Thoughts on Marina Abramovic’s Exhibit at The Royal Academy of Art
Marina Abramovic’s recent exhibition at the Royal Academy of Art in London was a success, and justifiably so. The show brings together a number of her most powerful pieces, culminating in a weeklong performance, The House with the Ocean View, without breaks or even a morsel of food for the septuagenarian artist. The exhibit shows that, even after decades of performance, she remains a powerful force, and it reminds of us all why she is considered the “grandmother of performance art.” The exhibition begins with The Artist is Present, in which Abramovic sat in the Museum of Modern Art in New York for more than 8 hours a day, making silent eye contact with audience members who, one at a time, sat across from her and shared an intimate moment. This intimacy—a simple connection in a city of 10 million where such connection is rare—caused many audience members to break down crying. The still images of the performance, plastered across the walls of the Royal Academy of Art, seamlessly blend stone-faced audience members with tear-streaked ones—and among the photographs appears Ulay, Marina’s former romantic partner and artistic collaborator, who came to participate in the work and caused the only moment in which Abramovic “broke” her performance, leaning forward to grasp his hand in an extraordinarily moving moment.
The exhibition begins with The Artist is Present, in which Abramovic sat in the Museum of Modern Art in New York for more than 8 hours a day, making silent eye contact with audience members who, one at a time, sat across from her and shared an intimate moment. This intimacy—a simple connection in a city of 10 million where such connection is rare—caused many audience members to break down crying. The still images of the performance, plastered across the walls of the Royal Academy of Art, seamlessly blend stone-faced audience members with tear-streaked ones—and among the photographs appears Ulay, Marina’s former romantic partner and artistic collaborator, who came to participate in the work and caused the only moment in which Abramovic “broke” her performance, leaning forward to grasp his hand in an extraordinarily moving moment.
Images and objects from Rhythm 0, one of her earliest and most famous works, appears in the next room, demonstrating the lasting power of her performance. In the work, she stands naked before the audience. On a table are a vast array of different implements, from innocuous items like feathers and lipstick to vicious ones like knives and a loaded gun. A sign in front of the artist indicates that she is an object, and that the audience should do what they wish to her. When the first performance of this work took place, the audience took her up on her offer. It descended into a free-for-all of violent, psychopathic behavior. After someone moved Abramovic’s hand to hold the gun to her head, the curator abruptly stopped the exhibit and Abramovic “woke up” and began speaking with the audience. The audience instantaneously scuttled away like cockroaches, ashamed. The work lays bare the patina of civilization that can so quickly erode into barbarity when given the slightest opportunity.
Some of the artist’s works are powerful despite their extraordinary simplicity. In Imponderabilia, located in the next room of the exhibit, two nude performers, a man and a woman, stand very close to each other, in such a configuration that the audience is forced to squeeze between them in order to pass through the door in the next room of the exhibition. The initial reaction to this work in many audience members is shock. In the entirety of one’s lifespan in many countries, a person will simply never encounter a naked person in public. Abramovic addressed this public reaction in her commentary about the exhibit. She expressed surprise that, 47 years after its initial performance, it still elicited such a strong reaction from the public. Some taboos are so deeply ingrained in the majority of human societies that the breaking of them can feel like an attack on the senses. But when the attack subsides, it leaves a refreshing appreciation of the sociological underpinnings of our shared mores.
In Nude with Skeleton, a few rooms later, Abramovic confronts mortality and the fragility of existence with unflinching candor. The stark juxtaposition of the human form against the skeletal framework serves as a poignant meditation on the transience of life and the unavoidable march of time toward every living creature’s inevitable death. By inviting viewers to contemplate their own mortality, Abramovic imbues the work with a sense of profound introspection and existential resonance. Visually, the beautiful human body plastered against the cold, distasteful skeleton shocks the viewer into a state of uncomfortable deliberation.
Later, some of Abramovic’s works cleverly include the audience member by inviting her to sit, stand, or lie down on a sculptural element. This interaction creates a deeper connection with the work, and also invites the audience member to engage in a few moments of pensive reflection.
The exhibition does an excellent job of placing Abramovic’s works in context. For example, one of the wall descriptions cites Abramovic’s observation that in modern times, when religion has taken a considerably lessened role in most late capitalist Western societies, the art gallery can serve as a substitute for a church, creating a place of quiet contemplation and spiritual deepening. In the sanctified space of the gallery, Abramovic’s work assumes a quasi-religious significance, offering calm and spiritual nourishment in an increasingly secular world. By reconceptualizing the gallery as a modern-day sanctuary, Abramovic invites viewers to engage in a sacred dialogue, probing the depths of their own existence and confronting the mysteries of the human condition.
The final room of the exhibition contains its most poignant work: Abramovic herself in a performance. The House with the Ocean View is a work that Abramovic created after the September 11 terrorist attacks in New York. It is, in a way, an appreciation of life after so many experienced destruction and death. The artist is ensconced in one of several rooms, suspended above the ground. To reach the rooms, she must climb a ladder whose rungs are replaced by sharpened knives. Once she has climbed up, she moves slowly or quickly, sometimes humming or singing, or simply remaining silent. Sometimes she acknowledges the audience with a glance; other times, she allows the audience to quietly surveil her as if it didn’t exist. The audience watches in rapt awe. Having experienced the totality of Abramovic’s works over five decades, it is a fitting conclusion to be able to see the artist herself in person—a reminder that her the artist and her work are not a relic of the past, but very much a salient part of today’s world.
As with many of the best contemporary artists, the exhibition reveals Abramovic’s role not just as a creator of beautiful works, but also works that jolt the viewer into reflection on modern day society and humanity. She serves as a kind of artist philosopher, quietly (and sometimes loudly) inviting the viewer to consider the state of the world today and the possibilities of tomorrow.
Photo by Rory “numberelevensmith,” used with permission.