escaping (2018)

8-minute performance, sculptural installation


 
I come out of the closet! Attempt a break from formal contract!
& what if the photograph is a clementine Ziploc®ed?

what
if I’m language?
& what if I’m light?
& what if I’m beautiful?
& being despite?


 
*******  8     .&





______________ / The Longest Exposure (2017)


Durational performance documents
The long-exposure photograph captures sharply that which is static in the camera’s view, while blurring and obscuring things animate. Thinking about the camera as a technology that collects light, I feel the long-exposure is an exacerbation of this notion / Just as the weight of my face plunges deeper in my hands, exhaling. / a gross–though steady–accumulation. 


As an empath, I collect feelings. Within the art I am constantly parsing. And is the soul a camera?


When I walk around, I am exposed to ______, collecting from ______, thinking about ______.


Aside, all of my white, cotton t-shirts eventually end up relegated to bedwear, no one lasting even two days post-purchase before cooked squash draws its spittle on my left breast, or grease stains take form from oil splatter. These intimate markings remain like a document of the food I’ve made; more still, these markings denote the way my food uncontrollably moved onto me. Of stains on shirts: are we ashamed? I think: white cotton stains so easily, it’s nearly photosensitive.


When the frame moves, all things become obscured, though all dirt remains.




______ stands for ______, ______ stands for empathy /  ______ is a language material.


I think: no one photograph is ever the same. The cotton sheet–like the photo eye–is an archaeologist of embedded details, unexamined then brought to light within an always-evolving frame.  The city is hot milk and I swipe along its congealed surface, collecting the bubbles that would otherwise disappear / with a selfish blow that cools it off, or shoe that kicks on its way between.


The long-exposure photograph is memory’s reprieve, unbinding the moment from itself, extending into futurity. The long-exposure is not World, nor God, nor hapless feeling. _______ is before meaning.


The sheet may be an ugly dog.


Onlookers are unkind, can’t see. Though it titters back, is retaliatory–slapping its tail against the ground again and again, in these moments revealing its empathy scars. The sheet is not thick-shelled, though it flails in contempt like angry animals do, dragging its limbs along the roughness, in protest of its audience.


When feeling deeply about city corners bedecked with curious forms bumbling to one another, passersby see you absurdly. The sheet plays out this tragedy.


When hurting, _________ is a paradise frequency. For a moment: tearing through reality’s membrane / harvesting its magics. It’s proof! This moment is a reason to keep listening.

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(Thank u Patryk Stacisczek for your invaluable encouragement and instruction)