Dark Side of the Moon
2022, January 6-26
Puccs Contemporary Art [VIII. Víg u. 22.]
In 2010, when I was sixteen, I went to New York, and in New York I went to the Museum of Modern Art. My visit there coincided with that of a woman with long black hair; she was sitting on a chair, facing another person, and more people were standing about watching as they sat there facing each other. At the time I did not know, and would not have cared anyway, that what I saw was the performace The Artist is Present, and the woman, of whom I only saw the back, was Marina Abramovic.
I moved on towards the exhibition halls.
At roughly the same time in Iceland the vulcano called Eyjafjallajökull erupted, and emitted such great amount of dust and soot into the air, that air traffic between Europe and America was shut down for days. Our return journey was cancelled, I rejoiced. I was alone with my joy, as the vulcanic ash, that inicated adventure, freedom and novelty to me, meant danger, unpredictability, financial problems, failed responsibilities, lonelyness, isolation and abandonment on this unknown land for the adults around me.
This installation was not inspired by Marina Abramovic. However, in essential aspects it does show significant similarity to the performance in MoMa that I might not stop to watch today either. An exposed and bounded look constitutes one part of it; and as in the case of Abramovic, I would ruin its essence if I described what actually happens.
In the end, a brave airplane did cross to this hemisphere with us on board, and was not disturbed by the dark vulcanic fog a bit. The journey took less time than on the way there; as the known part of the world turned under us, and the other to our back.