"We actually held an arrow on the weight of our bodies, and the arrow is pointed right into my heart. We had two small microphones near our hearts, so we could hear our heartbeats. As our performance was progressing, heartbeats were becoming more and more intense, and though it lasted just four minutes and ten seconds, I’m telling you, for me it was forever. It was a performance about the complete and total trust."
‐ Rest Energy (1980), a performance piece by Marina Abramović and Ulay
any space can become liminal. a room. a building. a street. the space between your shoulder blades. the space among the atoms. your mind space.
given enough time/incentive, the thoughts in the space around the stars will begin to dissipate, disintegrate. desolate.
a night spent without a single wink of sleep, and the space between the pendulum of the clock is haunted. from one tick to the other, a physical distance between one second and the next.
THE SPELL (After Bea Camacho): Crochet Art Performance
Just wanted to share this thing I did last year for a class. Enjoy!:
THE SPELL is a crochet performance piece. In February 2021, the artist attempted to crochet a blanket in her bedroom non-stop— allowing for wrist and food breaks, and sleep. During the three day performance, the piece was live-streamed on Twitch.com.
The artist had numerous inspirations for the piece, the largest being the general stress of isolation due to the Coronavirus pandemic. During the pandemic, Black admitted that crocheting had become a coping mechanism— one that soon proved to be detrimental to the artist’s main passion, writing fiction and poetry. Consequently, THE SPELL also incorporates a poem.
Black hoped she would leave the performance with exhaustion— to “get crochet out of her system” by glutting herself on the craft. Much to her disappointment, this was not the case. Black continues to battle with her own passions.
More of her work, crochet and poetry, can be found on her Instagram @jonnyblackwrites.
I came up with this sad, desperate, stolen idea to put a paper bag on my head to try and get more followers. It's art. Please spread it all over the internet #IAmSorry #reblog
Greenwich Village Supplementary Interrogation Transcript
July 2nd, 1969
We set a cop car on fire.
Right there on Christopher Street and let that sucker smolder. We were gonna burn the whole damn bar down, too, but the water got here before we could get that far. Would’ve lit this whole block up if they let us. Sirens blaring, all that, would’ve been the party of the century. All these queens running around like they own the place when they couldn’t afford a cocktail an hour ago, breaking their cheap-ass nails throwing stones. Bricks. Get those lights going, too, good old red and blue, right, and we could’ve woke the whole damn Village.
We still beat the strobe-lights out of you cops, though, busted y’all till you had no choice but to lock yourselves up in the Inn to get away from us. We kept y’all up there for three nights, you know. Even tried to set the place on fire. Roast you pigs. That’s how mad we are.
Why’d I do it?
‘Cause everybody else was.
But nah. It hasn’t been like this before, you know. If I see lights past midnight, I book it. I don’t look for trouble. But tonight -- tonight, those lights came on in the club, and we were standing outside there and no-body moved, I’m telling you. We froze. It had to be seventy degrees out there, and we froze.
And then y’all came out, after that first raid, and y’all were just dragging this butch-as-can-be kinda lez and she was shouting at y’all and y’all was shouting at her shouting at y’all shouting at her and - and then she yelled at us, you know? She yelled at us. And I just got so angry. We all had bottles in our hand. That’s why y’all were there in the first place, wasn’t it? Then one of those nelly queens threw ‘em, and she might as well have dropped a match in a kerosene can. We didn’t just get angry. We rioted. We took over all of Christopher, we did, lit everything from trash cans to those damn cars and busted everything else. It’s not like we’ve got homes to go to, you know, so we were there next morning and the night after that. We was living off each other, off all that shit we let bottle up. It was time. It was past time. Us little gay boys, you know, us men in dresses, we spend a lot of time getting ready, but damn. We weren’t even fashionably late with this shit. It’s like we was lounging around waiting for y’all to really kill us fore we tried any sorta thing besides what we always did—drink and run, you know? We drank and we ran. We drank and we ran. Sometimes we even got to dance.
Honorable mention in 2018 Connecticut Student Writers Magazine. All rights reserved. Etc., etc.
