In Pakistan, the invitation
to witness a work of ‘Performance Art’ or ‘Live Art’ at a local art gallery, is
a rare one. Art that involves elements of time, space, the performer's body and a relationship between
performer and audience, outside of the “performing
arts” practices, such as; theater,
music and dance, is being increasingly
employed by many artists and art students in the country, but perhaps the unavailability of spaces for artists
and viewers to engage with this kind of art has restricted the use of
performative practice to photography and video. Color, a gallery that launched
itself only last month in Lahore, very bravely opened its doors to host Ferwa
Ibrahim’s performance ‘Hiding under
water’ along with a video titled, ‘orientation’.
Brave; because firstly it's a medium which after 50 or so years since its introduction
is still new in our part of the world and may take some more time to trickle
down into the public consciousness as ‘Art’, let alone ‘high art’ and secondly
it is very unusual for a gallery to showcase only two works. Usually the
exhibition spaces are not ‘curated’ but walls are simply used to hang works on.
As I give you an account of
my selective perspective on ‘an’
enactment of art that I witnessed in flesh, Peggy Phelan’s (following) words
knock in my head:
“Performance’s only life is in the present.
Performance cannot be saved recorded, documented, or otherwise participate in
the circulation of representations of representations: once it does so, it
becomes something other than performance”.
Since I’m working from
memory, the events leading to the performance and the time in-between watching
it and writing about it (which i have tried to minimize as much as I could)
adds up to the subjectivity of my account, which may have nothing to do with
the actual performance or I might have overlooked other ways of seeing it. I
wonder if the same idea can be applied
when reviewing works of art in other mediums, such as; paint, print or objects?
Upon entering the main gate
of Color gallery, housed in a residential building, I’m greeted by the
doorkeeper who directs me to enter from the courtyard (at the back) instead of
the gallery enterance (where the performance was to be held). In the courtyard,
people chatted against the backdrop of a video, projected on the wall (approx
2’ x 3’), surrounded by a monotonous rhythmical humming that fades in and out
of the hum of conversations in the outdoor space. The projection displays a
hand mapping a black line, drawn with a thick black marker on the grey chips
floor. I use the word mapping, because there is no clear distinction between
drawing, feeling/running her fingers over or erasing of the line by rubbing. Perhaps
the action signals the permeability/impermeability of boundaries or perhaps a
method of self hypnosis, a sort of a meditative exercise that aims to
synchronize the mind, the body and the soul in order to escape that partial/compromised
self-awareness towards wholeness or a free flow of energy. This may sound like what your yoga instructor
tells you, but when he/she verbalizes it, it sounds unoriginal and
stereotypical but when physically practiced, it usually makes sense. That may
not be a very flattering example but I certainly felt that Ibrahim’s work
reflects a similar inability of language to communicate, thus making speech
almost futile and presenting us with a visual qua sensory experience. However,
the positioning, the framing and the scale of the projection were a bit
unsettling, why it was so small in comparison to the wall? why was it not in
the center? why was it at the extreme end of the wall, almost cropped by the
sharp edge? why was it not on the floor? The floor might have provided me with
a more accurate experience or a more interactive encounter.
The announcement for the
performance was made and this one was the third and the last of the three performances
that were carried out almost every 45 mins for the opening night. A bunch of us
walked into the gallery; an intimate (small) rectangular space. We waited,
noticing the little details of the space, such as; the halo on the laminated
floor, made by the two spot lights above, the camera (to document the
performance), the silence – Ibrahim walks into the space wearing blue jeans and
a black top, holding a large black cloth ruffled next to her body – she goes to
the center of the room and starts to lay the cloth on the floor, she sits
squatted cross-legged upon the cloth and invites everyone else to join her, only
a couple do, she asks again, in fact makes eye contact with each one of her
audiences, insisting/demanding that they sit down. Whether one actively
participated or not, the piece articulates the dividing line between observance
and engagement, challenging the traditional divisions between art and audience,
exploring what art is/can do for the fulfillment of the artist’s impulse to
express/communicate. Here the role of the viewer changes from a removed
observer to an engaged participant. I, who wanted to be an observer rather than
a participant, had to surrender. She begins chanting a low humming sound almost
like a meditative breathing exercise that I also silently practiced while
sitting there, noticing that it was increasingly difficult to catch up with
Ibrahim’s notes, as she would take in only half a breath for an even exhalation
and the droning sound lingered on for a while. With each breath the humming gets louder and
louder, changing the peaceful into more agitated, and then upon covering her mouth
with her hands (that were gradually drawing nearer with every note during the
course of the performance) the sound morphs itself into convulsive sobs, and
then wailing moans and then low whimpering that gradually faded away and she gasps
for air, pulling her hands away, while also pulling the cloth away from beneath
our bottoms. I think the timing was perfect, that is particularly the moment
when I started to feel a little claustrophobic myself. All performance-based
art deals with aspects of control, the acquisition of an audience and
subjecting them to the artist's "control" which involves another
aspect of body art - endurance; both hers and mine, so a part of me wanted the
performance to linger on, just a bit longer. Perhaps it is the precision that
made me a little uneasy. I wished some of it was undecided, a little more
spontaneous - like pushing the work so you find yourself in a territory beyond
the one you know.
As I sat there afterwards,
the transitory nature of the form her body held for us to watch and experience
and vanished, I nodded at the thought of Phelan’s words “performance becomes
itself only through disappearance”. The performance lingered on and echoed in
the humming sound of the video outside.
This kind of expression which
aims to understand and interpret subjective experience through representational
acts is perhaps an investigation of the subject of embodiment and the
embodiment of subjectivity, that is more compelling than theater, it’s visceral
nature puts one in direct contact with thought and feeling. Interrogating this
subjective dimension of ‘being’ through materializing the intersections between
(Kantian) inner-self and the outer-self,
Ibrahim indulges herself in a self-scrutiny for the sake of authenticating
experience and existence as a means towards self awareness or rather an attempt
to liberate the self from traditionally bound situations. Expanding on modes of
self representation where autobiography and social conditions are inextricably
bound together in an unending reformulation of identity, she continually
questions and re-identifies her self.
