I’m on Day 3 of Marina Abramović immersion for a piece I’m writing about her new memoir, Walk Through Walls. She is a thorny, intriguing subject, and I feel both stuck and manic as I write and write and delete and delete. To ground out the fever the Artist has conjured in me –the Liser-sized warp in the time-space continuum– I keep scooping up poor Grace, who is cowering in her special rocking chair. While she protests with her newly acquired “Noooooo” meow, I say: “THE PERMAKITTEN IS PRESENT.” There is only one amused member of my household today.
I’m on Day 3 of Marina Abramović immersion for a piece I’m writing about her new memoir, Walk Through Walls. She is a thorny, intriguing subject, and I feel both stuck and manic as I write and write and delete and delete. To ground out the fever the Artist has conjured in me –the Liser-sized warp in the time-space continuum– I keep scooping up poor Grace, who is cowering in her special rocking chair. While she protests with her newly acquired “Noooooo” meow, I say: “THE PERMAKITTEN IS PRESENT.” There is only one amused member of my household today.