Tuesday, March 6, 2012

The Diary of a Performance Artist

There is a strange part of me that is attracted to Performance Art like some sort of radiator that seeks me out or do I seek it out? When I am out in the cold. Literally. This piece of work was a sort of follow on to the work I did in Cork last November. For that I had prepared some performance poetry but due to time restrictions did not get called on to perform it (possibly just as well as there was very strong poetry produced that night).

I was surprised and delighted to be later invited by La Catedral, The Back Loft Studios for Mamuska, a performance evening on December 13th 2009 which was part of a few days of a mixed bag of cabaret, dance, sound, film, exhibition, comedy and performances. Basically whatever you're having yourself. It was to be fifteen minutes of performance but I was also asked to show my film Crab Murder so the performance had to be culled down considerably. I had to make clear to myself what I wanted to do and yet stick to my own found rules as to what this work was to be.

I found Hedwig Gorski to be my motivational force. Her work in the USA comes from a Polish war torn background and USA sixties Conceptual Art but was very distinct from all other poetry styles of the time. Unlike many of her contemporaries she did not come from a feminist stance and formed poetry designed for oral presentation not print. I added my own slant which is that it is never quite possible to repeat any performance again, each to be unique in its own right.


I picked the simple act of coming on stage with my pull along Ryan air size rucksack inside which was a long piece of gauze which I walked around with, unwinding and slowly using lips, tongue and throat to physically draw out the words - words moving words around. I next had a small but beautifully formed poem (not) about my aging body parts. Short enough to have some humour, rhyme and comedy. I had to memorise it - not a strong skill of yours truly. It can't be printed here as my rules prohibit it. The next piece was two short prose accounts of two gentlemen I met the night before. They were bizarre encounters but actually happened. One man was looking for a bus to Bray where he intended to find a hay shed to sleep in as the smell of urine and vomit in the doss house was unbearable.

The other a refined academic who was writing about mans behaviour in a renowned Dublin University. As he talked he seemed full of knowledge and confidence about his soon to be published book, but then, to a complete stranger, let out the sad facts of his own physical and mental future which were extremely bleak. Which of the two men was the better off? I finished with a long piece written late at night (with difficulty and truth) about a relationship, never thinking I would have the guts to spill it out. But I did. Maybe he will never know but others did and so words were moved around and some of them were quite moving.

The evening was set out so that in between each act was a ten minute intermission so performers and audience were one and the same and each got a chance to discuss the work - audience interaction always helps my work a great deal. I ended up having a great discussion with a young Canadian woman, a PhD in Drama no less, about performance art and contemporary theatre.

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