It's An Art Thing

Upon entering through the gallery doors, I sighed and hesitated as I saw the sign “Breathing In Breathing Out” and thought about what my good friend Marina Abramovic was about to do. I walked through the white halls into the room on the left where I see a crowd of people waiting for the show to begin. I mingled my way in to the front of the barricades and twiddled my thumbs until it was exactly seven o’ clock when Marina and her partner Ulay came out. The crowd silenced themselves right away. I caught Marina’s eyes, and she winked. I winked back at her.

God, I wish she would just listen to me sometimes! I don’t want her to get hurt. Every time she does these performances my heart starts to race, and I get this ghastly, sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. I know how much this “art” thing means to her but to put her own life in danger is not the way to go! Nah-uh! And to be asked to participate as her partner for “Breathing In Breathing Out” seriously tugged at my heart. One: I am way too shy to stand and perform in front of one person let alone fifty. Two: I am not ready to do such an act that will cause harm to my health. Three: I cannot be part of the cause to my friends demise. I had a million of hasty thoughts running through my head when I was distracted by Marina’s commencement. I then watched with terrified eyes.

Marina and her partner Ulay gradually walked towards each other until they were only one foot apart from one another. They steadily kneeled down, and Marina positioned herself between Ulay’s thighs. He tilts his head about twenty degrees to the right, parts his mouth, and presses his lips against hers. With their noses plugged, Ulay takes one gulp of oxygen and progressively breathes out carbon dioxide. In this nineteen-minute performance, the couple are breathing in carbon dioxide. A microphone is attached to Marina’s throat where the audience is able to listen to the sound of her breathing.

I clenched my fist; my fingernails are digging into the palms of my sweaty hands. The show is finally over. What felt like eternity was really only nineteen minutes long. The audience clapped their hands with amusement and relief. They began to disperse like little ants. I caught Marina’s eyes one last time and mouthed to her, “I will see you later,” and made my way out of the room. As I was walking out, I saw an exhibit for Tacita Dean. They were showing a video called “Time and Space” about a man who went by the name of Donald Crowhurst and his unfortunate shipwreck. Feeling a little indifferent and aloof, I concluded to come back another time.