Marina Abramović, "The Artist Is Present"

It was an absolutely gorgeous weekend here in town, offering the kind of “first days of spring” feeling that tempts one to forget that life is essentially meaningless and we are all ultimately alone. So I headed up to MoMA, because nothing helps me remember the existential horror of humanity better than the sculpture of Alberto Giacometti. While I was wandering through the museum I could not help but notice the Marina Abramović performance piece “The Artist Is Present.” There are other Abramović pieces being performed upstairs, which include nudity. Nudity! But let’s talk about the one where she sits at a table and stares. I was surprised by how transfixing it turned out to be.

When I arrived there was a blonde woman who appeared to be in her early fifties seated across from Abramović. She had clearly been there for some time. What’s interesting about this exhibit-or at least was for me-is the way it encourages you to read the faces of the participants. Abramović remained impassive the whole time, and the woman across from her had an unchanging expression as well, but what was it? Intensity? Confusion? Something altogether difficult? It was impossible to tell.

A project like this one is an easy target for the whole “You call that art?” dismissal, although you could probably say that about most of what’s in MoMA. I am too tired to find that philosophy at all worth entertaining. Marshall McLuhan’s famous dictum that art is anything you can get away with is perhaps more helpful, if no less reductive, but here’s the thing: I spent more time watching two people sitting across from each other in the middle of a room than I did with any other work at the museum. And it was really nice out! I could have been in the sculpture garden!

I circled back to Abramović throughout the afternoon, and the same woman was still there. People who had joined the line to be part of the piece were clearly agitated, and at one point I saw a young man talking to an older fellow, complaining that he had been waiting all day and wondering how much longer he thought the woman would be there.

“If you can get her attention,” said the older man, “good luck.”

He was dressed casually. He spoke with a soft southern accent and took the occasional picture of the pair. I approached him once the disgruntled kid left.

“You’re with her? How long has she been there?”

“Been an hour already,” he said, shaking his head.

“Apparently you lose all track of time when you’re sitting there,” I said.

“Must be something like that, because I don’t even know if she sees me.”

It was getting near closing time, and she still showed no sign of moving. The folks on the line looked resigned. Whatever Abramović was doing, she was certainly getting away with it.

“Well, good luck. I hope you guys are going somewhere nice to eat after this,” I said.

“We’d better,” he replied. “I’m frigging starving.”

The piece runs through the end of May. You should probably go see it.