oversized image of an open mouth.  Jamie created this image with his own body in real time, referenced it on a t-shirt, and later recreated it on the wall.  In one of the final actions of the piece, Jamie used a makeshift slingshot to throw one of his glass jars into a large vinyl print of the mouth.  This action and the remnant of this action offered space to contemplate the notion of consuming experience.

Jamie McMurry "Flawed" 2013 photo by Phil Fryer

Much of “Flawed” made use of actions that explored the complexities of consumption/excretion paired with the dichotomy of power/vulnerability.  He addressed colonization, referencing the ghosts of the displaced.  He wore an army blanket over his head and turned it into a poncho as he pushed his head through.  When he emerged, a pair of pantyhose he wore over face had erased his identity.  He ritualistically shook the glass jars he later fed to the mouth on the wall.  He explored colonization again when he changed into a white suit that was embroidered with the words “GOOD PEOPLE ARE ALWAYS SURE THEY’RE RIGHT”.  He literally buried himself in the recliner, covering his body in soil and mud.  After raising himself from the dead, he attempted to destroy a wooden birdhouse with his bare hands.  Watching Jamie expend so much effort, trying to destroy a home belonging to someone else, transformed him into the devil incarnate.  Yet, the struggle of battling with his physical limitations illuminated his vulnerability, made him human, and somehow relatable.  I couldn’t help but internalize this, becoming aware of my own arbitrary attachments.  At what point does the struggle outweigh the perceived gain of a situation?  Much of the piece existed in this area of grey.

 

Jamie McMurry "Flawed" 2013 photo by Phil Fryer

In addition to creating actions that demanded an upheaval of the audience, “Flawed” required multiple shifts in how the audience listened.  Sometimes the audience was strained to decipher soft or muffled sounds.  At other points in the piece, Jamie produced more abrasive sounds that resulted in the audience covering their ears.  This varied sonic experience was a subtle call to action that foreshadowed the final action of “Flawed”.

After playing Carly Rae Jepsen’s “Call Me Maybe,” Jamie picked up a woman from the audience, offered a private sonic experience by giving her a pair of headphones, and carried her outside.  When he walked through the Cyclorama’s doors, he was handed a bouquet of black balloons.  As he walked down the sidewalk, the audience giggled and hustled to catch up. The lyrics “I’d trade my soul for a wish, Pennies and dimes for a kiss, I wasn’t looking for this, But now you’re in my way…Where you think you’re going, baby?…Hey, I just met you, And this is crazy, But here’s my number, So call me, maybe?” still fresh in our minds.

A few blocks from the Cyclorama, Jamie stopped and released the balloons.  Together, we all watched them drift through the night sky until they were out of sight.

 

VestAndPage "Thou Twin of Slumber" 2013 photo by Daniel S. DeLuca

VestAndPage “Thou Twin of Slumber”

The installation of VestAndPage (Verena Stenke and Andrea Pagnes) included a pile of broken glass with wine glasses hanging above, suspended in a moment of free fall.  Two large bricks of ice melted throughout the day, requiring an occasional mopping around the space where they rested on the floor.  The melting of the ice and the glasses frozen in time set the pacing of the performance before it even began.

When the time came for the installation to be activated by the artists’ bodies, the piece began in darkness.  A flame methodically illuminated a pair of legs hidden inside of a square shaped hole in the wall.  I don’t remember the moment or how the lighting situation changed, but I remember Verena repeating the action of falling onto a mattress as Andrea built a road from golden bricks to walk across the space. The inability to fully register the actions through memory or documents due to the constant variances of low light situations was something I wrestled with throughout the piece.  After learning that VestAndPage source content for their performances from their own dreams, I realized that these were intentional choices made in an effort to induce dream-like states in the audience.

The collaborative duo spent much of the performance on opposite sides of their space, traveling towards one another.  This resulted in the audience having to manage a tension between where to look.  When giving attention to one artist’s actions, the viewer was forced to experience the other through their periphery.  We had to use our other senses and call upon our intuition to gain an understanding of the totality of the performance.  I had to make peace with the fact that I was going to miss much of the piece and that the action of forgetting and late remembering, much like a dream, was built into the nature of the occurrence.

Andrea stood on a brick and carefully cut his face and chest in a mirror that was suspended in a similar fashion as the wine glasses.  He followed this action by walking across the pile of glass.  After seeing the blood from his body trickle from his carefully placed incisions, I prepared myself for the worst.  The inner dialogue began and I anxiously tried to decide at what point I would intervene.  At what point would it be negligent to watch another being put themselves in this kind of danger.  As I looked closer, Andrea did not appear to be getting cut as he walked across the glass.  This seemed impossible and I felt as though I had been tricked.  Once I surrendered to the illusion, I was able to enjoy the beauty of the image and the sounds it produced.

VestAndPage "Thou Twin of Slumber" 2013 photo by Daniel S. DeLuca

Meanwhile, Verena held a large glass jar containing a light, a piece of molding bread and larvae on her bare stomach.  She sat close to the audience so that we could see the larvae’s movements.  This was hypnotic.  Andrea wore a contact microphone that amplified his breathing.  Certain actions produced heavy and erratic breathing that broke my focus on Verena. I turned and saw his face in a container of sand, his breath captured in a dust cloud as he exhaled.  When the two artists finally, physically met, Andrea was standing on one of the ice blocks.  He invited Verena to stand on top of the ice with him using an arm gesture.  Placing the jar aside, she curled up into his arms and into what appeared to be raw wool that was wrapped around his form.  The two tried to balance and hold one another as they slipped off of the ice.

VestAndPage "Thou Twin of Slumber" 2013 photo by Daniel S. DeLuca

In the action that followed, Andrea laid on the ice as Verena, randomly placed her foot into the hands of people in the audience.  Similar to Travis’ use of ice, this action induced an empathetic response to the action that Andrea was enduring.

Andrea sat up and Verena randomly chose people in the audience, leading them one by one to Andrea.  She placed their hand on Andrea’s back.  She continued this act of choosing and transferring until Andrea’s back was covered in hands.  She illuminated this image with a small and cool-colored light.

Our bodies are our vehicles for experiencing waking life, but like the decomposing bread consumed by the larvae, it does break down.  It bleeds when cut.  It is subject to extreme environmental conditions.  It is vulnerable. Through the use of highly visceral actions, some that even appeared to defy physical reality (walking on glass without harm), VestAndPage challenged ideas about what it means to be in a body and conjured romantic notions of what can be experienced beyond the physical realm.

When the lights lifted, Marilyn was still sitting, gently pushing her glasses across the table. I watched tears travel down her cheeks, as she maintained her uncompromising focus.  Watching her travel through the subtleties of the grieving process imparted her strength as an individual and the honesty behind her artistic practice.  It reminded me of the first time I saw Bas Jan Ader’s “I’m Too Sad to Tell You” but without the buffer of an interface.  I felt a deep gratitude for being witness to such candor unfolding in real time and space.

 

Jeff Huckleberry 2013 photo by Phil Fryer

Jeff Huckleberry

Near the end of the evening, Jeff Huckleberry engaged in a series of struggles.   His installation was perhaps the most tactile, consisting of raw wood; some premade boxes that still had the bar codes stapled on them, balloons, buckets and various other tools.  Jeff paced around the space, before engaging in a series of cleansing actions.  First, he poured a bucket of water and oblong balloons over his head.  He followed this by drenching himself in rubbing alcohol, disguised in 2 Super Super Super Big Gulp travel mugs.  In this quantity, the fumes were dizzying.  Two clown noses dangled around his neck.  He played the harmonica through a microphone and placed a hand held electric sander into a pile of coffee inside one of the premade boxes.  It danced in circles as it droned, producing an intoxicating aroma of burning coffee and sawdust.  He wrapped a long black cord, soaked with the rubbing alcohol, around his neck.  He looked like he was wearing a contemporary ruff.  He then wrestled with a pile of wood in an effort to transfer it from a pile on the floor, into one of the wooden boxes.  We watched him make one bad decision after another.  I thought about the consequence of action.  As he stood, hugging the pile of wood while being asphyxiated by the rope around his neck, I felt conflicted between the desire to unwrap him and the desire to laugh at the absurdity of what he was doing.  I’d like to believe that my desire to intervene had been outweighed by my appreciation of the creative process, but in hindsight, I am not so sure.  I ask myself if I chose to passively observe these actions because this was a “performance” or because I have the advantage of knowing Jeff’s work well enough to believe that he was “in control”.  I also wonder if this choice was at all informed by Jeff’s physique.  Maybe his strong-man-esque stature was fooling me into believing that he was somehow invincible.  The fumes from the alcohol couldn’t hurt him.  He couldn’t possibly slip and fall on the spilled liquids on the floor.  This shifted my thinking to contemplate the shared human experience of struggling with the confines/potential of one’s own physicality and the inherent identities it takes on.

Jeff Huckleberry 2013 photo by Daniel S. DeLuca

Many of the actions Jeff engaged in either illuminated or exaggerated how cumbersome the body can be.  His physical transformation through the rainbow, however, was something his body was well suited for.  He stood, nude, inside the box fitting his legs in between the fallen wood he had previously wrestled with.  He dumped white paint over his on his head.  He repeats this action: red, blue, orange, purple…He turns for a moment.  The purple paint has trickled down his back in such a way that splits him in two.  He is half orange, half purple. He continues with green paint, then blue.  The watery paint moved over his form gracefully, pausing only as it gathered in his body hair.  This action referenced art history, both the disciplines of painting and sculpture.  The clown noses referenced ‘entertainment’.  Although Jeff wore the signature of a clown, the ultimate entertainer, used colors that were exciting to the eye, and cultivated an air of absurdity, the performance was far from entertainment.  After he finished this action with yellow, he turned on a pump inside of the box.   We watched as the brightly colored run-off paint turned into painter’s mud as it glided over the chaotic wooden structure.

He moved onto his next action that entailed filling a coffin shaped box with bottles of Miller High Life.  He filled another coffin shaped box (slightly shorter) with the oblong balloons.   He changed into a white shirt and pants that the residual paint left on his body seeped through.  This involuntary remnant left me to ponder our inability to fully control the imprints we make throughout our lives.  He raised the boxes, mildly reminiscent of the twin towers (an image difficult not to conjure in our post 911 society).   He broke the beer-filled box on the ground to release the beer.  He performed a cycle of libation, pouring 1 beer on the box and 1 beer over his own head.

Jeff Huckleberry 2013 photo by Phil Fryer

Nude once again, Jeff traveled the space hitting sticks, a ritual believed by the Ancient Filipinos to guide the departed to heaven.  He left his installation to hit sticks in front of the photo of Bob Raymond displayed on a wall across the room.  At this point, I had also left Jeff’s designated space, noticing that Marilyn was nearing the end of her action.  I did my best to situate myself between them, an attempt to fully experience both pieces simultaneously.  This action of mourning paid homage to Bob, and also established a physical space for Marilyn within Jeff’s piece.

Jeff proceeded to turn off his sound, Marilyn’s clock echoing throughout the room.   He transformed into a ghost while sitting inside of another box that faced the fountain he had previously made.  Black liquid seeped through the white fabric that covered his form and poured down from a point on his head.  He pulled the fabric off, revealing a tube inside of a bucket that continued to pump black water over his body. As the paint accumulated in the box beneath him he wore a black clown nose.  This image evoked decay, leading me to contemplate embalming rituals and notions around preservation of the body.  His clown nose suggested that this had all been a joke.  The performance ended with 2 fountains made from matter, Jeff’s body no different than the pile of wood positioned in front of him.

Like much of the work that unfolded earlier in the evening, Jeff’s actions created a dynamic tension around spectatorship and the importance of surrendering to process and allowing it to run its full course.

 

GJYD

Marilyn ends.  One glass fell.  The other glass followed several short minutes after the first.  The crashing of the glasses on the floor was quick, less sonically jarring than expected, and seemingly anticlimactic.  It was the moment when Marilyn left the table and disappeared into the shadows that my eyes started to burn, preparing to release tears.  Several moments later, Phelan made an announcement and Bathaus began to sound.  My experience of processing what had just happened felt rushed.  I wanted for more time, more silence.

Marilyn Arsem "Edge" 2013 photo by Daniel S. DeLuca

Before the water that spilled from Marilyn’s glasses even had time to begin the process of evaporation, 3 figures wearing Gene Simmons masks swarmed Marilyn’s remnants.  They played Ring-Around-the-Rosie around her table.  When they stopped, they each revealed a roll of small black plastic bags that had been concealed in their hoodies.  They pulled the bags one by one, littering the ground.  I was put off (to say the least) by what appeared to be a lack of regard for the space created by the previous artist.  It felt like I was watching someone dance on a grave.  The action felt incomplete since they didn’t finish pulling through the entire rolls of bags.  To inhabit a space where someone else had committed to a task with their full intention and presence just moments before, only to short-change their own action, was frustrating to witness.  This oversight is a reminder of the importance of a site-sensitive practice and the power that can come from mindful considerations of the totality of a context and duration, as demonstrated by Marilyn’s piece.

GJYD 2013

In its best light, GJYD’s action pointed towards the varying understandings of death. The impact of death is selective and there are great variances between grieving processes.   I faulted these performers for their insensitivity to Marilyn’s space, for their inability to acknowledge it as still being occupied, but perhaps they believed enough time had passed for the space to be activated by someone else.  I, like so many, had been with Marilyn from the beginning of the day, thoroughly invested in “Edge”.  GJYD’s action forced me to confront my own personal connections to Marilyn’s piece and the knowledge that NDPAE was dedicated to her late husband.  GJYD reminded me of the importance of practicing non-attachment even in the light of personal adversity.

 

In Hindsite…

Performance artists have been organizing their own opportunities to share work for years. In the late 90’s and early part of the 2000’s, performance art was a medium that seemed to require gentle introduction to audiences across the U.S.  It’s not theatre, not dance, not music, and though it is related to visual art, what is called “art” is a process, rather than the product of a creative process.  It is conceptual and often strange for new audiences.  What is the etiquette for witness engagement?  How do you know when a performance is over?  Should you applaud?  Answers to these questions vary greatly depending on individual pieces and different artists’ philosophies.  Historically, the responsibility of inventing structures for presenting this work has fallen on artists and performance art organizers.  Many of the early events and festivals that The Present Tense has organized employed strategies that were used at NDPAE.  Music was played between performances, other time-based media such as ephemeral installation and video were programmed alongside action-based pieces, and announcements were made to alert the audience when these action-based pieces had ended.

Within the context of NDPAE these strategies felt unnecessary, and at times, inappropriate.  The music often felt overwhelming and distracting.  The video program and announcements were in competition with the physical conditions of the space (announcements were difficult to hear and the videos were washed out by the natural light).  These details were initially frustrating, but have made me acknowledge how many changes the performance art scene in Boston has cycled through.  There has always been a practice of patience among Boston audiences, but I believe that there has been an even deeper shift in how we collectively experience performance art in this city. Tools and strategies once used to calm the audience, to “loosen them up” are not needed in the way they once were.  NDPAE illuminated the fact that audiences are more willing, equipped and wanting to engage in the dialogues that artists are putting forth without mediation.  Audiences are prepared to invest in works that take on longer durations.  This opens up potential to develop new experimental collaborations between creative minds connected through experiential practice.  Instead of educating audiences on what performance art “is” and how it can be viewed, artists and organizers can instead focus our energies on developing multifaceted content that inspires deeper thought through the work we present.

 

Marilyn Arsem @ NDPAE 2013 from The Present Tense on Vimeo.

Faith Johnson @ NDPAE 2013 from The Present Tense on Vimeo.

Travis McCoy Fuller @ NDPAE 2013 from The Present Tense on Vimeo.

Jamie McMurry @ NDPAE 2013 from The Present Tense on Vimeo.

VestAndPage @ NDPAE 2013 from The Present Tense on Vimeo.

Jeff Huckleberry @ NDPAE 2013 from The Present Tense on Vimeo.

* a reference to Travis McCoy Fuller’s piece created for Contaminate I in 2006. 

The Present Tense Top 12 of 2012

As we begin 2013, The Present Tense shares its reflections on 2012.  2012 offered countless moments for performance art that The Present Tense found inspirational.  Here are 12 of them:

Mari Novotny-Jones at "100 Years" photo by Sandrine Schaefer

12. We probably don’t have to explain why its awesome that “100 Years of Performance Art” came to Boston University in 2012.  This traveling exhibition consists of documents that capture a comprehensive history of performance art.  In this installment, the 4th version of the exhibition, many important Boston-based artists and groups were included and made live works throughout the duration of the exhibit.

 

Dirk Adam's lecture on "Green" at the ICA photo by Philip Fryer

11.  2012 saw a number of performances and exhibitions tackling the theme “color”. The Present Tense was lucky enough to catch Dirk Adams “lecture” on “Green” created in conjunction with the Figuring Color exhibition at the ICA. Adams stood in front of the audience and used a reel to reel player to play for us a recording of himself giving a lecture on green as it relates to the green movement. The lecture suggests that the green movement may not be so green. Perhaps it is a different color. Perhaps it is Brown. Adams awkwardly watches the audience watching him. It was a hilariously poignant performance!

 

10.  The Occupy Movement in conjunction with 2012 being an election year, inspired dialogues around the synergetic relationship between art and activism.  Activists and the creatively-minded gathered in NYC during the Fall to attend the 2012 Creative Time Summit that focused on the theme of Confronting Inequality.  The first day of the Summit was comprised of nearly 30 presentations on this theme.  Artists, Activists, writers, and even a passionate Doctor shared the stage to talk about strategies to navigate the interstices between art and social practice.  Highlights included Leónidas Martín’s talk on his Barcelona-based artist collective, “Enmedio” and how they have used actions that induce humor and compassion to create interventions with successful results.  Michael Rakowitz shared insights into his process creating conceptual art pieces that investigate the relationship between the US and the Middle East.

The second day of the Summit consisted of workshops that included an opportunity to learn how to map out Utopian Ideas with Steve Lambert, and to engage in a discussion led by the group Tidal Journal around Occupy Wall Street’s history, present and future.  The day ended with a Debt March throughout the streets of Manhattan.  Throughout the multitude of perspectives offered at the Summit, the theme of art action as a powerful tool to communicate and inspire change was consistent.

 

9.   For those in Massachusetts who couldn’t make it to the Creative Time Summit to get a healthy dose of activist adrenalin, Montserrat College of Art hosted an Academic Symposium, Agents of Change: Art and Activism around the Guerrilla Girls exhibition, Not Ready to Make Nice.  If you were brave enough to take a Salem bound Commuter Rail to Beverly during Halloween weekend, you would be rewarded with presentations from a myriad of artists, curators, art historians, and a keynote from the Guerilla Girls.  Highlights include presentations by Eve Biddle and Joshua Frankel, Joshua Seidner, and Randi Hopkins’ panel, Participation is Personal:

Artists Indulge in the Messy Task of Understanding the World.  The following day included a series of workshops on various artistic strategies between art and activism used across media.

 

8.  With all of the discourse on Activism and Art, “Feminism” and what it means today, also seemed to be a topic of interest in 2012.  Of course it was a hot topic around the Guerrilla Girls exhibition and at the Creative Time Summit, but it also came up in the form of New Maternalisms, a performance art happening curated by Natalie Loveless. Loveless eloquently writes about how the work in New Maternalisms offers perspectives from the daughters who are now mothers from the era of feminist art’s intervention.  New Maternalisms offered opportunites for artist-mothers to make pieces and participate in round table discussions about the experience of motherhood today and investigate how this informs their artistic practices.

Chicago about to drive home from Boston!

7.  The Present Tense returned to its roots in 2012, organizing our first live event since 2009’s Thus Far. The second edition of the Rough Trade artist exchange took place in September at Defibrillator Gallery in Chicago and at MassArts Pozen Center in Boston. There are too many amazing moments and aspects of this experience to name here and you can see the work for yourself on the last round of Present Tense interviews and videos. The strength of our communities were apparent in the work shown and put into making the exchange happen, including a grueling overnight 16 hour drive made by the Chicago artists to Boston!

 

6.  A new friend The Present Tense made this year is Brazilian artist and organizer Fernando Ribeiro Ribeiro traveled to Boston and showed work at Mobius in April.  Ribeiro performed a beautiful, quiet piece titled “I Promise”. Ribeiro was the first artist to travel the US circuit between Chicago, Boston and New York.  We feel lucky to live in a time that has multiple cities, organizers and venues that support this medium.  We hope that 2013 will bring strength to these ties and that more artists will travel this circuit!

Rob Andrews "Vampire Dance" at TBSO 2 photo by Daniel S. DeLuca

5.  Boston’s thirst for marathon performance art pieces and shows showed no signs of slowing down in 2012, especially with the second installment of Time Body Space Objects. 12 artists, 12 hours, 12 performances. Highlights included Martine Viale’s house made out of sugar cubes, Daniel DeLuca’s subversive presentation, and Jeff Huckleberry’s refrain “This is stupid, this is not stupid.”

 

installation view of INSIDER/OUTSIDER photo by Sandrine Schaefer

4.  Documentation of performance is one of the most common ongoing conversations that occurs within our community. We already mentioned “100 Years” as an example of how performance art can be experienced within a traditional art context. But when it comes down to it, it’s up to us, the artists, to document our history as it goes. Sandrine’s INSIDER/OUTSIDER is an example of the connections that are being drawn between a wide-range of artists work, worldwide, that are current and poignant. The focus of INSIDER/OUTSIDER was on live works that took place outside of an art setting, an advantage that performance has over many other mediums. Simple, understated pieces like Jeffery Byrd’s “Public Art”, which has been witnessed by almost no one else beside the artist himself, had the chance to be seen by many viewers within a context highlighting current performative approaches.

 

3. Another interpretation of documentation was present at Alice Vogler‘s solo exhibition “Time On View” at the Proof Gallery. At a first glance, this exhibition read as a sculpture show, and can initially be approached in that way. However, each object you are seeing is an actual relic from Vogler’s past performances, which is explained in the literature next to each piece. The artists own interpretation of documentation is present in the show. Alice also re-performed several of her past pieces, some of which were chosen at random.

Jeff and Sandy Huckleberry "Green"

2. As stated previously, “color” was a theme that came out in 2012.  Mobius artists, Jeff and Sandy Huckleberry used color as a starting point for a series of improvisational performances they created over the duration of several months. Each week, the husband and wife team painted Mobius’ space a different color, going through the spectrum of the rainbow!

 

1. The performance art community suffered a tremendous loss when Mobius artist and Photographer, Bob Raymond passed away this past Spring.  This was devastating to all who knew and loved Bob and his physical absence continues to be felt within the Boston Performance Art Community.  The Huckleberry’s Rainbow Series concluded with the color blue  on March 1st, which also coincided with Bob’s passing.  In honor of Bob, the Huckleberry’s ended their series by painting the Mobius space black.  This loss inspired many other artists to create tributes to Bob’s life, generosity, and inspirational spirit.  We leave you with traces from pieces made in 2012, in Bob Raymond’s honor.

 

Catherine Tutter’s “Wrapped Intention”

 

 

Philip Fryer "For Bob" 2012

 

 

Sandrine Schaefer "Resting Place" 2012 photo by Daniel S. DeLuca

 

 

 

Alice Vogler and Vela Phelan photo by Philip Fryer

Rough Trade II Interviews: Mothergirl | Jeff Huckleberry

MOTHERGIRL

Mothergirl “What You Look Like, Too” 2012 from The Present Tense on Vimeo.

TPT: How did you find performance art?  How did performance art find you?

M: We are both studied theatre in school, but when we started working as Mothergirl, our ideas started moving farther and farther away from the definition of traditional theatre, and we realized that we were doing something else completely.

TPT: How did you meet? How long have you been making work together?

M: We met in college in 2005. We started working together in a found space experimental theater company, Balls Deep Theatre Theater in 2007. It began as the most tentative friendship and transformed into the strongest one either of us has ever formed. We have tremendous power over each other.

TPT: Can you describe your process for collaborating?

M: Painstaking.

 

Mothergirl "What You Look Like Too" 2012 photo by Daniel S. DeLuca

Our ideas evolve out of a lot of pointless discussion with occasional moments of clarity. We joke a lot, then we tell ourselves to get serious and make work. There is a long stage of building our objects and during that we have a lot of time to enhance and fine tune the idea. Frequently the objects we build inform the performance as much as the idea does. Most performances we do are the result of (at least) a month of gradual work.

TPT:  How did the context of the Pozen Center inform your work?

M: We had to consider what the piece could look like in a gallery setting and how to get isolated audience attention in that context. Something that was visually arresting from afar and from inside. The largeness of the room definitely affected the way that we were heard when we spoke.

TPT:  You had performed What You Look Like before for Out of Site Chicago.  Can you talk about this experience and how it informed the version created for Rough Trade II?

M: When we performed What You Look Like at Out of Site, the audience had to stick their head into a large freestanding box in a public place, one at a time, and we performed separately from each other (in two different boxes). In the context of a gallery, we didn’t think the boxes would be as effective as the viewers were already aware that it was a performance event. Mirrors and reflection are a big part of the piece so we decided to physically represent that theme. Audience risk and payoff is also very important to us. In the Out of Site performance, the audience had to risk their personal safety by sticking their head into some mysterious room, but in end their curiosity was rewarded. For the Pozen Center, the audience had to be the center of attention in the performance, and by doing that they got to sit on the pillow, hear what we were saying, etc. In both we found the pictures to be a big incentive.

TPT:  How did you decide on the words and images that you used in this piece?

M: We wanted to create a home for the characters, which is why we made the nest. We wanted the pillow so it was clear for the audience that they should sit. The words were chosen to be approachable and funny, like “woah” and “yeah”, but also to be sort of blank and contextless to further the naïve nature of the flower beasts.

TPT:  Your synchronized whispering was impressive!  Did you have to practice a lot?

M: Our work uses a lot of unity and synchronicity in different contexts, so we’re used to it. We are also quite familiar with each other’s speech patterns in daily life as well as in performance, so it was relatively easy to match cadence and tone. We tried to anticipate possible responses from the audience, so that we could react in unison, but there were a couple of instances where we were caught by surprise!

TPT:  Did you feel like you were the same flower creature when you were in the performance?

M: Yes. It felt a little like a trance.

TPT: Can you talk about the intention behind the actions?  Did that intention change once your were in the piece?

M: We were trying to channel the feeling of the moment when a person realizes that they are a subject, and that the rest of the world, including their own image, is impenetrable to them. It’s magical but also a little scary. Actually, the intention felt even stronger in performance than when we were just talking about it.

Mothergirl "What You Look Like Too" 2012 photo by Daniel S. DeLuca

TPT: What were some of your expectations/ hopes (if any) of your audience?

M: We expected the audience to be patient, and to adopt the same pacing in their actions and thoughts as the Flower People. We expected people to follow the implied rules of the performance, (sit, speak nicely to the Flower People, etc.). These expectations weren’t set to control the audience member, but to guide them to the small revelation of self that we set up when they have to sit and watch their own image appear in the instant photographs.

TPT: Were there any moments that surprised you?

M: Because we were mirroring, we had to follow each other’s movements, which led to some fun discoveries, like fluffing the pillow, which looked amazing and we seriously could have done for hours.

TPT:  How was performing in Boston different from making work in Chicago?

M: We were struck by how so many of our experiences during our short time in Boston were affiliated with institutions of higher learning. Neither of us went to school in Chicago, and the majority of our performances there have been outside of colleges and universities.

TPT: What imprints did Boston leave on you?

Mothergirl "What You Look Like Too" 2012 photo by Daniel S. DeLuca

M: It felt very safe, there was a great coop, really wonderful people.

TPT Why did you choose to create this work over the duration of 3 hours?

M: Only one audience member at a time can experience the work, and our goal is to encourage participation, so we stayed as long as there were people interested in participating.

TPT: What is inspiring you at the moment?

Katy: The house I just started renting, it is huge and falling apart. I keep relating it to those dreams where you are in a room or a place that you are very familiar with, but then you discover another room inside of it, and you’re like, “Oh! This room would be perfect for_______!”. I really like fashion blogs, and find them a bit more inspiring than art books, mostly because I think fashion shows are often about world creation and storyline. I am very into persona musicians, and the concept of persona in general—which is probably why I am also really into trashy two-dollar magazines and reality television.

Sophia: Social justice issues in urban education; online drag makeup tutorials; dada; nail art; Adam Rose; the Cauleen Smith: A Star Is A Seed exhibition that was recently at MCA Screen—it included a mirror maze; Real Housewives of anywhere; Twin Peaks/Blue Velvet (always); the Fall slip into dreary weather; Buckminster Fuller’s geometry of spheres; thinking about what I would say to Rahm Emmanuel if we got to talk; cats with human emotions.

TPT: What are you studying?

Katy: I am teaching myself the guitar, which I attempted once when I was very young and gave up too quickly. I am reading about psychedelic art and pairing that reading with novels that have some loose connection. Incidentally, I am studying household maintenance, which has a lot to do with the new house and my desire to take a warmish shower.

Sophia: Currently reading: The Transformative Power of Performance by Erika Fischerlichte; A Year From Monday By John Cage (on loan from Phil!); Catching the Big Fish by David Lynch; and The Other Wes Moore by Wes Moore. Learning to speak Greek. I’m also making a bike generator, which is proving to be a steep learning curve in electronic components!

TPT: What’s next?

M: We’re doing a piece that will likely incorporate video at Happy Collaborationists in February.

TPT: Any words of wisdom?

M: We’ll share with you our personal collaboration mantra. It’s helped us through some rough times. Okay, here it is:

Hype up when you get down.

 

 

JEFF HUCKLEBERRY

Jeff Huckleberry “Fourth Rainbow” 2012 from The Present Tense on Vimeo.

TPT: We’ve interviewed you before when you had a show at MEME, what’s happened in your work since then?

JH: I’m not sure. That was a few years ago so everything has changed and everything is more or less the same. Clowns are new, and so are making rainbows. Actually, I think all of the colors I am thinking about and using now come from that show.  

TPT: Why Rainbows?

JH: Again, I’m not really sure. These started when I went to Marseilles last year. On the way over, I started thinking about rainbows and the color wheel, and the pursuit of the unattainable. From the very first time I tried to make one (a rainbow) it hurt me; or at the very least it hurt to make it the way I was trying to make it, and I thought that that was really interesting and powerful. Of course I like the failure/success aspect of the attempt, and I am surprised each and every time I try to make one. I “made” two rainbow performances in Marseilles and the second one found a purpose. My location for performing was this big broken fountain in the middle of this really busy, small little square. I wanted to christen the fountain as the fountain of the artists, (the fountain didn’t work, which I thought was appropriate.) so I wanted to try to make it work again. I believed so hard in that piece, and in the power of each color, and in the end I think I got the fountain to work just a little. That was the first time I felt the alchemy of the rainbow, which intrigued me even more. As for what they mean, or “why” I am interested in making them, I don’t really want to know right now. It is a process of discovery, and each time I do a little research on rainbows it leads me down some other interesting performative path. I do like many things that have happened; like the little rainbows I made emerging from piles of dog shit on the street, or the way the one rainbow managed to eat the finish off of the floor at BU, and how funny the last one was in Chicago. That was really enjoyable. Funny is becoming more important as well.

Jeff Huckleberry "Fourth Rainbow" 2012 photo by Daniel S. DeLuca

TPT: You used smaller planks in this performance, why?

JH: Shoulder shrug. Smaller than what? 

TPT: Do you feel that humor is an important part of your work and why?

JH: Yes! It has become more important lately, especially after a collaboration with my friend Julie Andree T. We did a performance together called Two clowns and a death, in which we tried to “die” in as many different ways as we could. I really got to be a clown for the first time and it was wonderful. It just made so much sense. My wife and I did a series of performances last fall that was using one color of the rainbow for each night of performance. It was amazing how each color really effected the actions we did and our relationship to each other. ( I think 3 people total saw those performances. Now that’s funny!) We both had a great time working together and the performances were very often funny, and we laughed at each other through many of them. I like the way it opens a door to and for the audience.  In fact in Chicago I was trying to ask audience members to go out on a date with me – like let’s get to know each other here, but this is completely awkward. After all, I am going to be naked in front of you, and I am going to compromise and embarrass myself so we are going to have to get to know each other pretty quickly in order for this to succeed.

TPT: What were you trying to do when you were writing on your body in this performance?

JH: In this instance I was trying to ask the audience out on a date.  In other performances it has been a one sided conversation with someone in particular; my uncle Douglas, some kid who went to the high school I taught at, my mom etc.

Jeff Huckleberry "Fourth Rainbow" 2012 photo by Daniel S. DeLuca

TPT: Can you talk about the choice to have one empty chair that you treated as an audience member?

JH: That chair is for Bob Raymond. I might as well give him something to do, maybe he’s bored. 

TPT: Have you considered patenting your tightie whitie tool belt idea?
 
JH: Uh, there is a patent ©HUCK

TPT: That was a cool hammer. Not a question just saying.

TPT: Anything else you would like us to know about this piece?
 
JH: That would spoil the fun.

 

 

Boston infiltrates Chicago

Last weekend, 6 artists from Boston traveled to Chicago to make work at Defibrillator Gallery as part of ROUGH TRADE II; a Boston Chicago artist exchange.  Here is video documentation of the pieces that they created.  In the coming months, The Present Tense will be posting extended interviews with each artist, giving them the opportunity to talk about the intention behind their work, their experience with the exchange, how the context informed their pieces, etc.  Stay tuned!

 

 

Philip Fryer “TREE/POOL/SKY” 2012 from The Present Tense on Vimeo.

Sandy Huckleberry “Fishing” 2012 from The Present Tense on Vimeo.

Marilyn Arsem “still, waiting” 2012 from The Present Tense on Vimeo.

Sandrine Schaefer “SecondSkin” 2012 from The Present Tense on Vimeo.

Daniel S. DeLuca RKSR CNL from The Present Tense on Vimeo.

Jeff Huckleberry “Fourth Rainbow” 2012 from The Present Tense on Vimeo.

Interview with Jeff Huckleberry

This past November, MEME featured an exhibition of work by Boston performance artist Jeff Huckleberry. We’ve known Jeff for a few years now, seen his work many times in many different places, but never in the white cube exhibition format. You can see more photos of the show in the MEME Vault.

Sandrine: Who are you?
Jeff Huckleberry: I am a 40 year old white male living in Boston. I have spent 8 years total in art school, 23 years as a professional bicycle mechanic, 14 years as a father, (so far…If I can just keep him out of that car full of drunk high school friends doing 100mph on Rt. 2) and 15 years as a husband. I have had many cool but hurtin’ cars in my life, the most current is a slowly dying white VW Jetta from 1996. My father in-law collects Buick Roadmasters.

S: Where are you from?
JH: Originally, Loveland Colorado (0-17) though now, Boston. (17-40)

Phil:  How long have you been making performance?
JH: Fall of ’89…wow, 20 years.?

P:  I’ve noticed that in most of your performances/installations you have a similar set of materials that you work with. What brought you to these materials and what compels you to continue working with them?
JH: There are a few materials that really stimulate the brain/body/art/ connection for me: wood (especially saw dust), loud/low/abstract sound, some aggressive liquid that hurts when you pour it on your self, paint and dangerous tools. Those materials have become, over the years, things that I would be very sorry to be without.

I started working with lumber when I was working on my thesis show in 2003. I was exploring some of the “characters” that were/are directly involved with my development as a person, namely my Dad, his father (a master carpenter), and my Scout Master. Sometimes when I see my shadow on the street I get startled and think that my Dad is standing next to me. That shadow is often represented by pieces of lumber, or by the activity of cutting boards, or by the smell of saw dust, or most directly, by the sweat dripping off my nose while bent over some impossible task. The lumber, if it represents anything other than itself, is the hard work of making work. The lumber is also very much a kind of minimalist art project that could be viewed as separate from its possible meanings and interpretations (impossible?). Lumber, in all shapes and sizes has the potential for any number of possible physical relationships. Wood is one of those materials that will accept me no matter how ineptly or masterfully I interact with it. So, I keep using it.

I also often use paint and other authentic “work” and “art” materials in performances. One of my earliest performances in school involved painting myself different colors with acrylic paint, so I have been doing that for a long time. Using paint in performance (usually by painting my body or pouring it over myself) has a twofold utility; on the one hand, it visually joins (big P) Painting with (little p) performance by providing an entry point into a conversation about the location of art making, surface and object. It also has the added and not insignificant effect of feeling really great: this “feeling”, or physical sensation is a primary ingredient in structuring my physical and mental space to accommodate the process of performance. (I also think it looks really cool!)

P: In the last few pieces I’ve seen you perform, black and white paint?has been incorporated in a variety of ways. It seemed to reference some form of duality that you take on in the work, is that even remotely correct?
JH: Yes. And no. It is kind of an attempt to collaborate with myself (splitting myself into two people and then uniting again in the shared task of the performance) and also to have a conversation about grey. With respect to the activity of performance, it visually describes the “liminal” space of performing, though, to be fair, I don’t think it is doing a very good job of that so I am trying to figure something else out. The black and white paint primarily goes with my most recent performances, “broken(a.)” and “broken(b.)” and “Expected Outcomes” which will eventually become one larger performance.

P: In your most recent show at the MEME gallery, you started using color paints in addition to the black and white, why?
JH: They’re colorful! All of the drawings I had made of those little 2×2 frames had color paint in them. I just wanted them to be active and “beautiful”. When I went looking for paint at the art store, I was most attracted to the fluorescents, so I used those, and to that construction orange. Which by the way is the same color for the robes the Buddhist monks in Laos and Cambodia wear. Work = Worship? ?

S: How did the work evolve in “A beautiful Art Show for you”?
JH: It started by just bringing all of the materials I was interested in using down to the space, plus the usual assortment of performance materials I usually bring to events. Then I started to get involved in making a bunch of wood objects that I have had in my sketchbooks over the last couple of years. For some reason, I made a bunch of things that were roughly 2’x 2’. I worked on some video in the space, which I eventually decided did not really make sense with the rest of the show. I knew at some point that I would want to put paintings on the wall that would drip down onto the floor, so I made a bunch of those. I started concentrating on objects that would have some use, or be active while people were at the opening/closing and I worked out a couple of actions that could be used if I decided I needed to do something in the space while people were there. Then I brought that old black and white video camera down thinking that I could have a live feed of some of the boxes projected onto the wall. I think that worked to join some of the ideas I had together, especially the early 70’s style of performance and minimalist sculpture I was experiencing making myself.


S: Who was the Beautiful Art show for?
JH: You. (and me.) And Rose Hill.

S: At the closing, you created a performance that had a “soundtrack,” from the B-movie, “Bucket of Blood”.  How did you arrive at the decision to use this sound for your piece?

JH: I had run through a lot of sound options, and I was listening to some movies that I had recorded the audio from that I have used in sound performances in the past. I was listening to “Bucket of Blood” and laughing to myself about how it was so appropriate, especially considering I was really trying to be a real artist and make sculptures and paintings. So that just sort of happened during the opening/closing, I knew it went with that action.

P: Tell me about one experience that has influenced, inspired or effected your performance work.
JH: Watching my dad (and helping him) work hard on the weekends in the back yard. This is fundamental.

P: What is your favorite performance you’ve ever seen?
JH: Here is a list in no particular order:

• That Grey Wolf (Survival of the Fittest, 2007) performance by Marthe Fortun and Yoonhye Park at Contaminate2

• Julie Andre T. at One Gallery with the tea kettles screaming and her rolling on the floor and the buckets of liquid and all of the awesomeness, or her climbing the carpet up to the ceiling in Beijing, or any performance really.

• Persephone and Hades with Mari Novotny-Jones and David Miller, Directed by Marilyn Arsem, where I fell asleep and woke up thinking I was still dreaming
• A David Miller performance at Mobius in the 90s. (I can’t remember the title)
• “The Painter” video/performance by Paul McCarthy (one of my all time favorite pieces…)

• Some performances by Andre Stitt that I will never see in person, but would really like to.
• Three Ulay and Abramovic performances: where they walk into each other repeatedly, where they move the walls by walking into them, and where they stand naked face to face in the doorway of the gallery.
• A performance by Jamie McMurry that I have only seen on video where he topples three huge plywood pillars onto himself.
• Most bike races, but especially the spring classics.
• A performance by Arti Grabowski where he gets onto a chair and chops the legs out from under himself with an ax. Brilliant!
• Anything Alastair MacLennan does. I just like paying attention to him.
• There are more! I don’t have room and I am leaving people out! Sorry! I’ll make a longer list…Deva Eveland controlling all of us from the trunk of the car in the IBC parking lot. Anaise Nadair destroying that couch at TEST. Paul Waddell in anything he does, Kid Epicene making me scared for her life by crawling across a busy street in the middle of the night in a black plastic bag…And on and on and on…Travis Fuller Ghost Killa! Ahhhh!

P: Favorite death metal band?
JH: Cannibal Corpse, Kataklysm, Amon Amarth, a couple of Agoraphobic Nosebleed “songs”, new Celtic Frost…I tend to like it fast and aggressive. Sorry.

S: Final words/thoughts GO!
JH: WORDS!!!!!!