Blue, Red, White
by Patricia Brace
March 19, 2010
Marina sits inside a nine hundred square foot area with tall spotlights at each of the corners. The electrical cords from the spotlights delineate the perimeter of the square onto the cement floor. The audience observes and waits along the edge of the square. One person at a time sits and stares with Marina. Once the individual is admitted into the square, they may stay for as long as they choose.
She wears a blue dress that covers her entire body, including her feet. The dichotomy between this strong, rebellious, and often naked woman and her puritanical garment intrigues me and I am immediately drawn into the piece.
As I watch the audience grow around her I wonder if they feel the same as I, why look at art on the wall when the artist is here? A child asks his mother, “Is the artist just sitting there?” The mother answers, “Yes, she is present.” With this simple observation of mother and child I understand that the exhibition, “The Artist is
Present” has the ability to bridge the gap between art and life.
Based on this experience I, eventually, make three dresses that emulate Marina’s: blue, red, and white. I plan to wear each dress once and sit with Marina three times.
Blue, April 8, 2010
On April 8, I sit with Marina Abramovic in the exhibition, “The Artist Is Present.” (I wear the blue dress while she wears the red. I came from Maine to sit with Marina. I didn’t know that she was going to change the color of her dress until I was already on my way.
Conceptually my dress lies one step behind Marina. This shows respect and humility toward her work, which is intentional; however, by the end of the exhibition I hope to wear the same color as her.)
I arrive in New York on Sunday but wait until Thursday to go to the museum. Because I am wearing the blue dress two people ask if I am going to sit all day. I graciously say no, but in my mind I want to.
This exhibition coincides with serious transitions in my life. Taking the risk to sit with Marina is one of the first steps I have made to redefine my goals as an artist and as an individual. I want to sit with Marina for as long as it takes to ready myself to make the next jump.
The community of people in line is glorious. The woman in front of me has sat with Marina 12 times, and the woman behind me has come from Chicago. The man behind her reminds me of Salvador Dali. He is beautiful with his black shiny hair, intense eyes, and thin mustache.
All of the VIPs go very fast, then four “normal” people. Then it is my turn. My heart begins to throb. Before I sit the security guard lays down the law: 1. YOU MUST MAKE EYE CONTACT WITH HER. 2. YOU CANNOT TALK WITH HER. 3. KEEP YOUR HANDS TO YOUR SIDES AT ALL TIMES. I say ok. Yes sir. I walk slowly to sit with her. My heart pounds deep in my throat. My chest visibly rises from the intense beating. I slowly glide to the wooden chair. I raise my head cautiously as she raises hers. I tell her that I have emulated her dress in reverence for her and her work. I tell her that I love her and that I want to learn from her. I sit and I think that I do want to sit all day.
Her face, her eyes, her face and her eyes are amazing. Her face comes in and out of focus like antenna TV. Her eyes are pure and clear, with unique depth and color. They are both brown and green, very pale, elegant and poor looking at the same time. I sit with her and I don’t want to leave but I am thinking about the other people in line who are deserving of her time, and to whom I told I was not going to sit all day. I slowly count to 60 three times. I then count to 31, the age my partner will be tomorrow. I bow my head and peak out of my right eye to see her bow too. Like a little computer she shuts down when her audience leaves. I get up slowly. My arms are stiff, my dress tangled around my feet. People watch to see if I am going to fall over my dress. I am still transfixed by Marina’s gaze, not wanting to return to my civilian state. I proceed past the border of the illuminated box that separates Marina from her audience and remain silent and still.
Red, May 8, 2010
When I sit with her the next time I am wearing the red dress and she is wearing the white. She looks tired. I am late. I meet my friend Charlie. Many people stop to talk with me because of my dress. Charlie and I wait all day. I miss the people from the time before. Today the people are reminiscent of Disneyland. The security guard tells me that I should close out the day, but I arrived late and I don’t want the people behind me to miss the experience. I remember to move slowly and collect my dress so that I don’t trip this time.
This was the Saturday before Mother’s Day. I made it home to see my mother.
White, May 29, 2010
I take a taxi so I will not be late. I arrive at MOMA at 7am. Charlie is already in line, along with the 24 other people I count. Being at MOMA this early is a transcendent experience in itself. We are there to be with the art, and in order to do so we must wait on the street. I am wearing the white dress. I try to keep it clean while I wait.
There is a tension in line, a seemingly sincere interest and appreciation for Marina that seems less about the spectacle and more about art. We learn from other people in line that the first 30 people will be able to go upstairs to wait to sit with Marina, and that the amount of time that people are allowed to sit may be limited. We wait three hours before we are let in. More people flux into the line and Charlie and I are the last people admitted in the 30 count. At this point I feel very excited and optimistic about our prospects. We shuttle into a square spiral of a line and are surrounded by the security guards. They tell us that we can only sit for 30 minutes and that we must remain in single file position. We wait a little more. It is now 10:20 and we are escorted upstairs. We wait behind the wall that blocks the show. We are waiting for Marina. When we are cleared to round the corner it is apparent that Charlie and I are not going to sit. The performers from upstairs and special guests are already in line. Charlie and I get the 8 o’clock position of the square. I have spent a lot of time observing Marina, but I have never seen the back left side of her head. From here she emits a radiance, which shows a rise in her energy as she nears the end of the show.
On May 29, I did not get to sit with Marina. I did not get to wear my white dress alongside hers. Conceptually this act would have meant that I was equal to her, I was no longer one step behind. Although I am missing this final step in the “Blue, Red, and White” project, I have found resolution in collaboration with the community of people who share my belief in the importance of this show, and the trajectory of the presence that Marina has given to us.
