My discovery began with the seeing of a poster of Marina Abramo —I did not even know how to say her name,— vic.
The Artist Is Present
March 14–May 31, 2010
I looked her up on line and the fascination began to grow like the flowers in her hand in the poster I’d seen.
An artist sitting on a chair being present in the gallery to experience presence with the public with installations and recreations of her previous work 4 floors above. After 2 separate visits to the 6th floor where I am introduced to the span of her work, I want to sit opposite this live art.
She once said that the future of art will be energy exchange and I would like to engage.
I currently live in Brooklyn, N.Y 11206 and I don’t have any work obligations for the last two days leading up to the end of the artist being present so I decide to be in that space.
I go to sleep at midnight, sleep for 3 hours and make it to the outside of the Museum Of Modern Art at 4:40 am and receive my number. 28th place in line. Official opening time is 10:30 am.
Laying down on the sidewalk looking up at the buildings looking down I find that a body on a sidewalk is not as dirty or as uncomfortable as one would suspect. Minus the bug bites, I’m feeling pretty cozy.
I watch the early morning walkers in clean pressed clothing smelling of a warm shower and say to them in my head: Get down here and feel how good it feels to lay on the ground with abandon.
A little after 9 am I go to get some tea and take a pee and while I’m gone the line is let into the gallery and I loose my 28th place. I don’t feel too upset over it and I spend most of the day in the gallery forgetting about time and letting go of the countless possibilities, of other things to do on a warm Manhattan day and debate with myself whether or not I want to come back and attempt the line again realizing that I will have to arrive around 9 pm this same day to secure a sitting position as the show is closing tomorrow and I’m not the only who wants to close the place down.
I scroll though my options:
Go home, hang out on the Internet and catch up on sleep or
Go not go-go dance with a sway of people, tell everyone there about my day at MoMA and how after all of that I never even got to sit or
Spend a full night camping outside the museum on the street waiting for my turn to hopefully sit.
I question my insanity, why do I want to do this? I can be present anywhere looking into anyone’s eyes. But I feel there may be something about these dedicated eyes that could be worth looking into. Realizing that it may not change my life, as I’m not looking to Marina to change my life though she has begun to inspire me and why not engage and give my respects to inspiration? I begin to expect nothing and decide I’m in it for the experience and I don’t know what that is yet but I would like to find out.
I go home, take a nap and wake up with a pounding headache that stays with me all the way back to the museum. 9:53 pm, I receive my number, 21st place in the line and my name is not even Paco (one of the regulars who decided to sit 21 times and then got a 21 tattooed onto his arm). I’m pretty much guaranteed to sit as rumor has it, the sitting limit has been set at 10 minutes. I don’t know that I will take the full time, I’m trying not to preplan the experience until I’m in it. My mind does a lot of imagining - what it must be like to sit with her… I listen to the other waiting sitters, many of them have already sat (some of them numerous times) and part of me thinks, c’mon guys, give up your spots to those who have not yet had the experience but as I listen to their stories and learn how some of them they have been present almost every single day of the show I get over my initial notion and accept that it’s anyone’s right to sit even if they’ve done it before. No one tells you how long you’re allowed to stare into a painting or a sculpted piece of art or how many times you’re allowed to visit.
Before fully molding myself into the cement for the night I sneak into the Warwick hotel to brush my teeth and as I’m about to begin my before bed routine a lady enters, possibly a hotel guest. At first I think I should wait for her to leave or else she may report me for being a bum from the street but then I hear her taking a shit and I think if she can do that then I can brush my teeth.
I walk back to MoMA the long way round and pass a church with 4 guys who have set up camp, one guy is sitting at the top of the stairs and we look into each other’s eyes and I feel like I could pull a seat up and sit opposite him for a lifetime of stories but he gives me a look as if to say hello honey, you can look but you can’t join.
I return to camp and drift in and out of sleep as the line grows longer and longer each person arriving feeling a little surprised at how many of us are already ahead of them. There is laughter, air beds, sparklers, beer and oranges being shared. Many passing by ask what we are all waiting for and the group answers back with Harry Potter (the most popular choice), Jesus, Madonna, No one, Bill Murray, and occasionally the truth: Marina Abramovic.
At 7amish I waltz into the Hilton and use their loo lushness for my morning routine. This time no one enters and I have the place to myself. I could take a bath in the sink if I felt like it but they only offer this bright pink pepto-bismol looking soap that I don’t really want all over me. I straighten myself up a little and figure I should eat something because I won’t really be able to once I’m inside the museum. I’ve noticed that in the last 2 days I’ve lost my appetite and have not found it crucial to eat but I make myself eat some cheerios (pretty bland compare to the honey nut ones at home). I return to my 21st place in line with a freshly squeezed orange juice that I don’t really want to drink but being out on the streets like I have been, hardly having slept could mess with my system so I’m trying to give it the encouragement of vitamins it may need.
Everyone starts to jostle around, deflating air mattresses, dispersing food and supplies from the night, some are doing wake up yoga across the street and I can feel the energy and excitement of being let inside. At about 9:25 am we all enter very calmly and orderly and the security is set up in a very peaceful manner for crowd control. We are told that the first 40 people will be let up into the atrium to form a seated square line at 10:25 am. We are held at the foot of the escalator until then and I assume a position on the ground sitting cross-legged on my pillows going into a sleeplike state. I find myself saying a prayer, it’s like an energy prayer that I’m sending to Marina for the closing ceremony and I’m sending thanks. I open my eyes and see many of us have assumed this position and I wonder if everyone is in some sort of prayer state. We climb the escalators like praying mantises and as we come up to the 2nd floor the girl in front of me says “we are sitting with Yoko Ono” and I beam with delight at the sight as I’ve been on a John+Yoko kick lately.
I just believe in me,
Yoko and me,
And that’s reality.
A few people, such as the apparent Yoko, get to bypass the all-night line and form their own secret sideline to sit with Marina a little before the museum officially opens and my 21st position ages into 36th.
As we enter the room lining up around the square, Marina is still seated as if she’s never left with a mother and child in the opposite seat. The baby does not seem to notice or care that 40 more people just entered the room. I’m drawn to the little body who flip flops his head side to side gazing up and down but not into Marina’s eyes and I’m surrounded by the feeling of peace in the room. It feels as if we are all invisible and the only thing that exists in the room is that baby with its mommy and Marina. Then a man who I am told is Tehching Hsieh, who decided he was done with art and would now do life, sits with Marina. In their brief sitting together I see an energy of emotions shooting through her body and I sense a strong connection and mutual understanding between these two artists. Then I watch the next sitter and the next and the next all taking their turn until the girl who was number 1 in the all-night line is up and I see her becoming jittery like a kid who is waiting to get on a jumping castle and she’s already jumping. The security guard gives her the signal that Marina is ready for the next sitter and she walks up to the chair and the moment plays out in slow motion as she calmly lifts her dress up and off her body to reveal nothing but her body, rests her dress on the chair and then very fast forwardly she is surrounded by the guards and she suddenly seems thoroughly confused and becomes slightly hysterical as they lead her out with some of us cheering, “Let her sit!” while Marina sits with her head bowed as if nothing has happened. Time sits in passing and the show is back on the road as the line moves on and number 16 (number 2 from our line) takes a seat opposite Marina. I sit and watch as I do with 3, 4, 5,6, 21, 22, 23, 789 and in my sitting and watching I’m smelling too. The atrium begins to reek of feet that I fear are mine for a second until I realize everyone is fearing it to be themselves or suspecting the person next to them. Word spreads that someone purposely stinking of grossness came walking through the space to instill unpleasantness probably hoping to create a distraction or as an insult to Marina. The stinker is tracked down and escorted out by security. The smell is soon dispelled I get on with watching Marina and the sitters until a guy stretches himself across the rope and extends vomit towards Marina, who does not flinch and probably does not even noticed the attempt. Security escorts him out as he tries to make himself sick again and I notice my eyes resting on his throw-up that lays on the floor for what feels like a long time.
The line is moving fast inside of slowness and I’m almost at the pillar, which is like the totem pole of the room. Once you make it past that pillar it’s as if you’re entering the gate to the golden carpet magic ride. A bug from the night outside has made it’s way in with one of us and begins to crawl over in a direct path to Marina, a sitter has just left the seat facing Marina and we watch as she bows her head and takes a rest and the little bugger crawls over to her dress and climbs up onto the skirt of it but very quickly crawls off, perhaps Marina asked it to bug off though I don’t think she would mind or flinch too much even if it crawled up and over her face and into her ear. I imagine that this bug, sleeping outside on us, wanted to see what all the buzz was about so it hid out in someone’s hair or ear and thought it would skip this waiting timeline, bypass security, screw the release form we all have to sign for the photo book that will be released, and crawl right over and instead of sitting opposite and looking into the mirror it would just take a sniff. The insect seems unsure of its next move as the next person seats themselves above him. I’m between watching the movements of the bug and being aware of the energy passing between 2 people sitting silently staring into each other’s selves.
I hear the sound of paper falling, a pile of papers and everyone’s eyes except Marina’s slowly divert to the ceiling that is raining paper down on us. Some people grab for it like money and others allow it to fall into their grasp. I glance up guessing that it was no accident. Someone typed up their own manifesto about Marina and decided to spread their words by throwing their message over the balcony. They should have just put it in a biodegradable bottle and sent it out to sea.
Exciting times with all this love-hate attention hanging around but it’s nothing that is competing with or winning over from the presence in the center of the room, whatever happens around it pulls us all out for a few entertaining moments but we all come back to the seeming nothingness occurring between 2 people in the middle of the room. I’m becoming more and more captivated by Marina’s dedication and focus. It’s like nothing can sway her and whatever attempt is made to jolt her is only jolting itself. I watch her and it hits me how timeless she looks. She doesn’t look like any age. I tell the guy who slept alongside me last night about her timelessness and he agrees about her no age. We both sit there inside of a timeless field of observation and as I come out of it I feel a butterfly inside my tummy. I’m leaning my back against the pillar and decide to feed the butterfly the apple hiding in my bag, no food or drink allowed in the museum so I sneak my bites and chew so that the guards don’t notice. I don’t want to be escorted out for being an Adam. My stomach begins to pain as I’m digesting the apple like some kind of poison. Marina does not eat all day and it is a forbidden universal museum law for the public not to eat around the art for fear of it being destroyed, perhaps because of these laws and because the art herself is not eating, my body is rejecting the food. So I put the halfheartedly eaten apple away and respect the no food policy. I don’t have an appetite anyway, I’m just chewing on my nerves as I get closer.
I also find myself needing to pee a lot in this hour leading up to my turn, Marina does not get up to pee all day and I’m peeing like 4 times in a hour. Anticipation could be serving as a diuretic. Why am I feeling nervous? It’s like being a kid who played with matches all day and then becomes plagued with the need to pee. I try to settle myself down as I’ve made it past the totem pole pillar mark and I’m about 4 people away from my sitting. I decide to take my shoes off as I like to think that no shoes on is even more of a direct path into energy. (And when else would I get to walk around the Museum Of Modern Art shoeless without being reprimanded for it?) I feel a knot untwisting in my tummy and rising up into my chest as if there is a rope connecting me and the 3 people ahead. I’m just going to sit here and stretch out the rope while I wait to walk the line. 2 people away. I close my eyes and breathe into this feeling. I allow it to untangle all over me but I don’t want my experience to be held together by ropes so I tap on some of my meridians and I feel as if I am about to step onto a stage as Nelson the guard says, who is next?
I stand up and he looks at me with recognition and I tell him I met him back in early April while passing through with my friend who was interrogating him about the show. He says, so you know the deal? And I say, I wont take my clothes off. And he encourages me with a, yes, please, clothes on! We giggle as he tells me I have a 10 minute time limit to sit. Don’t worry about anything I will let you know when that time is up, your job is to just be present inside of that space.
I’m standing at the entrance of the frontier pathway that leads up to Marina and I’m aware of the feeling of centeredness. My nerves appear to be unleashing me and I feel myself already connecting to a weightless gravity I will soon be inside of. I feel calm, at ease, and ready to take my seat at the edge. Nelson signals for me to go ahead and as soon as I take my 1st step towards the chair I feel as if nothing I’m doing is controlled by me, I’m walking but it doesn’t feel like it. I’m sitting on the edge of the seat comfortably with my hands resting centered and intertwined in my lap. My mouth is slightly open and I think that maybe I should close it but it won’t close. My eyes are open because I’m seeing Marina’s bowing head right in front of me. She slowly lifts her head and we’re looking into each other. It does not really feel like we’re looking at each other but we’re looking into something. Her eyes seem watery, tired and weary. Is she crying, has she been crying, is she going to cry? Am I going to cry? I don’t feel any emotions welling in me. Am I doing something wrong? I don’t feel anything. Shouldn’t I be feeling some sort of something? I’m not feeling anything. Should I try to encourage a feeling? No. OK, here I am. I am here. I’m aware of blurry sketches of people humming around us. The only thing that seems real and unreal is what’s right in front of me. I’m lost in her right eye. I can’t take my eye off of her right eye . We’re in an eye lock. Is she giving me a bad look? Is she angry at me? This eye seems dark and evilish and sad. I see weight, misery, darkness, fear, shame, hiding, hate, abuse, death. Is she looking into the same eye I wonder? I look over to her left eye and I’m suddenly looking into peace, warmth, care, softness, beauty, stillness, compassion, understanding, nurture, mothering, love, acceptance, openness. She is looking into the same eye.
Thoughts begin to cross paths: Thank you sister, I love you.
I see her breathing and my breath links into a synching slow rhythm with my mouth still open and I feel the breath rise and fall between us at the same speedlessness. The eyes begin to cross until I don’t see any fixed eyes, everything blends and blurs and I no longer see or think good and bad. I feel myself still sitting as I’m lifting above her and I feel powerful then I feel myself sinking below her and feel vulnerable and I shift up and down between states of being above and below until I catch myself resting into her hands that seem exaggerated, whole and vibrant. My eyes slowly travel up her belly past her heart and land into her ever present eyes, closing my eyes. My lids are jumping uncontrollably as I see her behind my eyelids as a dark shaped shadow with the blotches of other shaped shadows around her and her hair is gold and bright until I open my eyes again to see dark hair and already opened eyes. We look into each other with fallen thoughts.
I feel limitless.
There is a blob next to me touching my shoulder.
“The performance is now over.”
The performance? Am I performing? I find myself taking position to stand up and touching the centre of my forehead with my hand as if it’s my bow to move out of this experience.
As I’m rising Marina is still looking into my eyes and as I’m rising she is bowing her head and I float away to where my shoes and pillows are. I now begin to feel a flow of emotion which begins to escape me in some tears and I bow my head in my lap closing my eyes and feel as if I am about to go to sleep. As I am awake sleeping I begin to see an unmanipulated tree growing as a vision in my mind and I see this tree growing in me. It expands to its fullness in my head and when there is no more space inside my head for it to grow I slowly open my eyes to find myself walking in the woods with half dead and alive trees, I reach my hand out to shake a branch and in its grasping it tells me to be the love that I am and I feel the roots beneath me shoot through my feet and my feet reaching deep below the pine needles that I’m standing on as I stretch up to be as tall as the other trees around me and I march on in peace.
- Tarynn Wiehahn
