Foreign Policy comments on the contradictions of US foreign policy that often couples bombing with humanitarian aid.
As I travel abroad, I am acutely aware of the current image of the U.S. with Bush pursuing his wars on terrorism, on Afghanistan, on Iraq, and where next? I have no choice but to own it, yet I don’t agree with it. I must join in protest.
Dressed in an unmarked black jumpsuit, with an olive green bag slung over my shoulder, I stand behind a table covered in a lace cloth. On the table is a terra cotta planter filled to bursting with fleshy red cyclamen flowers. Brightly lit, the plants are lush and glowing with life.
I carefully preen the plants, watering them, brushing off stray dust, removing dead leaves and wilted flowers, carefully arranging the flowering blossoms. Finally, I stand at attention, and ask the audience to close their eyes, please, “Zampknij oczy proszq.â€
As soon as their eyes are closed, I remove a large rock from my bag, take aim and crush the flowers with one loud smash. I replace the rock in my bag.
At which point I go back to caring for the plant, repair-ing the damaged leaves and blossoms. I bandage them with medical gauze which is also in the bag.
Again, I ask the audience to close their eyes, and this time I smash the plant twice with the rock, using as much force as I can. I put the rock back in the bag.
And once again, I return to caring for the plant, repairing the further damage, restoring it to as near perfect condition as I can.
The action continues, escalating. Each cycle I smash the plant an additional time, with all the force I can muster, and each time the flowers are demolished further. The repair process takes longer and longer, and the results are less convincing. Eventually, the terra cotta planter cracks and crumbles, the stems of the plant are crushed, the leaves and blossoms bruised and torn. It becomes a pile of rubble. Irreparable.
Some fine points.
While I begin asking politely that the audience close their eyes, it grows more commanding. At some point I stop giving the instruction, either assuming that the audience knows what to do, or not caring what they see.
I also never tell the audience to open their eyes, which results in some people keeping their eyes closed for several rounds before finally opening them out of curiosity, to find out what they are missing.
As a performer I feel as if I have gone through every possible relationship to the action, including boredom, distaste, pleasure, fury, and grief, even within the course of a single performance.
The audience initially finds the action humorous, but the repetition and the methodical escalation of the action eventually generates a kind of horror. I imagine that the audience goes through a similar range of emotions as I do during the performance.
Other performances of American Foreign Policy I took place in Ustka, Poland; Oni Gallery, Boston, MA and Chashama, New York City, NY.
