Media Circus Imposes A Landslide of Transcendental Experience: The Last Day at Marina Abramovic’s The Artist is Present

No, no– any & all of us who might at some moment be counted among the retinue of Ms.A’s acolyte-accomplices are clearly Balkans!

No, no– any & all of us who might at some moment be counted among the retinue of Ms.A’s acolyte-accomplices are clearly Balkans!

No, no– any & all of us who might at some moment be counted among the retinue of Ms.A’s acolyte-accomplices are clearly Balkans!

No, no– any & all of us who might at some moment be counted among the retinue of Ms.A’s acolyte-accomplices are clearly Balkans!

Abramovitzers?

Abramovitzers?

I went through the Anne Frank house in Amsterdam in about 20 minutes (they were closing). I hadn’t read her diary, I’m not Jewish, I just figured I should go because it was there.

After rushing through the exhibits and exiting the house, I crossed over to a bench across the street and broke down crying.

I had had no expectations for this visit, and was really surprised by my reaction.

I don’t know if situations like this, or the Abramovic, or the Bieber, exist to fill a sort of emotional or cathartic-inducing void , but I think they do. I don’t think it matters to the validity of a work whether or not its some sort of religious and truly transcendent pervasive experience or if these situations are attractive to significant numbers of people to provide a particular experience that is lacking within a society.

You’re ultimately stuck with arguing whether or not its one or the other, which is basically equivalent to arguing about religion and the existence of god.
Either way I’d argue that these works, no matter how fabricated or how over-glorified, are necessary and valid.

I went through the Anne Frank house in Amsterdam in about 20 minutes (they were closing). I hadn’t read her diary, I’m not Jewish, I just figured I should go because it was there.

After rushing through the exhibits and exiting the house, I crossed over to a bench across the street and broke down crying.

I had had no expectations for this visit, and was really surprised by my reaction.

I don’t know if situations like this, or the Abramovic, or the Bieber, exist to fill a sort of emotional or cathartic-inducing void , but I think they do. I don’t think it matters to the validity of a work whether or not its some sort of religious and truly transcendent pervasive experience or if these situations are attractive to significant numbers of people to provide a particular experience that is lacking within a society.

You’re ultimately stuck with arguing whether or not its one or the other, which is basically equivalent to arguing about religion and the existence of god.
Either way I’d argue that these works, no matter how fabricated or how over-glorified, are necessary and valid.

I went through the Anne Frank house in Amsterdam in about 20 minutes (they were closing). I hadn’t read her diary, I’m not Jewish, I just figured I should go because it was there.

After rushing through the exhibits and exiting the house, I crossed over to a bench across the street and broke down crying.

I had had no expectations for this visit, and was really surprised by my reaction.

I don’t know if situations like this, or the Abramovic, or the Bieber, exist to fill a sort of emotional or cathartic-inducing void , but I think they do. I don’t think it matters to the validity of a work whether or not its some sort of religious and truly transcendent pervasive experience or if these situations are attractive to significant numbers of people to provide a particular experience that is lacking within a society.

You’re ultimately stuck with arguing whether or not its one or the other, which is basically equivalent to arguing about religion and the existence of god.
Either way I’d argue that these works, no matter how fabricated or how over-glorified, are necessary and valid.

My gut tells me any endurance piece, regardless of how it is set up, is to some degree about mortality. Pretty much as transcendent as it gets.

My gut tells me any endurance piece, regardless of how it is set up, is to some degree about mortality. Pretty much as transcendent as it gets.

My gut tells me any endurance piece, regardless of how it is set up, is to some degree about mortality. Pretty much as transcendent as it gets.

My gut tells me any endurance piece, regardless of how it is set up, is to some degree about mortality. Pretty much as transcendent as it gets.

My gut tells me any endurance piece, regardless of how it is set up, is to some degree about mortality. Pretty much as transcendent as it gets.

Ebert just wrote this, and it kinda relates (I think): http://bit.ly/cOWJ78

Ebert just wrote this, and it kinda relates (I think): http://bit.ly/cOWJ78

Ebert just wrote this, and it kinda relates (I think): http://bit.ly/cOWJ78

Ebert just wrote this, and it kinda relates (I think): http://bit.ly/cOWJ78

@Chambers: Regarding filling a void: I think that’s true though I’m also reminded of a Don Delillo passage from White Noise I cited a while ago, when Murphy and Jack visit the most photographed barn in America

“No one sees the barn,” [Murray] said finally.

A long silence followed.

“Once you’ve seen the signs about the barn, it becomes impossible to see the barn.”

He fell silent once more. People with cameras left the elevated site, replaced by others.

We’re not here to capture an image, we’re here to maintain one. Every photograph reinforces the aura. Can you feel it, Jack? An accumulation of nameless energies.”

There was an extended silence. The man in the booth sold postcards and slides.

“Being here is a kind of spiritual surrender. We see only what the others see. The thousands who were here in the past, those who will come in the future. We’ve agreed to be part of a collective perception. It literally colors our vision. A religious experience in a way, like all tourism.”

Another silence ensued.

“They are taking pictures of taking pictures,” he said.

He did not speak for a while. We listened to the incessant clicking of shutter release buttons, the rustling crank of levers that advanced the film.

“What was the barn like before it was photographed?” he said. “What did it look like, how was it different from the other barns, how was it similar to other barns?”

It’s not quite the same thing — we’re talking about a durational performance — but I have the sense that it’s that same aura of reproduction that’s peaked people’s interest. I mean, she’s an internet meme.

@Patrick Do you think that meaning is what’s making all those people cry?

@Chambers: Regarding filling a void: I think that’s true though I’m also reminded of a Don Delillo passage from White Noise I cited a while ago, when Murphy and Jack visit the most photographed barn in America

“No one sees the barn,” [Murray] said finally.

A long silence followed.

“Once you’ve seen the signs about the barn, it becomes impossible to see the barn.”

He fell silent once more. People with cameras left the elevated site, replaced by others.

We’re not here to capture an image, we’re here to maintain one. Every photograph reinforces the aura. Can you feel it, Jack? An accumulation of nameless energies.”

There was an extended silence. The man in the booth sold postcards and slides.

“Being here is a kind of spiritual surrender. We see only what the others see. The thousands who were here in the past, those who will come in the future. We’ve agreed to be part of a collective perception. It literally colors our vision. A religious experience in a way, like all tourism.”

Another silence ensued.

“They are taking pictures of taking pictures,” he said.

He did not speak for a while. We listened to the incessant clicking of shutter release buttons, the rustling crank of levers that advanced the film.

“What was the barn like before it was photographed?” he said. “What did it look like, how was it different from the other barns, how was it similar to other barns?”

It’s not quite the same thing — we’re talking about a durational performance — but I have the sense that it’s that same aura of reproduction that’s peaked people’s interest. I mean, she’s an internet meme.

@Patrick Do you think that meaning is what’s making all those people cry?

To clarify: Ebert says that we’re constantly seeking “frisson,” and I think that the opportunity to sit with Abramovic presented itself as an alternative to our promiscuous search for fleeting “shocks.”

The processions of people waiting to experience sitting with her seems similar to when people would wait to be in the presence of (or touch/kiss) reliquaries. Like with those droves of pilgrims who sought a religious experience, sitting with Abramovic offered an indistinct transcendental reward. Even though the actual experience should be rather banal, the expectation for this “reward” (bolstered by the snowballing hype, long lines, repeat/weeping visitors, etc.) triggered people to experience ineffable profundities while in her presence.

Sitting with Abramovic *had* to mean something, because the idea that it could be an otherwise mundane (if not boring) experience seemed unfair compared to what people wanted it to be.

So, Abramovic didn’t provide “frisson,” but rather an apparent escape from our frisson-hungry culture in the “church” of a museum.

To clarify: Ebert says that we’re constantly seeking “frisson,” and I think that the opportunity to sit with Abramovic presented itself as an alternative to our promiscuous search for fleeting “shocks.”

The processions of people waiting to experience sitting with her seems similar to when people would wait to be in the presence of (or touch/kiss) reliquaries. Like with those droves of pilgrims who sought a religious experience, sitting with Abramovic offered an indistinct transcendental reward. Even though the actual experience should be rather banal, the expectation for this “reward” (bolstered by the snowballing hype, long lines, repeat/weeping visitors, etc.) triggered people to experience ineffable profundities while in her presence.

Sitting with Abramovic *had* to mean something, because the idea that it could be an otherwise mundane (if not boring) experience seemed unfair compared to what people wanted it to be.

So, Abramovic didn’t provide “frisson,” but rather an apparent escape from our frisson-hungry culture in the “church” of a museum.

To clarify: Ebert says that we’re constantly seeking “frisson,” and I think that the opportunity to sit with Abramovic presented itself as an alternative to our promiscuous search for fleeting “shocks.”

The processions of people waiting to experience sitting with her seems similar to when people would wait to be in the presence of (or touch/kiss) reliquaries. Like with those droves of pilgrims who sought a religious experience, sitting with Abramovic offered an indistinct transcendental reward. Even though the actual experience should be rather banal, the expectation for this “reward” (bolstered by the snowballing hype, long lines, repeat/weeping visitors, etc.) triggered people to experience ineffable profundities while in her presence.

Sitting with Abramovic *had* to mean something, because the idea that it could be an otherwise mundane (if not boring) experience seemed unfair compared to what people wanted it to be.

So, Abramovic didn’t provide “frisson,” but rather an apparent escape from our frisson-hungry culture in the “church” of a museum.

One clue about the roots of crying with Marina: There were just as many sitters at the beginning as close to the end, but my impression is that far fewer people were crying during the first few weeks. I haven’t counted to see if that’s really true, but if it is, that’s a pretty strong indication that the emotional reactions were affected what people were reading and hearing about the performance.

That doesn’t necessarily make any of it phony. Expectations about any work of art change the experience.

(The DeLillo passage is dead-on. Must reread White Noise!)

I sat with Marina in mid-April, pre-media-frenzy, and I was completely taken off guard by the intensity of the experience. I think it’s impossible to judge unless you sat in that chair.

One clue about the roots of crying with Marina: There were just as many sitters at the beginning as close to the end, but my impression is that far fewer people were crying during the first few weeks. I haven’t counted to see if that’s really true, but if it is, that’s a pretty strong indication that the emotional reactions were affected what people were reading and hearing about the performance.

That doesn’t necessarily make any of it phony. Expectations about any work of art change the experience.

(The DeLillo passage is dead-on. Must reread White Noise!)

I sat with Marina in mid-April, pre-media-frenzy, and I was completely taken off guard by the intensity of the experience. I think it’s impossible to judge unless you sat in that chair.

@Joe, when you say “I think it’s impossible to judge unless you sat in that chair.” You are arguing essentially that performance can only be judged from first-person experience which would render all the video & photo documentation of Marina’s (and others’) performances irrelevant. By extension I’d say the “re-performance” concept Marina is pushing with this show (which is about cementing her legacy and ensuring it can live beyond her) which is a form of documentation, would be judged as an equal failure by these standards. I tend to agree – will people cry when the re-performance of “The Artist Is Present” is enacted by an actor being paid union wages?

As for the “source” of the profundity of the experience that made people cry, it is clearly a collaboration between MoMA/Biesenbach and Abramovich (a la posting: http://www.artfagcity.com/2010/05/24/are-artists-losing-ground-with-the-rise-of-curators/ ). Context made the performance what it was but Marina knew how to take advantage of that context and spent a few decades contributing to building that context. That context will die with her in spite of her efforts to preserve it. She has spent a lifetime building a cult of personality and to perpetuate that I think one can only look at the obvious historical precedents from religious and political leaders past. To suggest otherwise would imply she is an interchangeable actor and the significance of her work is embodied exclusively in a series of body movements.

Anyway, since when is crying a universal or reliable indicator of anything? Crying is a physical expression of emotions and is inherently dramatic. Nor is it necessarily “pure” or “true” as I get the impression it is being assumed to be in this dialogue. Actors do it regularly on cue.

@Joe, when you say “I think it’s impossible to judge unless you sat in that chair.” You are arguing essentially that performance can only be judged from first-person experience which would render all the video & photo documentation of Marina’s (and others’) performances irrelevant. By extension I’d say the “re-performance” concept Marina is pushing with this show (which is about cementing her legacy and ensuring it can live beyond her) which is a form of documentation, would be judged as an equal failure by these standards. I tend to agree – will people cry when the re-performance of “The Artist Is Present” is enacted by an actor being paid union wages?

As for the “source” of the profundity of the experience that made people cry, it is clearly a collaboration between MoMA/Biesenbach and Abramovich (a la posting: http://www.artfagcity.com/2010/05/24/are-artists-losing-ground-with-the-rise-of-curators/ ). Context made the performance what it was but Marina knew how to take advantage of that context and spent a few decades contributing to building that context. That context will die with her in spite of her efforts to preserve it. She has spent a lifetime building a cult of personality and to perpetuate that I think one can only look at the obvious historical precedents from religious and political leaders past. To suggest otherwise would imply she is an interchangeable actor and the significance of her work is embodied exclusively in a series of body movements.

Anyway, since when is crying a universal or reliable indicator of anything? Crying is a physical expression of emotions and is inherently dramatic. Nor is it necessarily “pure” or “true” as I get the impression it is being assumed to be in this dialogue. Actors do it regularly on cue.

@Joe, when you say “I think it’s impossible to judge unless you sat in that chair.” You are arguing essentially that performance can only be judged from first-person experience which would render all the video & photo documentation of Marina’s (and others’) performances irrelevant. By extension I’d say the “re-performance” concept Marina is pushing with this show (which is about cementing her legacy and ensuring it can live beyond her) which is a form of documentation, would be judged as an equal failure by these standards. I tend to agree – will people cry when the re-performance of “The Artist Is Present” is enacted by an actor being paid union wages?

As for the “source” of the profundity of the experience that made people cry, it is clearly a collaboration between MoMA/Biesenbach and Abramovich (a la posting: http://www.artfagcity.com/2010/05/24/are-artists-losing-ground-with-the-rise-of-curators/ ). Context made the performance what it was but Marina knew how to take advantage of that context and spent a few decades contributing to building that context. That context will die with her in spite of her efforts to preserve it. She has spent a lifetime building a cult of personality and to perpetuate that I think one can only look at the obvious historical precedents from religious and political leaders past. To suggest otherwise would imply she is an interchangeable actor and the significance of her work is embodied exclusively in a series of body movements.

Anyway, since when is crying a universal or reliable indicator of anything? Crying is a physical expression of emotions and is inherently dramatic. Nor is it necessarily “pure” or “true” as I get the impression it is being assumed to be in this dialogue. Actors do it regularly on cue.

excerpt from an essay on Stendhal syndrome by James Elkins (p.47)

“Today [as opposed to the Romantic era] the Stendhal syndrome continues as a cultural fossil, sustained by an educational system that instills high expectations of high culture. Art has moved on — all the way to post-postmodernism, where high culture is mingled with low, and cynicism and detachment rule the day — but the tourist industry sticks to the old Romantic war-horses, treating people to a heady mixture of genius worship and expectations as inflated as they are unfocused.”

From

excerpt from an essay on Stendhal syndrome by James Elkins (p.47)

“Today [as opposed to the Romantic era] the Stendhal syndrome continues as a cultural fossil, sustained by an educational system that instills high expectations of high culture. Art has moved on — all the way to post-postmodernism, where high culture is mingled with low, and cynicism and detachment rule the day — but the tourist industry sticks to the old Romantic war-horses, treating people to a heady mixture of genius worship and expectations as inflated as they are unfocused.”

From

>>when you say “I think it’s impossible to judge unless you sat in that chair.” You are arguing essentially that performance can only be judged from first-person experience

I’m not saying it’s impossible to appreciate or understand or judge the performance without sitting. I have strong opinions about each of the pieces on the sixth floor. I’m saying it’s impossible to judge each sitter’s outward emotional reaction. Sitting completely altered my appreciation of other sitters’ reactions. I had watched the performance several times, at length, but I was completely unprepared for the intensity of the experience of sitting.

>>when you say “I think it’s impossible to judge unless you sat in that chair.” You are arguing essentially that performance can only be judged from first-person experience

I’m not saying it’s impossible to appreciate or understand or judge the performance without sitting. I have strong opinions about each of the pieces on the sixth floor. I’m saying it’s impossible to judge each sitter’s outward emotional reaction. Sitting completely altered my appreciation of other sitters’ reactions. I had watched the performance several times, at length, but I was completely unprepared for the intensity of the experience of sitting.

>>when you say “I think it’s impossible to judge unless you sat in that chair.” You are arguing essentially that performance can only be judged from first-person experience

I’m not saying it’s impossible to appreciate or understand or judge the performance without sitting. I have strong opinions about each of the pieces on the sixth floor. I’m saying it’s impossible to judge each sitter’s outward emotional reaction. Sitting completely altered my appreciation of other sitters’ reactions. I had watched the performance several times, at length, but I was completely unprepared for the intensity of the experience of sitting.

>>when you say “I think it’s impossible to judge unless you sat in that chair.” You are arguing essentially that performance can only be judged from first-person experience

I’m not saying it’s impossible to appreciate or understand or judge the performance without sitting. I have strong opinions about each of the pieces on the sixth floor. I’m saying it’s impossible to judge each sitter’s outward emotional reaction. Sitting completely altered my appreciation of other sitters’ reactions. I had watched the performance several times, at length, but I was completely unprepared for the intensity of the experience of sitting.

I love the guard’s blurry shaking hands to shoo the photographer away in this photo. They really had a tough time last night. There were shouting matches for people trying to get into the 6th floor exhibit at 3:58pm.

A few of us were stuffed at the third story window, refusing to move (sorry!). The security guard called in this puffy fellow in a maroon button-down shirt, who commented sarcastically, “I know this is really serious, but move along.” How’s that for staff professionalism?

I love the guard’s blurry shaking hands to shoo the photographer away in this photo. They really had a tough time last night. There were shouting matches for people trying to get into the 6th floor exhibit at 3:58pm.

A few of us were stuffed at the third story window, refusing to move (sorry!). The security guard called in this puffy fellow in a maroon button-down shirt, who commented sarcastically, “I know this is really serious, but move along.” How’s that for staff professionalism?

I love the guard’s blurry shaking hands to shoo the photographer away in this photo. They really had a tough time last night. There were shouting matches for people trying to get into the 6th floor exhibit at 3:58pm.

A few of us were stuffed at the third story window, refusing to move (sorry!). The security guard called in this puffy fellow in a maroon button-down shirt, who commented sarcastically, “I know this is really serious, but move along.” How’s that for staff professionalism?

I love the guard’s blurry shaking hands to shoo the photographer away in this photo. They really had a tough time last night. There were shouting matches for people trying to get into the 6th floor exhibit at 3:58pm.

A few of us were stuffed at the third story window, refusing to move (sorry!). The security guard called in this puffy fellow in a maroon button-down shirt, who commented sarcastically, “I know this is really serious, but move along.” How’s that for staff professionalism?

I love the guard’s blurry shaking hands to shoo the photographer away in this photo. They really had a tough time last night. There were shouting matches for people trying to get into the 6th floor exhibit at 3:58pm.

A few of us were stuffed at the third story window, refusing to move (sorry!). The security guard called in this puffy fellow in a maroon button-down shirt, who commented sarcastically, “I know this is really serious, but move along.” How’s that for staff professionalism?

@Paddy, I have a couple qualifiers in my previous comment. They are there because of the ‘gut’ feeling. A notion of one’s mortality (whether conscious of it or not) breeds feelings like empathy in some people. In others it may initiate hostility. Yet, this is all just a hunch, for there may be other associations, even ones as banal as how much value one puts upon such a performance, that cause one to cry, or even get pissed off.

After looking at the MOMA Flickr pages, I tried to imagine myself in the seat across from M.A. In that I have difficulty with direct eye contact with strangers, it would be awkward for me. Yet, I do know that if she were crying when I sat down, it wouldn’t take much to get me blubbering.

@Paddy, I have a couple qualifiers in my previous comment. They are there because of the ‘gut’ feeling. A notion of one’s mortality (whether conscious of it or not) breeds feelings like empathy in some people. In others it may initiate hostility. Yet, this is all just a hunch, for there may be other associations, even ones as banal as how much value one puts upon such a performance, that cause one to cry, or even get pissed off.

After looking at the MOMA Flickr pages, I tried to imagine myself in the seat across from M.A. In that I have difficulty with direct eye contact with strangers, it would be awkward for me. Yet, I do know that if she were crying when I sat down, it wouldn’t take much to get me blubbering.

@Paddy, I have a couple qualifiers in my previous comment. They are there because of the ‘gut’ feeling. A notion of one’s mortality (whether conscious of it or not) breeds feelings like empathy in some people. In others it may initiate hostility. Yet, this is all just a hunch, for there may be other associations, even ones as banal as how much value one puts upon such a performance, that cause one to cry, or even get pissed off.

After looking at the MOMA Flickr pages, I tried to imagine myself in the seat across from M.A. In that I have difficulty with direct eye contact with strangers, it would be awkward for me. Yet, I do know that if she were crying when I sat down, it wouldn’t take much to get me blubbering.