A few weeks ago, I treated myself to a much needed day off from work to finally meet Marina Abramovic. I woke up at almost the exact time that I wake up to go to work, but it was [un]surprisingly much easier to get out of bed on this morning. I hopped on the train and watched the tired suburbia pull away behind me.
My interest in Marina Abramovic goes back a few years. I was dating a photographer and lover of art and he explained to me one night about this performance artist he had learned about in class. He explained some of her greatest pieces, and I remember being instantly enchanted by this second-hand account of her work. The one that struck me the hardest was the story of her long partnership with another performer, Ulay, and their final piece. They began at opposite ends of the Great Wall of China and both walked to meet in the middle, embrace, and part for good. It represented the end of their relationship. Little ole' me, being hopelessly dramatic and romantic, especially at the time that I was told about this piece, ate that shit up like a pack of Gushers (they are my fave).
Since then, I have Wiki'd her, trolled the Amazon in search of literature that would teach me about her, and spent hours on various websites trying to understand who this person was and why I couldn't stop thinking about her since I learned of her existence. It wasn't until a few months ago that I heard the name pop up and that she was going to be doing an exhibit and retrospective and reperformance of some of her most famous works that my appetite became insatiable.
On Wednesday, I feasted. I spent hours studying the exhibit, The Artist is Present. I literally gawked at every single item on display, at every performer, and I could not get enough. I absolutely love museums and could spend days in a single one, but the careful devotion I gave to this exhibit is unparalleled. When I finally finished, a feeling overcame me and I don't care to describe it because it was intensely personal and inspiring. I walked downstairs and made my way to her performance, where she invites museum guests to sit with her in silence.
I got in line and spent the first few minutes watching her and her current visitor. I fiddled on my phone, giddily texting friends who could appreciate what I was about to experience. And then something happened, and I decided to turn off my phone, turn away from the performance, face a blank wall of white, and stand for the duration of my wait until I was called to sit with Marina. I have never been able to meditate, but this was probably the closest I was going to get.
I stood for five hours, without turning around once. I didn't want to experience the performance as an observer, I only wanted to participate. I didn't want to compare my experience with my perception of others'. I wanted to experience standing for a long period of time before sitting, and I wanted to remove the thought of waiting for something from my mind. I wanted to enjoy the feelings I was having, the thoughts I was experiencing. I was the next person in line when the museum closed, killing my chance to sit with Marina. Here's the thing - I didn't feel badly. In fact, I felt very little other than peacefulness.
It's been a while since that moment, but as time has passed, I've felt a surge inside of me of freedom. I've become fascinated by the concepts to authenticity and liberation. Experiencing the exhibit, her relentless devotion to her work, and the lack of limits she places on herself has awakened a possibility of such fearlessness inside of me.
I realized that in my freest moments, I am still constrained - by the [real or imagined] expectations of my family, friends; the bombardment of messaging sent by society and marketing firms; my gender, my sexuality; my time and place; myself. I crave the liberation to remove myself from those constraints to exist independent of them - if only for a moment.
What I've come to realize with me is that it takes some time for my ideas to come to fruition, but ultimately they do. They are itches that need scratching. I never abandon anything completely. I feel so lucky to have this seed planted inside of me and to see how it grows.
I can't wait to be free.
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