Writing about this, so enthused by the entire experience, I nearly forgot how I had been skeptical of the performance and to a certain extent of Marina's entire oeuvre. Initially years ago, I foolishly labeled her work feminist and nothing more. Later revising my stance, I realized just about none of her work is feminist and, beyond that, fell in love with her early works, particularly those just before joining forces with Ulay such as Art Must Be Beautiful, Artist Must Be Beautiful and her Freeing series and Rhythm series of works. Even still, I remained cautious of her later work and viewed the idea of reperformance and the exhibition and her "presence" as insincere and a tad self indulgent. And so, while determined to sit with her and be a part of art history, I arrived to the museum in need of convincing.
We got to MoMA on Thursday, around 9:30. I had read of the long lines and about purchasing one's ticket in advance, but nothing could prepare me for the amount of excitement and sheer frenzy of it all. We got our free "I'm a museum professional" tickets at the information desk and stood in line to enter the museum. Once allowed to wait at the base of the steps to go up the stairs to the second floor and the atrium where Marina was waiting, an imposing figure spoke to the crowd: "There will be no running. If you run you will be escorted from the building. Everyone is number one. Marina wouldn't want anyone to get hurt. Etc..." As soon as he allowed the lobby of patrons towards the stairs, all of his words were forgotten as hundreds ran up the stairs attempting to be adults (this is a museum after all) while not allowing anyone in front of them. There was yelling and shoving, but once everything was said and done everyone settled down and accepted their place in line. I immediately felt the entire morning's process cheapened the work a bit and later thought about the socio-political implications of this experiential commodity Marina had created and how it had grown in popularity and demand over the weeks of the exhibition.
I made friends and formed bonds while in line. Besides getting to know Catalina and Angelica even better, I met Eliza, Jordon, Greg, David, Diane, Sarah, and many other participants and museum staff for the first time. Most of those in line wouldn't make it to see Marina. None of us did the first day.
By the next day (Friday), we knew the drill. We arrived early, around 8:30, waiting outside both entrances to the museum. We discussed our plan of attack and by 10:30, after an even more ridiculous mad dash to the second floor, I was 15th in line. Much better than the 21st I started with the day before. Still, I was a little nervous I wouldn't be able to see her. But after speaking with most of my comrades in line and spending time feeling out the line I gained confidence that today was the day.Waiting in line I realized how everyone has very different reasons to sit with Marina. I met Ananda who turned her experience with Marina into a performance onto itself, associating the experience with the death of her mother, sitting with her a total of 29 times (I witnessed her 28th, her 29th was this past Sunday).
Unlike the day before, I could look at Marina for more than a couple of seconds without losing my head. Still, I hardly looked at her face until my turn arrived. Angelica (pictured left) went right before me and before I knew it, it was my turn to sit. My heart was in my throat, pounding a mile a minute. I began to shiver and became extremely self-conscious. I got the signal to go ahead and as soon as I sat down something partly instinctual and partly inexplicable came over me. Marina pulled her head back, opening her eyes and locked her gaze onto mine. I had planned on speaking to her (with my mind of course) about countless important things: the universe, love and life, my family and past relationships, and about how much she's done, asking her for wisdom and strength. But when I actually stared into her eyes, I was overcome with so much emotion, such raw energy I couldn't help but be taken back to a more basic level. I wanted to kiss her forehead and hug her for days. By the end of what felt like seconds, but was actually 11 minutes, I was so grateful and full of so much love and positive energy that all of a sudden I felt selfish for sitting there. I wanted everyone in the world to feel what I was feeling. And as a firm believer that art can change lives I thought about how many lives could be positively touched that day. How could I sit in that chair while there were so many still in line? Suddenly I realized just an ounce of selfishness would be so fundamentally contrary to what the work is about that I didn't want to corrupt the piece. Within seconds of those feelings, I closed my eyes slowly to thank her and leave. She seemed sad to see me go so soon and so I hesitated a bit, but then continued and bowed my head. I grabbed my things, exited the square, and immediately found a quiet area near a wall. Out of breath and disoriented, I held my head in my hands thinking about a million things. Visibly exhausted, a girl asked me if I needed water. I thanked her and said I was fine. A couple of minutes passed and Angelica decided to see if I was ok. As soon as she put her hand on my shoulder I felt a release. I collapsed to the floor weeping and sobbing profusely. I was immensely grateful. Staring into Marina's eyes for so long, in such an intense manner, made me yearn for and react to human contact like never before.To think she's been doing this for so long! Her body must be taking a serious toll. I am so grateful for her dedication, strength, and selflessness.
Angelica later wrote she "fell in love with [her]self again." That day I fell in love with the world again.
For further reading on Marina Abramović and her landmark exhibition and performance read Arthur C. Danto's excellent New York Times write up.
