1st Performance, June 7th, 2024.
Score:
Enter and undress. Put Kars 3 together and pick them up. Jump up and down until failure. Bind chest. Re-dress and exit.
Embodied Account:
“I am nervous, jumpy even. After having performed this action previously, I am unsure of the discomfort and challenge it will require of me. Reluctantly, I force myself to enter the space. I turn to face the projections that I will soon insert myself into. From this outside perspective, I undress. Once naked, I walk over to Kars 3. I pick them up and place them on the ground. I start to disassemble them. I reattach their limbs in a new order, so they are less recognizable as a ‘body’. They are a combination of limbs and parts. I hold them in my arms and step into the light of the projector. I take a breath to center myself. Then I start to bounce from my knees. Starting to jump, I notice the weight of Kars 3 is much heavier than I anticipated. With every rebound, it is more difficult to continue. Their many limbs begin to slip from my arms, I readjust to keep them in my grip. The sounds of the hardware clangs with each jump. I feel so heavy, like I’m barely able to leave the ground. I give up and drop Kars 3 onto the floor, but continue jumping. It feels freeing to release their weight. I feel a compulsive urge to continue jumping: I am not ready to accept failure. The light of the projector and my blurred gaze over the wall tits are my direction. I am aware of the viewers around me, self conscious of the intensity of the content I am presenting. I continue to jump. As my calves tire, I can tell that my heels are not reaching the ground. The dancer in me clocks this as ‘bad technique’ and ‘unsafe practice’. I know that I will lose momentum to keep going if I make a conscious effort to plant my heels on the ground at each jump. I want to stop, but I keep pushing. I need to prove something to myself. That I am strong? That I am a performance artist? My calves burn to the point of weakness, my jump peters to a bounce, then a light sway as I recenter. My breath is heavy. A cool sweat surrounds my hot, tired flesh. I kneel down to pick up the scissors and tape on the floor. I cut the tape into 6 strips, and stand. I tape my chest strip by strip, holding the remaining strips in between my thighs. The tape fails to stick to my skin in multiple places. Once I’ve used each of the strips, I stand. I recenter, almost to display the failure of this attempt to bind. An instinct of embarrassment and wanting to hide comes up. I step over Kars 3 and take my time to redress. My weak legs carry me out of the room.”
Kars Dodds 