45 minute action. Teetering, falling, walking, standing in earth, painting a green line along an unfurled roll of paper with my head, punctuating the floor with citrus fruit, gifting, listening, cracking, circling a tall cherry tree brought indoors. Gold stilettos, miniature plastic trophies, colored feathers, black leather jacket, instant camera, cut narcissi, filled doughnuts.
An attempt to actuate meaningful secular art ritual for a largely unknown-but incredibly attentive-audience in an unfamiliar city. How to summon, to purify, to invoke other(s) there and elsewhere. How to remain connected to those in the room while in an alternately connected performance state. How to stand in a plastic bucket and maintain balance, teetering, trembling, gently ringing the small bells taped coarsely to my knees. Failing, falling, landing in the lap of a spectator, clutching a naked umbrella frame and keeping my eggy, glittery, paint-soaked eyes closed.
How to remember what to do. How to remember where things are. How to do things for the first time. How to remain open, always open, and to ensure that self-dissolution occurs at the right tempo and to the right degree. How to execute an utter seriousness of intent with an acceptance of its accompanying absurdity. How to know time, to guess time. How to come back, to carry on, and to end.