A stand in
I am certain that what follows happened at the same time, over small tracts of time, almost simultaneously. The work is top-heavy. A head and torso self-contained and constrained. His breath shortened with a sigh just before, or after, some madness afflicted him.
Who can laugh? Eyes, throat, mouth – we are all caught off-balance. Caught between an awkward moment and your soft flesh pressed in tin, no lid, all rim, people stand watching, faith brimming over in our mutual dark.
This man at this time is stuck fast, a silently remote corridor stooge. All the things at our disposal get slowly inverted until you and I can begin to dispose of faces and bodies and voices. Reluctantly but finally, I trounce control. He becomes an idiom in space.
This documentation should take about same length of time to read as I estimate I might expend questioning my authority to write about a performance that I did not experience. My lack of presence becomes your presence.
I could spend just as much time writing the words as I imagine the artist spent thinking of how and why he might make the work.
The artist will consider whether to use this documentation for almost as long as you can stand watching the performance.
If we add all of this time together we will understand the sum total and labour of the artwork and we will achieve balance.