MARINA ABRAMOVIC´

Mini-feature

Marina Abramovic´

the ‘Grandmother of Performance Art’

By guest journalist Sandra N. Skriver

I can still hear the compressed graphite of my pencil against the soft notebook paper. An invading sound, nagging, high-pitched in a dusty way. There are so few of us though, making it difficult for me to annoy anyone, together-butevenly-spread-apart (I’m looking at you, Covid19) in a room inside ‘La Filmoteca’ in Valencia, Spain–one of the venues of this year’s 35th edition of La Mostra, showcasing Mediterranean films for a good week or so. This year with an honorary focus on Marina Abramović.

Exactly 60 minutes. One full hour, Marina sits completely still for us albeit also for herself. Marina lives not for but because of the audience. It’s her air, her veins, her oh-so-pounding heart hidden inside a fierce and chill-as-fuck fleshmade cover. This is why this specific performance is even more significant to me than others of her making. Because this time she’s with us, without filters or absurd theatre-inspired extremes. She’s still using herself as the exposed object, but this time she’s forcing the spectator gently yet so quietly aggressive to become one with her, to join her. In her silence and in her static and patient suffering.

So, we sit here together in all of our glorious completely still for us albeit also for herself. apartness watching a… A performance? A story? Marina lives not for but because of the audience. A lesson? A Confession (2010)? It’s her air, her veins, her oh-so-pounding heart

Exactly 60 minutes. One full hour, one excru- hidden inside a fierce and chill-as-fuck fleshciatingly silent painful hour, Abramović (b. 1946), made cover. This is why this specific performance the legend, the pioneer (some, herself included, is even more significant to me than others of her prefer the term ‘grandmother’) of performance making. Because this time she’s with us, without art sits completely still in front of a mild- filters or absurd theatre-inspired extremes. She’s mannered donkey, her priest, whilst her slightly still using herself as the exposed object, but this martyr-like yet bold confessions slowly run in sub- time she’s forcing the spectator gently yet so texts underneath as a monologue. First you fight quietly aggressive to become one with her, to against the whole thing as doubts go through join her. In her silence and in her static and you–but soon you give in, letting your discomfort patient suffering. flow out into the velvet-clad cinema seat.

The weather-beaten term ‘suffering artist’, this rusty-pinned self-sacrificially forged medal we adorn ourselves or others with looks nothing but decadent and shiny on Marina. Many contribute/attribute/connect/account/link/regard ? her wildly popular exhibition The Artist Is Present at MoMA in 2010, filling up numerous rooms of New York’s infamous art institution, to/with her long-awaited recognition as a ‘real’ artist, not just some “crazy woman in need of institutionalization” as she shares (in my paraphrasing memory) in the documentary from 2012 taking name after the exhibition. In some ways, Marina represents the ugly and twisted real-life fairytale of an artist’s struggle for recognition, finally coming to a happy end at MoMA in 2010, 37 years after her first public performance Rhythm 10 in 1973 in Edinburg. In this performance, she would play ‘the Russian game’ where fast knife jabs are aimed between the splayed fingers of the player’s hand. She had brought with her 20 knives and every time she cut herself she would pick up a new knife. After 20 times cutting herself, she then replayed the recording of her recent ‘game’, starting all over, trying to exactly recreate her previous accidents. “Once you enter into the performance state you can push your body to do things you absolutely could never normally do”, she would later say about her revelations on the consciousness of the performer.

Abramović is as stubborn, as unapologetic and as enduring as few. Always, and seemingly without regret, on a quest to learn about–and often challenge–the complex relationship between artist and audience, forcing us and herself to interact physically, emotionally or intellectually (or all of the above) with her performances. Forcing us to relate to pain and blood and discomfort whilst she explores the physical limits of her own body.

By using and exposing herself she lovingly and caringly teaches us lessons, again and again, relentlessly trying to make us understand more about ourselves in the context of others. She is the self-sacrificing mother to us all. Whether or not we choose to accept that–and her.

Marina Abramović Confessions, 2010 Courtesy of La Mostra de Valencia

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