Aine Phillips - Liz Burns - Sebastian Dooris & Tracy O'Brien
performance text photos
photo: Sebastian Dooris
Through a Glass Darkly
To see “through a glass” or mirror “darkly” is to have an obscure or imperfect vision of reality. The expression comes from the Bible in the writings of the Apostle Paul where he explains that we do not now see clearly, but at the end of time, we will do so.
It was a Victorian belief that prison architecture was crucial to the reform of inmates. During this period gaols were run on the principles of silence and separation. Communication between prisoners was forbidden and they spent much of the time alone in their cells. The prison authorities hoped that they would use this time to read the Bible, contemplate and repent their crimes. The guards or warden could observe the activities of prisoners completely, themselves unobserved, as Jeremy Bentham’s prison designs and the now infamous ‘panoptic’ or all seeing eye, illustrate. Michel Foucault argued that the symbol of the panoptic could be extended to society in general and how we police ourselves.
Kilmainham Gaol 4th Dec 2010; East wing. Ground floor. Twenty artists performing simultaneously, in and around the prison cells.
6.15 pm No queue:
I see a closed cell door in front of me with a peep hole. There’s nobody around so I take a closer look. Through the peep hole I make out the form of a woman inside – she is standing and has her back to me. The whiteness of the cell strikes me, in contract to the pervading grey of the other cells. The walls, floor, even her skin appears to be covered in a delicate layer of white. She is dressed flimsily, her neck, shoulders, arms, legs and feet exposed …she appears fragile.
She is struggling to put on, or is she taking off? Some form of gown, dress, and straightjacket? The clothing appears institutional. It seems like a futile action. There is a tattered old fashioned pink blanket on floor, again institutional like. She continues her struggle, but doesn’t seem to be achieving anyway. I feel a bit uneasy, am I now in the role of prison guard or the unobserved observer? Or more like a paying punter for a cheap thrill peep show? Can she see me?
I decide to leave her for now and return later…..
...
photo: Tracy O'Brien
7.00pm Queue No 1.
I return to the cell …I discover there is now a sizable queue outside of about fifteen people. The place is getting busier, people are whispering, slightly irritated that they have to queue, but more or less resigned to it, making polite chit chat while waiting, or greeting people they know as they arrive. I don’t really feel like being sociable. In fact I feel a bit guilty…should we even be talking? I keep my mouth shut….
Finally it’s my turn. I get to peep through the hole again. The woman is kneeling on the floor now, still futilely struggling with her gown. She makes no sound; there is total silence, except the rustling of her clothes, as she continues her private battle. This struggle reminds me of this artist’s previous works Red Weight and Red Burden1, - here the artist dresses in a gown made from 400 pieces of used red clothing, which she attempts to pull in a dignified and determined manner. The actions appears doomed to failure, with the enormous weight of the gown. Yet the dignified attempt to succeed out weights all of these concerns …it’s about the moment, and the beauty and dignity of the attempt.
Yet unlike these previous performances where the audience could and did intervene at moments to help the artist along her journey, here the audience is deliberately distanced, almost estranged, occupying a somewhat sinister role. The artist has clearly set this up as a solitary viewing experience that requires work and certain perseverance on the audience’s part. I also have this nagging sense of guilt. I’m not quite comfortable with the role of unobserved observer I am occupying. As I glance through the tiny opening, I am reminded of peep shows, cheap titillation, of doing something illicit, dirty even. While there is nothing overtly sexual in this performance, there is a sense of repression of female sexuality, violence in this act of struggle between skin and cloth, mind and spirit, this imposed gown a symbol of suppression, perhaps the literal straitjacketing or silencing of the female body and voice? Not just within a physical prison, but symbolised through the state, church, and institutional repression.
I return to the cell …I discover there is now a sizable queue outside of about fifteen people. The place is getting busier, people are whispering, slightly irritated that they have to queue, but more or less resigned to it, making polite chit chat while waiting, or greeting people they know as they arrive. I don’t really feel like being sociable. In fact I feel a bit guilty…should we even be talking? I keep my mouth shut….
Finally it’s my turn. I get to peep through the hole again. The woman is kneeling on the floor now, still futilely struggling with her gown. She makes no sound; there is total silence, except the rustling of her clothes, as she continues her private battle. This struggle reminds me of this artist’s previous works Red Weight and Red Burden1, - here the artist dresses in a gown made from 400 pieces of used red clothing, which she attempts to pull in a dignified and determined manner. The actions appears doomed to failure, with the enormous weight of the gown. Yet the dignified attempt to succeed out weights all of these concerns …it’s about the moment, and the beauty and dignity of the attempt.
Yet unlike these previous performances where the audience could and did intervene at moments to help the artist along her journey, here the audience is deliberately distanced, almost estranged, occupying a somewhat sinister role. The artist has clearly set this up as a solitary viewing experience that requires work and certain perseverance on the audience’s part. I also have this nagging sense of guilt. I’m not quite comfortable with the role of unobserved observer I am occupying. As I glance through the tiny opening, I am reminded of peep shows, cheap titillation, of doing something illicit, dirty even. While there is nothing overtly sexual in this performance, there is a sense of repression of female sexuality, violence in this act of struggle between skin and cloth, mind and spirit, this imposed gown a symbol of suppression, perhaps the literal straitjacketing or silencing of the female body and voice? Not just within a physical prison, but symbolised through the state, church, and institutional repression.
...
photo: Tracy O'Brien
Yet there is defiance in her actions….Pure willpower struggling to break free, to find a voice perhaps.
Someone coughs loudly behind me …I can sense impatience from the others queuing I mumble an apology and leave…
8.20 pm Queue No 2.
I make another attempt to view the work, feeling guilty that I only spent a few minutes with it the last time because of the queue. A lot more people have arrived now. The restrained whispering at the start has all but been abandoned now, the solemn location of museum/ gaol / monument / shrine all but forgotten. It feels like an opening.
A young women hovering around the queue asks me do I want to know what the work’s about? Not quite sure whether she’s an invigilator, audience member, or even performer, I answer politely that I’m queuing to find out. She then proceeds to tell me and the others in the queue – what the work means … like she has memorised it. We nod politely when she finishes, not quite sure what we have just witnessed, but a performance none the less. I suggest that perhaps the work means different things to different people. She looks at me quizzically and walks away…..I abandon the queue, feeling frustrated.
9.50 pm Final queue.
It’s a lot quieter and calmer now. I’m tired both physically and mentally. Only a few die hard people left in front of me now and the queue seems to be moving quickly. I’m noticing sounds much more now. As I queue, I hear the soft melody of water dripping into buckets above my head. This is the first time all night I’ve noticed this dripping. I remember that this was used as a form of torture of prisoners during wartime…can’t remember where though…was it the Chinese? It having the opposite effect on me, I find it calming….
Someone coughs loudly behind me …I can sense impatience from the others queuing I mumble an apology and leave…
8.20 pm Queue No 2.
I make another attempt to view the work, feeling guilty that I only spent a few minutes with it the last time because of the queue. A lot more people have arrived now. The restrained whispering at the start has all but been abandoned now, the solemn location of museum/ gaol / monument / shrine all but forgotten. It feels like an opening.
A young women hovering around the queue asks me do I want to know what the work’s about? Not quite sure whether she’s an invigilator, audience member, or even performer, I answer politely that I’m queuing to find out. She then proceeds to tell me and the others in the queue – what the work means … like she has memorised it. We nod politely when she finishes, not quite sure what we have just witnessed, but a performance none the less. I suggest that perhaps the work means different things to different people. She looks at me quizzically and walks away…..I abandon the queue, feeling frustrated.
9.50 pm Final queue.
It’s a lot quieter and calmer now. I’m tired both physically and mentally. Only a few die hard people left in front of me now and the queue seems to be moving quickly. I’m noticing sounds much more now. As I queue, I hear the soft melody of water dripping into buckets above my head. This is the first time all night I’ve noticed this dripping. I remember that this was used as a form of torture of prisoners during wartime…can’t remember where though…was it the Chinese? It having the opposite effect on me, I find it calming….
...
photo: Sebastian Dooris
She is standing again, this time moving around the cell still struggling with her misshapen gown. I continue to watch her silently thought the peep hole. Suddenly she turns and moves towards me. I panic….my instinct is to jerk back, like I’ve being discovered doing something illicit .I feel guilty. But why? I don’t want to meet her eye. The observed has become the observer as she turns her gaze on me. But only briefly – she turns her head and moves away from the door again. I relax. Someone taps me on the shoulder, asks can they look, I apologise and leave….
As I leave, I calculate that I’ve probably spent no more than six minutes in total viewing this work through my various attempts. Does that make it a good or bad, successful or unsuccessful engagement with performance art? I can’t help but feel ultimately frustrated by my efforts to view this work, and frustrated with the artist for putting me in this position in the first place. Perhaps this is the whole point of the work. I think of the repetitive actions of the performance, the endless and futile yet defiant struggle ……the quiet dignity of the attempt ……my imperfect vision as I gaze through a glass darkly, my role of complicity within all this, ……society’s blinkered vision or complicity?
A prison cell, a woman, a struggle, a peep whole, silence, church, state, collusion, repression…..Ireland - right here, right now. A moment for us all to contemplate, repent perhaps, before we can see more clearly and move on.
Liz Burns, January 2011
1. Red Weight performance by Aine Phillips 16th July 2006, Salthill Promenade, Galway, part of Project 06. Red Burden 17th Sept 2005 Hugh Lane, Dublin. www.ainephillips.com
As I leave, I calculate that I’ve probably spent no more than six minutes in total viewing this work through my various attempts. Does that make it a good or bad, successful or unsuccessful engagement with performance art? I can’t help but feel ultimately frustrated by my efforts to view this work, and frustrated with the artist for putting me in this position in the first place. Perhaps this is the whole point of the work. I think of the repetitive actions of the performance, the endless and futile yet defiant struggle ……the quiet dignity of the attempt ……my imperfect vision as I gaze through a glass darkly, my role of complicity within all this, ……society’s blinkered vision or complicity?
A prison cell, a woman, a struggle, a peep whole, silence, church, state, collusion, repression…..Ireland - right here, right now. A moment for us all to contemplate, repent perhaps, before we can see more clearly and move on.
Liz Burns, January 2011
1. Red Weight performance by Aine Phillips 16th July 2006, Salthill Promenade, Galway, part of Project 06. Red Burden 17th Sept 2005 Hugh Lane, Dublin. www.ainephillips.com