When Marina Abramović Dies

By James Westcott
MIT Press

As someone with only one semester of art history under my belt, I find myself both interested and intimidated by the politics and practice of performance art. After reading this exhaustive biography of performing art legend Marina Abramović (who just wrapped up a stunning retrospective at the Museum of Modern Art in New York), my intimidation has been replaced by a strong desire to see Abramović’s work.

When reading about an iconic figure such as Abramović, the private aspects of her otherwise very public life are the most interesting artifacts to glean. Through complete cooperation from Abramović and many of her friends and family members, James Westcott produces a marvelously comprehensive history of the artist's childhood in Yugoslavia and the beginning of the career that would revolutionize the use of the body as an artistic vehicle in the 1970s. The downside of writing about such an icon is that, while there is no shortage of fascinating material, one must organize it in such a way as to not overwhelm the reader. Westcott does just that, dividing Abramović’s life into three distinct parts: her early years, her work with fellow performance artist and former romantic partner Ulay, and her recent foray into solo performances.

For readers familiar with Abramović’s body of work, the book will most likely open your eyes to some of her earliest projects, and will offer interesting insight into her more famous pieces. One such example is her 1975 performance of Rhythm 0, where she laid out seventy-two items for museum patrons to use on her however they wished. These items included a loaded gun, which a man put in her hand and pointed at her neck. The author seamlessly weaves together interviews, archival photo footage, and factual information to make Abramović’s life as vibrant on the page as it is in reality.

Above all, Westcott proves to be an incredibly detailed biographer. Near the end of the book, readers understand where some of this attention to detail stems from; he recently served as a transcriptionist for some of Abramović’s marathon performances, writing hundreds of pages at her insistence to describe her hours of sitting or standing during certain pieces. The result of Westcott’s well-researched writing style and Abramović’s openness and commitment to storytelling and making art, When Marina Abramović Dies becomes an enthralling look at the world of performance art, a strong-willed and endlessly creative woman, and what happens when those two things collide for over forty years.

Review by Alyssa Vincent

Meredith Monk: Inner Voice

Directed by Babeth M. VanLoo
Buddhist Broadcasting Foundation



Dutch Filmmaker Babeth VanLoo’s compelling tribute to sixty-seven-year-old choreographer-musician-teacher-composer-artist Meredith Monk does many things. In addition to introducing us to this enigmatic Jane of many trades, it showcases the artist’s creative processes and worldview. Along the way, it looks at the ways Buddhism has infused Monk’s work. “Silence is her source,” VanLoo explains.

The engrossing eighty-two-minute film includes footage of Monk performing, writing, and living in both upstate New York and New Mexico. The 2002 death of her life-partner, Mika, is mentioned, but this is not a film about grieving. Instead, the life force that propels Monk—she has been awarded numerous honorary degrees as well as a MacArthur “Genius” award—is both celebrated and explored.

Monk’s thought processes—and the questions that keep her up at night—are shared. "How do you practice fear?" she wonders. “So much of what we do is fear based. We’re afraid of the fear, of walking through it.” That realization led Monk to begin writing a piece of music that eventually became "Scared Song." Like everything she does, the final product was developed collaboratively. Her process is fascinating, since the massive ego of most composers is wholly absent in Monk. Instead, her colleagues describe her welcoming attitude, and site her willingness to accommodate suggestions and contributions by the musicians and actors she performs with.

Philip Bither, Senior Curator at Minneapolis’ Walker Art Center, calls her “one of the seminal people of our time. She resists categorization and has created great work in five, six areas of art. That’s really rare. We tend to categorize people as actors, singers, dancers.” Similarly, choreographer Phoebe Neville marvels at Monk’s ability to avoid what she calls “the trap of success. She has always maintained her integrity and has been able to say ‘no,’” Neville says. This, she continues, has fired Monk‘s creativity for forty-plus years, and has helped her avoid burnout and exhaustion.

In the end, it’s a question of balance—and Monk is the poster woman for this value. Whether working alone or with others, she acknowledges the need to take periodic timeouts. This has allowed her to continually recharge, think, and observe. “As a soloist,” Monk says, “I can be very precise and rigorous, but at the same time I am open and fluid to what is happening in the moment. That’s why I like to work without words. It throws the mind into a very different state.”

Indeed, listening to Monk’s vocalizations—her range is enormous—is virtually guaranteed to take listeners on a journey. Since the words are essentially nonsense—made up of sounds that have no literal meaning—you can infuse the music with significance or can simply let your mind wander and experience what you’re hearing. It’s a sensual, exciting, and unusual encounter—and VanLoo captures it brilliantly.

While the film could have used a bit more background about Monk’s early life—it does mention that a childhood eye infirmity led her to listen closely to music and notes that both her mother and maternal grandfather were successful performers—and might have included footage of Monk discussing the ways aging has impacted her efforts, it is nonetheless lovely. In the end, this short introduction to Monk’s life’s work—and the way she integrates spirituality into her artistic process—is inspiring. Van Loo’s love of Monk shines through, but the fact that she avoids fawning makes Meredith Monk: Inner Voice an insightful look at one of the most innovative and fearless artists of our time.

Review by Eleanor J. Bader

The Danish Girl

By David Ebershoff
Penguin Books

The Danish Girl is like a multilayered Flemish painting or tapestry. On the surface, it’s the story of the marriage of two painters, Clara and Einar. However, Einar Wegener was the first male to undergo successful gender affirming surgery. And The Danish Girl is also the story of a search for one’s true identity, and how one navigates that struggle within the boundaries of a relationship.

The novel opens in Copenhagen in the 1920s and the author has painted a rich landscape of the country and culture at the time, which I found almost as interesting as the storyline. We meet Clara and Einar after they have settled into a domestic routine, of sorts: two painters living in Copenhagen trying to make a living through their art. Known for his landscapes, Einar is the more acclaimed and successful of the two, while Clara finds herself painting portraits of well-known businessmen and society types. Clara is a young, willful, and wealthy California heiress who fell in love with Einar while enrolled in art classes at the Royal Academy, where he is a teacher. Despite being six years her senior, Einer was shy and awkward, and Clara pursued him somewhat relentlessly.

As the novel progresses, we discover that Einar has been encouraged by Clara to occasionally dress in women’s clothes when her female subjects are delayed or unable to make their sitting appointments. Einar is a slender, pretty man who is described as "beautiful" in the novel. Clara senses that Einar has a love of all things feminine, and starts to encourage him to dress as a woman, who they start introducing as Einar's distant cousin Lili to their friends. At first, this is a secret game between the pair, but as Einar needs to dress as Lili more and more, the dynamic in the marriage changes, making Clara increasingly uncomfortable. Clara believes that part of loving someone is doing whatever you can do to make them happy, and although she is ambivalent about Einar’s need to dress as Lili, her paintings of Lili start to garner her praise and acclaim in the art world.

The subject matter of The Danish Girl could have been treated as a spectacle, or voyeuristic experience, but it is treated sensitively by the author. The author sensitively renders Einar’s sometimes painful experiences with his changing identity, and we experience the distinct worlds of these two separate individuals. I was surprised to discover that this novel was first published in 2000. The story is especially topical given that transgender experiences are now being discussed on shows like Oprah, which signifies that the issue has become mainstream, or at least an acknowledged part of our cultural dialogue.

The Danish Girl is being made into a movie that is scheduled for release in the United States in 2011. Nicole Kidman will star as Lili. If reading is supposed to take you on a journey of the mind and expand your understanding of the world, The Danish Girl is certainly deserving of high praise.

Review by Gita Tewari

The Artist in the Office: How to Creatively Survive and Thrive Seven Days a Week

By Summer Pierre
Perigee

I was looking forward to reviewing The Artist in the Office because it seemed so relevant to the situation many people I know find themselves in, myself included. Making it as an artist these days is tricky, and without a patron to support them, most emerging artists need another job to make ends meet.

In this book, Summer Pierre hits many of the emotional highs and lows people in my position feel: guilt because they’re not doing art full-time, frustration that they are unable to be creative at work, suffocation at the restraints of a nine-to-five schedule, and the constant nagging question of what your “real job” is. An artist herself, Pierre demonstrates noticeable insight in to the day-to-day life of the average creative worker.

There’s a lot to be talked about on this topic and no easy answers. This book never tries to solve the “problem” of how to be an artist in the office, which is for the best because there’s no magic solution that will resolve this anxiety. What Pierre does suggest is a change in approach. The most solid advice I took away from this book was to remain positive and keep focused on the specifics of what you really want. I know from experience that it’s easy to get stuck in the “If I only had xyz than I would be happy” mindset, which gets you nowhere. Pierre reminds us that working in an office—having a “day job”—while being an artist is hardly the end of the world, and in fact can often benefit your creative work.

Unfortunately, when these benefits are discussed in detail, the book tends to lose some of its insightful commentary and switches to somewhat condescending advice and cutesy pictures to get the point across. Most artists who work in an office hardly need a full-page illustration telling them how the company photocopier can be useful for... photocopying. Or how work computers can be used for non-work stuff. Surely most of us know these things already? The book also could have done without the handwritten doodling of things to do on your lunch hour or how to play “bingo” on your morning commute.

This book is at its strongest when the author seriously engages with the question of what it means to be an artist in a culture that doesn’t necessarily value art. Part four of the book, “Ideas for Change,” is the strongest section. It reads like a heartfelt conversation with a friend who in the end convinces you to not be so hard on yourself and reminds you that you have to value yourself before anyone else will.

Review by Jennifer Burgess