smashion.net

DATE: MARCH 4, 2023

TITLE: ENTER HERODIAS

ACT I: THE MOURNER

TYPE:
CHANCE AS INTENTION
INADVERTENT ENDURANCE
PERFORMANCE OF THE REAL
RUNWAY FASHION FETISH PLAY

LOCATION: BUS STOP AT FLUSHING AND VANDERBILT AVENUES, BROOKLYN NAVY YARD

DESCRIPTION: FOR A THREE-HOUR PERIOD, OUTSIDE THE OPENING NIGHT PARTY OF HEAD HI’S ANNUAL LIGHTING DESIGN EXHIBIT, I SAT AT THE BUS STOP ON MY VICTORIAN PIANO STOOL FROM CHILDHOOD, IN A SHEER BLACK SHROUD, THE “AMUN” HELMET LAMP FROM RICK OWENS’S FALL 2022 STROBE COLLECTION PLANTED SQUARELY ON MY HEAD, REFLECTING ON MY BEST FRIEND’S SUICIDE. I’D FOUND OUT ABOUT HER DEATH A FEW DAYS EARLIER. USING THE CONVENIENT PRETEXT OF THE LAMP SHOW, I CALLED THE WHOLE THING “PERFORMANCE ART.” BUT IN TRUTH I WAS IN FORMAL MOURNING DRESS, AND THE NIGHT WAS ABOUT EMBODYING MY MONSTROUS, INCOMPREHENSIBLE GRIEF AND HAVING OTHERS, KNOWINGLY OR UNKNOWINGLY, WITNESS AND EVEN ABET MY SURVIVAL OF IT. AND THERE WERE PLENTY OF OTHERS. THE LINE TO GET INTO THE PARTY HAD A WAIT TIME OF AN HOUR; HUNDREDS OF PEOPLE HAD TO SLOWLY SNAKE BY ME. YOU COULD SAY I HAD AN “AUDIENCE,” MUCH TO THE CHAGRIN OF HEAD HI’S OWNERS, ONE OF WHOM LITERALLY CAME OUT WITH A TAPE MEASURE TO INDICATE WHERE THEIR PROPERTY LINE WAS SO I WOULDN’T CROSS IT; HIS PARTNER COMPLAINED OF MY “WEIRD ENERGY.” A SIGN POSTED INSIDE THE SPACE DECLARED, “NOPE, THAT GUY IS NOT A LAMPER.” ALL THIS, DESPITE THEIR PREVIOUSLY @ING THE OFFICIAL RICK OWENS INSTAGRAM ACCOUNT WITH A REQUEST TO DISPLAY ONE OF THE LAMPS IN THEIR SHOW (AND NEVER RECEIVING A REPLY). STILL, I UNDERSTAND THEIR POSITION. FOR MY PART, I’M FINE STAYING ON THE OUTSIDE OF CULTURAL SPACES LIKE THEIRS, WHEN INSIDE IT’S A BIT TOO…HI STRUNG. THE BUS STOP IN FRONT OF HEAD HI WAS PERFECT—AS LONG AS THE RAIN IN THE FORECAST HELD OFF. PARTYGOERS WAITING TO GET IN CHATTED WITH ME AND ASKED QUESTIONS (“ARE YOU WORRIED YOU LOOK TOO MUCH LIKE STAR WARS?”), SOME, BECAUSE OF THE LAMP ON MY HEAD, THE FABRIC CONCEALING MY FACE AND MY RELATIVE STILLNESS, DIDN’T REALIZE I WAS A PERSON AND DID A DOUBLE TAKE. IT WAS COLD AND WINDY AND I SAT THERE AND SHIVERED, STARING UP AT THE MOON UNTIL THE CLOUDS ROLLED IN. AT ONE POINT I WONDERED IF THIS WAS LIKE THE COLD MY BEST FRIEND EXPERIENCED IN DEATH. RIGHT AWAY I RECOGNIZED THAT THOUGHT AS CORNY. IN FACT, IT WAS SO COLD I COULD HARDLY THINK ABOUT MY BEST FRIEND’S DEATH AT ALL. I WAS FORCED TO FULLY INHABIT MY OWN BODY WHEN SHE HAD ABANDONED HERS. I WAS TRAPPED IN TIME, AND SHE WAS NOW WITHOUT IT. ABOUT A HALF HOUR IN, I STARTED TO HOPE THAT THE THREE PEOPLE I’D INVITED TO SEE ME “PERFORM” WOULD HURRY UP AND GET THERE. I THOUGHT A HUG MIGHT PROVIDE MUCH-NEEDED BODY WARMTH. ORIGINALLY, I’D ASKED THEM TO COME IN CASE I COULDN’T GET THE LAMP TO LIGHT, THE IDEA BEING THAT THEY COULD PLUG ME INTO AN OUTLET AND BE PART OF THE PERFORMANCE (AN IDEA THAT HELD ABSOLUTELY NO APPEAL FOR THE HEAD HI OWNERS!) THE THING IS, ALL DAY LEADING UP TO THE SHOW, IT WASN’T CLEAR IF THE LAMP WOULD BE OPERATIONAL OUTDOORS. IN AN INSTANCE OF RANDOM AND UNEXPECTED TIMING, I’D ONLY RECEIVED THE LAMP THE NIGHT BEFORE AFTER MONTHS OF TEDIOUS BACK AND FORTH ABOUT IT WITH THE VENDOR, AND IT DIDN’T COME WITH THE PORTABLE POWER PACK THE MODELS HAD USED WHEN IT WAS SHOWN ON THE PARIS RUNWAY. OF COURSE IT DIDN’T. UNTIL LESS THAN AN HOUR BEFORE I SAT DOWN AT THE BUS STOP AND LIT UP WITHOUT BENEFIT OF AN ELECTRIC SOCKET, I DIDN’T KNOW IF THE LAMP WOULD WORK AS PART OF A PERMORMANCE. BUT STARTING THAT AFTERNOON, USING COMMUNITY RESOURCES AND REFERRALS IN GREENPOINT, BROOKLYN, I ENDED UP AT PURE LION LIGHTING ON MANHATTAN AVENUE, WHERE IN A COUPLE HOURS, THE OWNER AND HIS SON BUILT ME A BATTERY AND REWIRED THE LAMP. THEY SUCCESSFULLY ACTIVATED IT WITH THE HOMEMADE PORTABLE POWER SOURCE IN THEIR SHOP AROUND 5:20, 40 MINUTES BEFORE MY START TIME. I EVEN GOT TO THE BROOKLYN NAVY YARD EARLY—ONLY BECAUSE OF THE KINDNESS OF STRANGERS. AND NOW I DIDN’T NEED TO BE PLUGGED IN. BUT AS THE EVENING GROUND ON, I STILL NEEDED MY FRIENDS. DESPERATELY. IF YOU’RE READING CHEAP SYMBOLISM INTO THIS (“I NEEDED THEM LIKE MY BEST FRIEND NEEDED ME AND I WASN’T THERE,” ETC.) GO AHEAD. ANYWAY, IT WAS THAT COLD AND I WAS THAT UNDERDRESSED. THE LEG WARMERS MADE OUT OF OLD SWEATER SLEEVES AND LACE FROM MY GRANDMOTHER’S SEWING BOX WERE THE WARMEST ELEMENT OF MY COSTUME. THE LAMP GAVE OFF LIGHT BUT NOT WARMTH. EVENTUALLY ALL THREE FRIENDS SHOWED UP AT VARIOUS POINTS IN THE EVENING. TWO GAVE ME THE HUGS I ASKED FOR, WHICH ONLY PROVIDED MINIMAL WARMTH. THE THIRD DIDN’T REALIZE I WAS SITTING OUTSIDE THE PARTY AND PASSED RIGHT BY ME WITHOUT STOPPING. BUT ALL THREE OF THEM SHOWED UP FOR ME, AND THAT WAS THE MOST LIFE-CHANGING PART OF THE NIGHT. IT WAS LIKE MY COWORKER’S ACT OF COMPASSION A FEW DAYS EARLIER, THE MORNING AFTER I’D LEARNED THAT MY BEST FRIEND’S SISTER HAD LIED TO ME ABOUT THE CAUSE OF DEATH. THE MORNING AFTER I’D LEARNED THAT EVERYONE ELSE HAD KNOWN THE TRUTH FOR ALMOST TWO WEEKS AND HADN’T EVEN TOLD ME THAT MY BEST FRIEND DIED, LET ALONE HANGED HERSELF. THAT THE CIRCLE OF MOURNERS HAD CLOSED, THEIR AGENDA FOR GRIEVING ALREADY SET, AND I WAS ON THE OUTSIDE, ALONE. ANYWAY, THAT MORNING, MY COWORKER, SEEING THE LOOK ON MY FACE, PUT HER HAND OVER MY HEART AND PUSHED HARD, LITERALLY SQUEEZING THE BLOCKED TEARS OUT OF ME LIKE I WAS A BROKEN DOLL. LIFESAVING. I WAS IN A STATE OF DISTRESS THAT DAY. AND NOW I WAS IN A STATE OF DISTRESS DAYS LATER BUT WAS WEARING A LAMP ON MY HEAD SITTING AT THE BUS STOP. THE MOURNER, PERFORMING THE ACT OF MOURNING. GROTESQUELY, BUT WITH AT LEAST A PRETENSE OF FITTING INTO A CONTEXT. (A LAMP SHOW, NO LESS!) I NEEDED A CONTEXT BECAUSE I WAS GETTING HINTS OF WHAT IT WOULD BE LIKE IF MY GRIEF GOT OUT OF HAND AND I LOST TOUCH WITH REALITY. I NEEDED TO MAKE MY ACTIONS LEGIBLE TO MYSELF (EVEN IF THEY WERE ILLEGIBLE TO OTHERS) AND I USED THE ACTIVATION OF A LUXURY FASHION OBJECT, OF ALL THINGS, TO DO THAT. CLOTHES HAVE HAD THAT POWER OVER ME SINCE I WAS A TEENAGER. MY BEST FRIEND KNEW THIS WELL. I TOOK ADVANTAGE OF THE LAMP’S TIMELY ARRIVAL. IT WAS THE PERFECT LOOK FOR HER VERY PRIVATE MEMORIAL! SHE WOULD HAVE LOVED IT. I ALSO TOOK ADVANTAGE OF COINCIDENTAL LOCATION TO CONDUCT MY PERFORMANCE. MY MOURNING IN THIS PARTICULAR PLACE, RIGHT ACROSS THE STREET FROM THE BROOKLYN NAVY YARD, WAS STRATEGIC. MOURNING, IN THIS PLACE, HAD HISTORICAL PRECEDENT. DURING THE AMERICAN REVOLUTIONARY WAR, WALLABOUT BAY WAS WHERE THE BRITISH PRISON SHIPS WERE DOCKED. KEPT IN DEPLORABLE CONDITIONS, THOUSANDS OF AMERICANS DIED THERE. THE PRISON SHIPS LOGGED THE LARGEST NUMBER OF CASUALTIES IN THE CONFLICT, MORE THAN ANY BATTLE. EVEN IN DEATH THERE WAS DISHONOR, THE REMAINS OF THE MARTYRS SIFTED THROUGH AND SHUFFLED AROUND UNTIL WHAT WAS LEFT OF THEM LANDED IN THE SMALL CRYPT UNDER THE STEPS IN FORT GREENE PARK. SO WAS I IN MOURNING FOR SOMETHING MORE THAN MY BEST FRIEND, SOMETHING THE MARTYRS FOUGHT FOR, SOMETHING THAT’s ON THE VERGE OF BEING LOST? OR WAS I TOO COLD AND NUMB FROM SHOCK FOR SUCH LOFTY SENTIMENTS? I WAS CERTAINLY AWARE OF WHERE I WAS, AND WAS OPEN TO DISCOVERING WHAT I WAS DOING. AND IT CAME BACK TO MY BEST FRIEND. IF I SAT BY THE BAY, WITH ITS HISTORY OF UNSETTLED SOULS, THE AMUN HELMET’S TWO BEAMS BRIGHTLY LIT, WHO’S TO SAY I COULDN’T BE A BEACON, THAT MY BEST FRIEND’S SPIRIT WOULD’T NOTICE AND BE DRAWN BACK TO ME?

MAGICAL THINKING? BIG DEAL. ALL THOUGHT IS SO.

OR WAS I CENTERING MYSELF—THE MOURNER STEALING THE SPOTLIGHT OF THE MOURNED? BECAUSE AROUND THE TIME MY FRIEND KILLED HERSELF, AND THE RICK OWENS HAT ENTERED THE PICTURE, I’D BEEN THINKING—VAGUELY, MAYBE DILETTANTISHLY?—OF MAKING A VIDEO USING A TITLE TAKEN FROM AN AUBREY BEARDSLEY DRAWING FOR OSCAR WILDE’S VERSION OF SALOMÉ. BUT CHANCE BECOMES INTENTION. AND NOW THAT NIGHT, WHICH I DIDN’T EVEN PLAN TO DOCUMENT, IS THE FIRST ACTION IN A SERIES OF PERFORMANCES, OR THE FIRST PERFORMANCE IN A SERIES OF ACTIONS, ALL TO FALL UNDER THAT NAME.

ENTER HERODIAS.

THAT NIGHT WAS ALSO AN OPPORTUNITY TO STRESS-TEST THE POWER OF AESTHETES—OR RATHER, AESTHETICS, WHICH I’VE LONG SEEN AS MY ONLY REFUGE. SURE, MY COSTUME WAS STEEPED IN PREFAB LUXURY CONSUMERISM BUT I MAKE NO CLAIMS ON CREATIVE OR SPIRITUAL PURITY. RENUNCIATION IS A DELUSION LIKE ANY OTHER. FOR ME THE IMPORTANT QUESTION IS: CAN AESTHETICS BE TRANSFORMATIVE IN THE FACE OF CATASTROPHE, PERSONAL OR OTHERWISE? THAT NIGHT AT THE BUS STOP, I SHINED MY LITTLE LIGHT ON THAT QUESTION AND THE NIGHT ANSWERED. MY BODY, WHICH DIDN’T STOP SHAKING FOR TEN MINUTES AFTER I STOOD UP FROM MY STOOL AT THE END OF THE NIGHT, PARTY OVER, FEELING THE FIRST DROPS OF RAIN (WHICH HELD OFF FOR THE DURATION OF THE PERFORMANCE), MY BODY ANSWERED.

YES.