POETRY INDOORS

A gallery guide to Marina Abramović Presents...

A collaborative text by Rachel Lois Clapham and Joanna Loveday

MARINA ABRAMOVIĆ PRESENTS...Whitworth Gallery, 3 – 19 July 2009

Marina Abramović, Ivan Civic, Nikhil Chopra, Amanda Coogan, Marie Cool Fabio Balducci,Yingmei Duan, Eunhye Hwang, Jamie Isenstein, Terence Koh, Alastair MacLennan, KiraO’Reilly, Fedor Pavlov-Andreevich, Melati Suryodarmo and Nico Vascellari.

It Is Near

and

Radio Games

by Joanna Loveday,

Pound

and

Pane

by Rachel Lois Clapham,

Manifesto

and

Map

by JL/RLC. All texts copyright the authors 2009.Design by Charlotte A Morgan

MANIFESTO

We stand on the last promontory of the centuries! Omnipresent speed died yesterday!Instead, we glorify slowness. Marina Abramović Presents …presents Time and Space!

No more futile worship of the past, of objects, of drama. We present performance for everyone. We unshackle performance from the hands of the poor and the few. We put performance on the map. We say performance is the highest order; there can be no other but performance. The sounds of the street, the colours of nature, even everyday clothes arenot good enough for performance.

We present performance in the museum, crowding out historical collections; dead paintersand sculptors step aside. Curators – we say give yourself over to performance’s demand of uselessness and waste (of Time and Space) if you dare. We strip the gallery, that absurdabattoir of visual art, of all its’ objects. In its stead, we erect a temple of performance towhich thousands will make pilgrimage, pay homage and be schooled in the immediacy and purity that can only be found in the durational.

We say go slow. Spurn dynamism, speed and technology. Feel the dizzying heights of empty, useless exertion. Give yourself over to performance. Expect (no)thing in return.Feel the exhilaration and sheer present-ness of performance, of (a waste) of time. To beinside performance is to be physically there, free of the day-to-day, pure of mind, aware of the present moment and of oneself completely, aware of each muscle moving, each drop of liquid sliding down the throat.

The true object of art is man. Hence we sing praises to artists that use only themselves andtheir bodies as object, create nothing and use no trimmings or props. We glorify those whocreate without decoration or product.

Slowness is virtueUselessness is valuePoetry indoors!Take time. Join us!

A large imposing staircasecasts a shadow over the mound beneath it, purpose built.It is placed. A prop of fabric, paint and mattress,it is an adept landing area, an unrealistic mountain at the side of the stairs.There is a small gap between the mound and the staircase, but it is one largeenough to make a leap from one to the other true and tangible.Everyone gathers around.We are waiting.We are so obviously, embarrassingly waiting for ‘it’,for this moment - I giggle.Amanda Coogan has done this before.Most of us saw her, but not entirely, not the full jump.The audience were chatting, we were looking the other way.We were approaching the staircase or turning to some new work.For the first of her leaps, I was stood in the door way,I heard the shattering scream and dashed quickly in.I was too late, she had landed, but I heard the leap,it sounded epic, so now I wait.Standing with the crowd, I gloat - I am able to watch her jump again.And it is coming, soon.She has been stood on the perch,attached at the midway point of the staircase for some time- five minutes, ten? It feels right.Her legs look tired, she has stopped fidgeting and her eyes aretrained on the open air ahead of her.There is nothing there.Space, open space.She grips the railing with one hand.Stepping on tip toes - about to fly.Before long, she will jump again,it is coming, we can sense it.The scream – repeated - has a gravitational pull.They are coming now, more are joining us.Both people and possibilities, orbiting this moment.It is spun out and we flock to bear witness to its nextre-enactment. It exists unencumbered, untouchable,out of reach. It is a deadly instant, in spite of itsprecise choreographed movement. It is the ultimateleap. It has nearly happened. Don’t look away now,don’t move an inch. This is the ONE. The Moment.Again. Ready to satisfy us. Creeping up on us slowly.The moment you think about, but never enact.She looks pensive, but not scared. The crowd is willingher on, penetrating her with our unblinking gaze,breathing in time. Her focus deepens. She is ready.