The Artist Is Present and I Don't Know How To Feel

I had the fortunate opportunity to witness a legendary performance artist at the Museum of Modern Art in New York City over my spring break. Marina Abramović is iconic for her visceral and brutal collection of physical performance art, in which she is usually the subject. When I saw her latest installation, "The Artist Is Present," I was going in mostly blind. A friend tipped me off with news that there would be lots of naked people in the gallery spaces and that if I wanted to, I could participate by walking (squeezing, actually) between two naked bodies. I knew nothing else, none of the meaning, just the taboo shock value. Anyway, my friends and I entered the enormous gallery of her work, which was separated into numerous rooms. We did walk through the naked people (and yes, my leg rubbed against some woman's vagina and it was weird) and we took in all of the nudity, the violence, the ultra-awe inducing vulnerability of the models and the artist herself, who, despite the name of the exhibit, was apparently NOT present.
The show was a retrospective of her decades of performance art, highlighting her inspirations and personal history, her former endeavors (re-created by live models or presented on video), among other media.

While nearly everything we saw was outrageous and noteworthy, the sight most burned into my brain was an very large spread of various tools, items, weapons, foods, condoms, and more. It was an homage to her performance "Rhythm 0" from 1974. Here is an explanation far better than any I could conjure:

Abramović had placed upon a table 72 objects that people were allowed to use (a sign informed them) in any way that they chose. Some of these were objects that could give pleasure, while others could be wielded to inflict pain, or to harm her. Among them were scissors, a knife, a whip, and, most notoriously, a gun and a single bullet. For six hours the artist allowed the audience members to manipulate her body and actions.

Initially, members of the audience reacted with caution and modesty, but as time passed (and the artist remained impassive) several people began to act quite aggressively. As Abramović described it later:

“The experience I learned was that…if you leave decision to the public, you can be killed.” ... “I felt really violated: they cut my clothes, stuck rose thorns in my stomach, one person aimed the gun at my head, and another took it away. It created an aggressive atmosphere. After exactly 6 hours, as planned, I stood up and started walking toward the public. Everyone ran away, escaping an actual confrontation.”


This started to blow my mind a little. I am weary of performance art, the way one must think is such far-removed terms, the narcissism. Yet I began to understand and eventually admire her ability to commit, to become and suffer happily in order to explore her concepts of pain, performance and awareness. Art, maybe or maybe not, but her boundless aggression and fearlessness to understand, test, poke, prod and ravage the human psyche must be recognized.

I remember seeing one of her models in the gallery, sitting nude on a bicycle seat, arms spread, suspended 12 feet above the ground and fastened to the bright white wall. Diffused lights were blasting upon her. She looked horrified, her blue eyes wide and her mouth a grimace. I felt sick with worry for her. The plaque read "Alone" as the title of the piece. The description read something to the effect of... "this piece isn't about loneliness, but about alone-ness." I believed Marina, but I couldn't help but feel terrified for the model, wondering deeply if she shared this belief, if this is why she chose to be a part of such an ultra-exposed way, or if she was having her doubts. Was she too afraid to back out? Was she testing herself against someone else's standards? Was she an artist too?

Another jarring leap from the artist's "present" and our reality was another nude model scenario, in which a girl takes off her white lab coat, reveals herself to be naked, picks up a full-sized human skeleton, and then lays down upon a bare platform and moves the skeleton directly over her bare body. The skeleton's body positions is superimposed on top of the models. This was quite breathtaking itself. However, the model was crying, weeping this whole time. She sniffled silently and tears streamed down her face as she carried the bones and laid them upon her. It was disturbing, wondering why she was reacting this way, as the obvious reason hung around us all, the gawking masses, clothed, and judging.

Finally, as we made our way out of the museum at the end of the day, we found a gigantic crowd forming a circle in a large open space. Cameras were set up all around the circle.

It turned out that Marina Abramovic was there, sitting in a floor length, long-sleeved dress, hair braided down to her chest, in a chair in front of a very long table. She was allowing people, any spectator, to take the seat opposite her. They weren't allowed to speak, just stare into each others' faces. Marina would stare at you for as long as you could stare back at her.

The results of this live performance can be seen here . The intensity was palpable.

I'd really like to understand her work more thoroughly, but at least I can say that my opinion of Abramovic's brutal performances has changed. I don't think ego drives her work; I actually think the lack of ego is what allows her to take such risks with poise and confidence.