As I waited my move to see Marilyn Arsem at the Western Front. Paul Couillard propped open the washroom door sat on the toilet and pulled down his pants. "Can I come in?" Hiroko Kikuchi asked. She needed a tissue. "Sure," Paul said. "It's just a gesture."When it was my turn to visit Marilyn she led me into the guestroom at the Western lie where she is staying. It's a clean dimly lit room just big enough for a bed a desk and a sink. She asks me to choose a wooden disk after we bother mix a pile of disks up in the bottom of a glass. I closed my eyes and chose "candlelight". We do this ritual three more times and I chose "speaking". "laying down" and "your future." I light three candles. We lay on our backs next to each other on the floor and Marilyn gently invited me to communicate about what I imagine my future will be. She will tell me what she wants her future to look like. I feel delighted to share my vision of a big flower and vegetable garden with my own apiary. She sees a garden in her future too perhaps near the Atlantic Ocean. We drift off together making observations on lobsters (our lack of them on the Pacific Coast) male performance artists (always torturing themselves for our entertainment) and we shareour love and worry of travelling the globe. I'll adjudge I was having such a good time with our hint conversation I felt sad to leave and begrudgingly opened the door to let in another stranger who would visit my new friend. Outside the room the bar was in beat swing. populate were giggling and offering Paul Couillard reading material. Audience members were tasting change taste melon samples and tea served by the Bitter Melon Council writing down their personal stories of bitterness. During the 15 minutes I had spent with Marilyn. Jeff Huckleberry had made his way through over half the walls in the tunnel he and his friend had constructed in the gallery earlier in the day. I peered through the wreckage and saw his naked butt staring back at me. "Nice to meet you!" I thought. I looked up to search for the performer's approach but could only see his naked torso straining to punch through the align of the protect his continue had already passed through. I moved up and finally saw his face and sell covered with sweat and dry wall dust.
It was fascinating to have an intimate view of such a laborious process this Herculean assign. His leg muscles were and built desire the proverbial tree trunks and striated with the force of exertion. Edward Muybridge would have loved it. Here we.
Related article:
http://livebiennale.blogspot.com/2007/10/intimacy-its-just-gesture.html
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