The Artist Is Present

I went to the MoMA this weekend to see the Marina Abramovic exhibit, "The Artist Is Present." I have to admit that I am not a big fan of performance art, but everyone seemed to be buzzing about this one so I went to see it for myself before it closed today. Basically, Marina sits in a chair, wearing a white outfit that makes her look an awful lot like Princess Leia, facing an empty chair. All day, spectators line up and wait to take their turn sitting across from her. They can sit as long as they like, and do whatever they wish, from simply sitting, to confessing their deepest secrets. There are flickr pages dedicated to the images of those who sat, and even to those who cried. I was not quite so moved by the exhibit, but I did like the concept of it, and how it was so quietly powerful for so many.

The sixth floor of the museum housed a retrospective of Abramovic's earlier work, which was expressed through a lot of self-inflicted pain (screaming until she lost her voice, brushing her hair violently, saying "Art must be beautiful" over and over until her scalp bled). It was unpleasant to watch, but her message was certainly clear.

There was one piece that I found particularly moving. Abramovic's lover and partner in performance art, Ulay Laysiepen, walked across the Great Wall of China towards each other. This is what was written on the wall placard:

During their travels in Australia, Abramovic and Ulay read that the only human constructions visible from outer space are The Great Wall of China and the Pyramids at Giza in Egypt. They originally planned to walk towards each other from opposite ends of the Great Wall, meet at the middle, and get married. Over the 8 years it took to obtain permission from the Chinese government, the relationship dissolved. In 1988 the artists performed the work, which was their final collaboration. After meeting, they went their separate ways, having walked a thousand miles to say goodbye.

I found this heartbreaking. It made me cry to write down the last sentence, and my voice cracked and faltered every time I retold this story to friends. It occured to me that "The Artist is Present" is in some way a recreation of this moment in Abramovic's life--of having to face someone and really see them before letting them go. It could be someone she knows very well, or not at all. (And sometimes, those are one in the same.) She has a very intimate moment, looks them in the eye and then inevitably has to say goodbye to this person and the experience she's had with him or her. Perhaps when you say goodbye over and over for four months, you get a little desensitized to it. (Or perhaps not...)

I read this today:

"...no human life or experience is to be wasted or forgotten, but all should be transformed into a source of wisdom and compassionate living...On the everyday level of experience, Shin Buddhists speak of this transformation as "bits of rubble turn into gold." -Taitetsu Unno, "Number One Fool" (Tricycle, Spring 2008)

I don't have a pithy ending for this entry. I'm just still mulling it over. Still moved.

Let's just say, art wins.