“Let’s go to the cocktail party at the Jewel Box”, my friends said. “Free drinks if you see a five-minute film? Great deal”, I replied. And there was valet parking, and willow-wispy artsy chic ladies mingling with smartly cut young men. And champagne and laughter under the stars next to a sparkly glowy ruby cube.
Just before midnight we walked inside and up flights of depressing concrete stairs, and into a world of an endless, deep red sunset. The air vibrated with a deep bass hum and a soulful crying tune. Bubbles and chatter waned away as we dove into shadows and loneliness. Slowly, slowly, a raven-haired woman appeared in front of us, floating mid-air without a single thread of clothing, carrying the sorrows of every grieving mother in the world in her eyes. Some years back she made so many people cry by just a silent stare across a table. This time she did it through the silver screen.
And I could not help but feel we had only seen the beginning and that it was all our hearts could handle.
(‘A portrait of Marina Abramovic’ by Matthu Placek screened at Art Basel in Miami Beach; Florida, USA; December 2013)