33 Artists in 3 Acts (38 page)

When asked about originality in art, Abramovi
says that it is easy
to spot, but also nonexistent. “We can’t invent anything in this world which is not there already. It’s about seeing in a different way,” she says. “Anything that is revolutionary is in front of your nose and it is never complicated. But you don’t see it until you have a safe mind. Performance can help people to get into a state of mind to perceive the simplicity.” Abramovi
suggests that live performance thrives in tough economic times because it takes us back to basics. “It doesn’t cost anything and it reminds us of the purity and innocence of art.”

Abramovi
has never sold her performances. For years, she scraped together a living through teaching and commissions. She didn’t acquire gallery representation until 1995, when she struck a deal with New York’s Sean Kelly Gallery. Nowadays, she also works with Lisson Gallery in London. Her income comes mainly from selling photographs, often in editions of seven, made in collaboration with Marco Anelli, a photographer. These images go beyond mere documentation to attain, in her words, a “static energy and charisma that can really communicate.”

The most popular of these works are portraits of her higher self. In the black-and-white photograph that adorns the cover of the MoMA catalogue,
Portrait with Firewood
(2010), for example, Abramovi
poses heroically in a manner that evokes social realist images of farmworkers. As she sees it, “I wanted an image of the artist as survivor, looking into the future.” The artist generally likes her face to be clean of makeup, “so the ideas come through.” In a photo titled
Golden Mask
(2009), however, Abramovi
’s face is covered in flaky gold leaf and spotlit against a black background. She seems to be making fun of her objectification as a luxury good.

The question that looms large is: what to do next? “I’m not going to do
Artist Is Present
for the rest of my life even if it was a huge success,” she says. “When you repeat, you really lose respect for yourself.” Abramovi
bemoans the snags of success. When artists are celebrated for key works or a “certain language,” many of them get stuck. Sometimes the overheads of space and staff force them into a certain groove. “For me, the studio is a trap to overproduce and repeat yourself. It is a habit that leads to art pollution,” declares Abramovi
. “Nothing new
happens. You don’t surprise yourself. Artists are here to risk, to find new territory. Risk, especially when you are a known artist, includes failing. It is an essential part of process. Failure is healthy for your ego.”

Since
The Artist Is Present,
Abramovi
has thought a lot about art audiences and her legacy. She has embarked on creating the Marina Abramovi
Institute, whose mission will be to support performance art (and other forms of performance), particularly works of long duration, and to educate the public in its transformative effect. It will be housed in a 33,000-square-foot space not far from here, in Hudson, New York. Visitors to the institute will undergo “mind and body awareness exercises” that introduce them to Abramovi
’s craft, which may include slow-motion walks and an “eye-gazing chamber.”

Performance artists notoriously disdain the theater. Initially, Abramovi
was no exception. “Performance is about the true reality,” she explains, whereas “theater is artificial, the blood is not blood, the knife is not a knife.” Nevertheless, she asked several directors to “contact” her life and “remix it,” so she could see it anew. Robert Wilson, an avant-garde director, has risen to the challenge with an opera titled
The Life and Death of Marina Abramovi
, a project that will no doubt enhance her legend. “The only theater I do is my own,” she explains. “My life is the only life that I can play.”