Art that breathes!

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.