Abramović’s epic reminds you that much of life is itself a performance – that the boundaries we draw between art and ‘real’ life are, in many ways, arbitrary.
Marina Abramović | Balkan Erotic Epic @ Aviva Studios | 9-19th October
Reviewed by Joseph Hunter
It’s the first sentence of this review, and I already feel like I’ve messed it up. It seems important to admit, for example, that my wife and I arrived late to this performance. It was an accident – time slipped away from us during dinner – and we forgave ourselves by reflecting that this wasn’t exactly a linear show in any case. It has a start time and an end time, true, and a structure, but that structure is more cyclical or (seemingly) organic than anything that resembles a traditional play, for example. We also took advantage of the suggestion in the show notes that observers are welcome to come and go during the performance, so we were by no means present for the entire four-hour duration.
Nevertheless, the experience felt complete and immensely rewarding. There were lots of penises and vulvas, both replica and real. That isn’t meant to be a crude statement; it’s simply a fact. Bodies in this show are used as tools and displayed as animated sculptures, with the two functions overlapping in fascinating ways. The nudity and sexual timbre of some of the – let’s call them instances – soon become unremarkable, just another interesting facet of what you are involved in. That is the key to this show/performance/piece, and why I find it hard to capture the nature of the experience in a review. You feel in certain respects as if you are also a part of it, and not simply an observer.
For example, attendees are contacted beforehand to advise them that no photography of any kind will be allowed during the performance. This isn’t a stunt; it’s very much enforced. When we arrived, serious and attentive security men made us seal our phones in locked pouches before they would let us inside. As well as protecting the performers, this security process adds theatre and drama to the simple act of arrival. We felt as if something unusual, perhaps illicit, was imminent.
The performance, and the many coalescing instances of which it is composed, fills the cavernous space of Aviva Studios. It’s vertical as well as horizontal – tall scaffolds have objects and mannequins on them, high overhead. The human performers are distributed throughout the space in groups, coming together on various stages for dances and musical performances. Materials published around the performance note that it is a blend and reimagining of various myths, folk stories, and traditions from across the Balkan region, many of which are erotic or sexual in nature. But you don’t need to be Balkan to feel the magic and power of these stories as they are rekindled here. This episodic show has something of the medieval mystery play cycle about it, or at least the imagined version of such a cycle staged within the stone squares of a crooked medieval town that has lived in my mind since I first read about medieval mystery plays at university.
Abramović’s epic reminds you that much of life is itself a performance – that the boundaries we draw between art and ‘real’ life are, in many ways, arbitrary. The line between performer and observer is a fine one, and can be crossed at any time. For example, one ‘stage’ was designed to look like a traditional Balkan taverna with wooden chairs and tables decked with red tablecloths. A well-stocked bar stood at the back of the room, and several performers were drinking from small glasses. Men and women sat slumped at the tables, but as we drew near, a rhythm and a song swelled amongst them. A man began singing in a high, clear, almost operatic voice full of quavering emotion. Black-clad musicians emerged from among the observers to join them and add to the music. As I watched, I felt a gentle nudge in the small of my back. I turned to see a small woman carrying an accordion, who moved past me and joined the taverna performers. I hadn’t noticed her coming quietly through the crowd, but now she was above me, performing, while I watched from the shadows. Later, we left and walked to our taxi through a chill autumn night sparkling with lights, hand in hand, but in a way I felt as if we were still within the performance, and this was only an extension of it. That feeling lingered long after the show had ended, and part of it lingers still.
Reviewed by Joseph Hunter