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May 28, 2010
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I felt almost embarrassed to be clothed, at an unfair advantage.
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I did not even let myself fantasize that she might be anything like as aroused as I was. I worried that she might be bemused or condescending at the depth of my involvement with what was, after all, just art. On the other hand, she wasn’t looking away either. And I did notice that she never looked at any of the other onlookers in the room, not even the ones who approached as closely as I had. I felt a childish thrill of sibling-rivalry triumph: She likes me best.
In one sense the performer of this piece renders herself utterly vulnerable--naked and splayed as if for vivisection, the light sparing nothing. But of course submission and dominance both contain an element of the other, and in another sense she was the one in power. The fact that she had voluntarily offered herself up for this purpose was an intimidating act of will—coolly fearless, brazen, awesome. Her unwavering reciprocal gaze denied me the cozy invisible omniscience of museums, TV, or the internet, asserting herself as another person in the world, and reminding me that I was there to be seen as well. Luminosity is a female riposte to 30,000 years of nudes from Willendorf to Avignon: Okay, here’s a naked lady; look all you want. She’s looking back, though.
I felt almost embarrassed to be clothed, at an unfair advantage; if I hadn’t been on the real-world side of that white line, still subject to its rules, it would’ve been only common courtesy to undress. As the minutes passed, I shifted my posture in awkward increments, turning to face her fully, unclasping the book I’d been holding in front of me like a fig leaf and lowering my hands to my sides, surrendering to a more open pose. Something about the enforced separation between us, the boundary imposed by that white line, freed me to let down my defenses, the way we’ll spill our secrets to a stranger on a train, or fall in love with someone safely unattainable.
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I did not even let myself imagine that she might be as aroused as I was.
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Also, bear in mind that she was literally above me, exalted like the image of a saint or an angel, and the old iconic power of the configuration had its effect; I felt almost unworthy in her presence, a supplicant. Standing there, I remembered the Creature from the Black Lagoon gazing up with primordial wonder at the girl in the white one-piece, suspended high overhead in her rippling aurora of light.
But I was also uncomfortably aware that her experience of this exchange might bear no resemblance to my own. I wasn’t even sure how clearly she could see me with that spotlight in her face. I was wearing glasses—could she even see my eyes, or only a glinting far below? I knew, too, that her attention must be far more divided than mine—she had to concentrate on maintaining her balance and following the prescribed motions of the piece, moving her outstretched arms by excruciatingly infinitesimal degrees out to either side, and then upward over her head again. I was also conscious that, for her, this was a job. She might have this same experience with several different people every day. How personally invested was she in this act? Was it really her I was seeing, or a professional persona? Maybe her mind was elsewhere—doing the crossword, trying to ignore her aching coccyx, already looking forward to happy hour. Even the most exhibitionistic actors or confessional writers are calculating in what they give away, and always withhold something more essential than what they reveal.
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Commentarium (44 Comments)
Creepy and embarrassing.
Oh, man. Sometimes even great writing skills cannot hide behaviour that is creepy, pitiable, and embarrassing. I wanted to stop reading after the first page, but I figured if you could take it upon yourself to stare at this poor artist with such fixation that strangers thought you were part of the exhibit then I could manage to hang on for all three painful pages.
But I did not want to genuflect to you when I left. Instead, I wanted to take a shower and spend the day grateful for normal human interactions. Ugh.
This was about 2 pages too long. ANyway, as a life drawing model, i understand some of what the author is speaking of, but for the most part, the things going through my head are more like, 'Goddamn, my leg is totally numb.'
i thought this was odd, and i hope i never have that experience at any art exhibit i attend, but it was also interesting. i do appreciate that the author kind of acknowledged the awkwardness and creepy feeling.
[i typed a comment as eurrapanzy, which is me, but the site keeps telling me that i'm a registered user and people can't post as me, including myself. how do i fix this?]
this piece gave me chills....over the author's extremely creepy thoughts and behavior. A nude model's worst nightmare and textbook pathology, right down to the, "she didn't look at anyone else like that except for me! It was holy-I put my hand over my heart! I was asked if I was a part of the exhibit!" SOmetimes women stare back to assert themselves, creeper.
http://proof.blogs.nytimes.com/2009/03/30/time-and-the-bottle/
I thought this was well written and fascinating...you people are easily creeped out.
people really are quick to say "creepy". the essay is about longing for a human connection, something everyone should be able to relate to. abramovic's piece is obviously trying to provoke some of the same questions that the writer is asking. if a nude model's worst nightmare is to be stared at, she's probably not going to agree to be in a piece like that in the first place. people who are creeped out by this need to relax and open up a bit.
true dat; true dat.
Obviously a lot of people think that it is less creepy to just objectify the girl by making sure to look at her when she isn't looking.
I don't find this creepy, just human. The interaction between the performer and the audience IS the art. I would think that Abramoviç would be happy that her work made the viewers think.
I agree with AD. This is very human and what everyone is reacting to is his honesty about it. This is very good.
Amazing writing. There is nothing standard or normal about the art or the author's feelings toward the model and that's a beautiful thing. More from Tim...
great piece
I loved this line: "Luminosity is a female riposte to 30,000 years of nudes from Willendorf to Avignon: Okay, here’s a naked lady; look all you want. She’s looking back, though."
What a beautiful article. You WERE a part of the piece. Congratulations on embracing a truly unique moment in your life, and not averting your eyes. Additionally, I'm glad you are a verbal creature and can so vividly share this experience with us. Thank you.
I didn't find this remotely creepy, just pretentious and really, really pseudo-profound.
Pretentious how?
Well Done! it's refreshing to read a piece that challenges if not requires us to think. Several steps above the common 20 something hook-up story that is very welcome. More of this please!
This writer is fucking amazing.
Yeah, I thought this was an excellent piece! This would be creepy if he were doing this in regular daily life, but he isn't, he's having this fascinating, primal experience in an exhibit explicitly designed to stimulate and comment upon voyeurism, exhibitionism, dread, intimacy, power, etc. I'm sure Abromovic would be delighted to read this piece...
Perfect.
Nope.
A good artist can make the audience feel as if they are part of the piece.
I don't find this creepy at all, and I think that's the point of Abramovic's exhibit. To break the barrier between art and viewer, to allow us to make that deeper human connection. I would love to be able to have done what he did, but I wonder if I would've had the courage...
oh, and I agree with @KAL.
Agree with Susana and KAL--Abromovic was trying to provoke this kind of reaction with the exhibit. Kreider writes about it beautifully.
Fantastic writing, loved it.
I agree this guy got a little creepy, but I can't say i wouldn't have felt the same feelings. I really want to see this exhibit!
I am an actor and performer myself. I understand exactly where this amazing piece is coming from. That bond between the performer and audience is one of the great mysteries of performance. Great performances are born when that bond becomes unbreakable - for whatever reason. One night it is great. The very next night it is flat, boring and unforgivably bad. Many books have been written about the subject from the performer's point of view. (Stanislavsky, anyone?) This piece, for me, really sparks!
loved this. it's honest and well-written.
Beautiful writing.
excellent. i agree with KAL and S. Mai
Wow. Thought-provoking and gorgeously written. Thanks Tim.
I've been a fan of Tim Kreider for a while, and this didn't disappoint me. I was surprised at the number of commenters who cried "creep" -- I've never been a life model or anything similar, but I have definitely been a female person being creeped on by a dude many's the time, and this didn't strike me as creepy. More like a thought experiment: What happens if I make myself look back at the performer, what happens when I push through that distance, what boundaries are there, how are the boundaries gendered, etc. I enjoyed this very much.
Seems to me the author was daydreaming more than being present. Just being polite. He is not the only one to have missed the point if it is any consolation. Even art and philosophy critics get lost in their minds. My collection of notes and links about the main show:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/nycandre/4635624515
Beautiful.
To the people who read this article and dismissed it as creepy, I say, "hypocrite lecteur!"
Suddenly human infatuation is 'creepy'. It's this kneejerk fear of the worst that widens the gap between one person and the next.
I don't find this creepy at all. I think this piece was very beautiful and alluring. I loved being able to peer into this authors mind. more, please!