Marina Abramović: The Albertina Modern

Curated by Bettina Busse, the exhibition restages four iconic performances: Imponderabilia, Luminosity, Nude With Skeleton and Art Must Be Beautiful – Artist Must Be Beautiful. Abramović, however, will not be performing. Instead, her students at MAI, to whom she has taught her techniques, present the works. Born in 1946 in Belgrade, Abramović has become one of today’s leading artists. Her work draws inspiration from her upbringing in a turbulent social context, especially Tito’s tough dictatorship in her home country.

Now, in the show at Albertina Modern, visitors have the opportunity to walk through each room and be reminded of Abramović’s emblematic and trailblazing performances, reflecting on humanity and issues like control, consciousness, transformation, passivity, silence, war, and ritual. The Artist Is Present, possibly her most famous performance, doesn’t feel like a performance at all. A video shows the emotional toll one minute of silence and eye contact has on the audience members that sit opposite Abramović. The camera angles move from wide, watching two people stare at one another, to portrait style, focusing on the expressions of those who engage — tears gently rolling down a cheek, a cautious smirk, but never blank. One minute of eye contact and silence may not seem like a big feat, but think back to the last time you looked someone in the eyes, said nothing, and just watched one another.

This kind of intentional human contact is so rare, it takes more effort to focus your gaze than to be looking away in the distance as you speak to someone. Eye contact is one of the most effective ways to establish trust and communication, interpreting emotions and authenticity. We have grown so uncomfortable by this since screen-communication pervaded our socialisation. Eyes are the window to the soul and, for three months straight, Abramović saw the souls of thousands of people.

One of her most difficult performances to watch probes the soul as well. In Rhythm 0 (1974), a table with seventy-two assorted objects and weapons was laid out for the audience to choose from and use on Abramović. As time passed, they grew more brutal, trying to elicit a reaction from her. When there was none, her humanity faded for them, excusing their actions because she kept still, poised. The images of this performance force us to look at the capability each one of us possesses to turn from affectionate to violent through a process of dehumanisation.

In Art Must Be Beautiful – Artist Must Be Beautiful, the simple act of brushing one’s hair turns to a violent rant where the title is repeated by the performer over and over again and the brush is struck against the scalp and dragged through the hair, each time with more ferocity. You remember your morning routine and start to cringe at the rawness of the scalp. The violence and frustration is palpable and leads you to question beauty, art, and femininity.

In the restaging of Luminosity, the body is suspended in the air, nude, arms and legs extended in a test of physical and mental tenacity. With only a bicycle seat to hold them up, the performers’ endurance leads to a state of enlightenment beyond the confines of their physical state. The bright light shone on them looks as though they are on an operating table in the morgue, ready for the next transition. In Nude with Skeleton, Abramović explores her own mortality, lying down nude with a skeleton atop her body mimicking her position. The weight of death is always there, but it does not crush you. Instead, it serves as a reminder of life itself. The video of her original performance and the live restaging are side by side, showing that the inevitability of death is not generational but ever-present.

In all of her works, the audience is participating, whether they know it or not. Marina has spoken about the energy she derives from looking out at the people who watch her. Not only when she’s staring into the eyes of people, but even when she’s just walking around a set of three conjoined, elevated rooms with the audience down below, watching. She dares people to look at her, at the discomfort that is witnessing a human use their body for unimaginable acts. You want to look away, but you can’t. You want her to look at you, and when she does, you feel proud and shamed at the same time.