Yikes! Performance Poop
I ran away from a performance tonight.
I was supposed participate in 100 Performances for the Hole, curated by Justin Charles Hoover for the SOMArts Cultural Center. When I arrived at the space, which I’ve performed at before in collaboration with Allan deSouza, I was met with a crowd of people facing a wall. A spotlight shined into the space they were all huddled around, and in that space was a hole that I couldn’t see. On the wall behind everyone was a video projection of the performance happening in the hole. I think I walked in at #55, and it turned out to be the perfect cliché: a girl dressed in flowing white fabric, gyrating around a three foot deep, five foot square hole lined with wood paneling, to rock ‘n roll.
It was dark. There was one spotlight. There was a large video projection. There was a crowd of people with drinks in their hands. There were artists. There was a hole.
#56 was a performance by two people, one holding a neatly folded pile of clothing, the other removing her clothing and putting on the folded garments.
I tensed up, grabbed my backpack shoulder straps tightly around my chest, and left the space.
Some of my super awesome friends from SFAI were there participating, supporting friends and the arts, and having a great Saturday night. The organization for the show must have been pretty epic.
There’s nothing lame about the event. The only thing lame is my confidence. While I was outside deciding whether or not to go back in, a buddy of mine let me sorta chat out my thoughts and figure out my next move. My next move was walking home.
All I could think about was that sex scene from Requiem for a Dream where a bunch of gross old douchebag dudes are surrounding girls go at it with a double dildo. “Ass ta ass!” Cigar smoke, blue light, runny mascara, old dude skin…
I felt completely uncomfortable so I had to get out of there. I whine and I whine about opportunities to show my art and then when I finally get one, I freeze up. Does it ever get easier? I’m not a live performance artist. I’m not a public performance artist. I like to be anxious, but not in pain. I know I should have just dived right in and done my performance, but for now, I’m definitely not ready.
I texted my buddy that I was a pussy and ran away. Did you know that ‘pussy’ and ‘puppy’ are the same T9 buttons? Am I the only one left with a non-smart phone?
100 two minute performances by local and international artists set in a newly renovated mechanics pit in the floor of the SOMArts Main Gallery. This is a tour-de-force of the ephemeral. A video of the entire event, as well as all performance residue and ephemera will be on display until the 20th of March. SOMArts Cultural Center, San Francisco.
