A whore is a whore is a whore
MARCH 2024During the performance, the viewer enters into a dark room where I am sitting still, lit by a spotlight. The prints hang from two lines, sutured into my face on either side of my temples. The effort required to maintain the tension between these prints and my face means that the sutures are slowly producing blood over time, even as the blood congeals. Minuscule movements from my breath and the blinking of my eyes show up in these strings, bringing a trembling sense of life into the otherwise flat images. My face, smeared with white paint, is pale.
Caught in the enclosure of the visual field, my act of agency is to hold that tension between the body and its markings. In my effort to suspend these images, I willfully “miss” the mark.