CULTURE CURRENT-Marina Abramovic on bringing audiences inside art

Marina Abramovic's eyes look much the same as they did in 2010, when they held more than 1,500 people in a silent gaze during her landmark performance of "The Artist Is Present" at New York's Museum of Modern Art — ​a work that helped cement her status as a pioneer of performance art. The Serbian-born, New York-based artist, who turns 80 this year, this week became the first living woman to be ​honored with a major exhibition at the Gallerie dell'Accademia in Venice, where she won the top prize at the 1997 Biennale Arte. ‌The new show, which ​runs until October, invites visitors to interact with a series of "transitory objects," including crystal structures and minerals, activating what Abramovic describes as "energy transmissions." It also features a re-enactment by other artists of one of Abramovic's best-known performances alongside a depiction of her presentation of "Pieta" — staged with her long-time partner Ulay — presented with Titian's masterpiece of the same name.

Speaking with Reuters ahead of the opening, Abramovic discusses how she tries to shift the focus from artist to audience and the challenge of holding attention in an age of constant distraction. This conversation has been edited and condensed for clarity.

How does it feel to present this exhibition in Venice, a city that ‌has meant so much to you? Venice is a kind of home that I have revisited so many years in my life, (starting) when I was 12 years old, when I first came with my mother from (the former) Yugoslavia. She was working with the ministry of culture, and her duty was to come to Venice to see the Biennale.

I was young, painting already as a child, so coming to Venice was like a new world. When did you first decide to move away from painting and start working with unconventional media?

At the beginning of my career, I mostly depicted my dreams. Later on, I focused on the clouds. One day there was an absolutely clear sky and I saw something like 12 jets that created these incredible lines and drawings. I was fascinated. This was a kind of revelation. (I thought,) "Why I have to go to my studio and play something which is two-dimensional ‌when I can actually ask the military to give me some planes to make drawings?" I can use fire, I can use water, I can use my own body. So I went to the military base and I asked if they would give me some planes to make drawings. They called my father and said, "Your daughter is absolutely nuts, get her home."

This happened in the early 1970s and ‌was the moment in my life when I didn't want to go to the studio anymore. I wanted to work with my body. The public has been a constant element of your work. How has this relationship with the audience evolved throughout your career?

In the early stage, I was the subject and object of the work. And I was the one performing in front of the public. And this was happening all the way, until "The Artist is Present." After that performance, I understood a really deep truth: in this century, the public is sick and tired (of) just looking at art. The public wants to be part of the experience; to participate in a much more active way. This was the only reason why the chair in front of me was never empty. The public was there day and night, even sleeping in front of the museum and waiting for the time to sit with me.

The only way the public can experience performance is if they're doing it themselves. So, this show, "Transforming Energy," is really based on the participation of the public. The public ⁠is the one who ​has to complete the work by participating and experiencing it. We are now in a world dominated by people scrolling ⁠on their phones, social media, and very short attention spans. Do you think people will be able to give a lot of time to the Venice exhibition?

This was exactly the question I was asking myself when the show opened at the Shanghai Museum of Modern Art in 2024. For the Chinese young generation, the phone is a part of the body. They take a picture, go home, and then look at what they actually were there to see without experiencing (it) at all. But they're (also) very disciplined. So, we told them ⁠no telephone and (instructed them to) put on headphones to block sound. There was a door they had to open very slowly and close very slowly. Just this action of opening and closing the door, three hours, you know what? (They) did it.

Why did you ask them to do that? One thing which is interesting about the exercise is the process in your mind. In the beginning, you're bored. And then you think, "This artist is absolutely crazy. Why should I do this in the ​first place?"

But then when you say to yourself, "I'm doing it no matter what," something happens. That becomes the door of opening consciousness, another dimension, another space and time. And there is transformation in doing this. One could think western Europeans may not be so disciplined.

This is a big question: What will happen to the Italian public? But here at the show we have facilitators who ⁠go to you, gently take your hand, bring you to the different installations, ask you to close your eyes, put on headphones to block the sound, and ask you not to take photos. Pain and physical endurance have been a constant feature of your work — notably in your 1974 "Rhythm 0" performance, where you relinquished control of your body to the audience for six hours. How has this relationship with pain evolved throughout your career?

At the beginning, it was the physical pain. I wanted to know what my physical limits of pain were. If you stage ⁠the ​painful experience in front of the public, and you go through this experience and free yourself from the fear of pain, then you become a good example for the public. If I can do it, you can do it too. Physical pain is always such a big issue. But then you understand that you can control pain, physical pain, and you can deal with that if you're not afraid. The one thing that in my career (that has been) much more difficult is emotional pain. I still (haven't) figured out how to deal with (it). It's so much more profound and difficult to deal with emotions.

What's the hardest resistance you've had to overcome in having performance recognized in the mainstream? It's the opinion of the public, the media, and museums. There was always saying that the performance was not even a form of art. If I took that criticism seriously, ⁠I would never leave home. But I was absolutely sure from the very beginning of my career that I was right.

What's the most transformative kind of performance? It is long duration. The public comes and looks and they can't believe that this is happening. Then they start bringing their friends. Friends come and bring other friends. So it becomes some kind of a living community, performers supporting artists.

Performing three months ⁠in a museum (with "The Artist is Present") is a perfect example. I had people who came there many, many times to just ⁠sit with me. Because performance is heavily emotional. It touches your heart, it touches your guts. If something lasts eight hours a day or 10 hours a day for three months, you show the true self; you show vulnerability. And this is so emotional and touches the public.

Are you still transforming, or do you feel more in a phase of reflection at this stage in your life? There is a limit of bodies getting older, but at the same time I wake up every day with new ideas that I want to do.

For me, it's a question of how much time I really have — not to spend in ‌bullshit but to spend in creative time in my life — and the one ‌thing that I really know is that the public has become a very big focus on my work, because I want them to experience what I went through. The perspectives expressed in Culture Current are the subject's ​own and do not necessarily reflect the views of Reuters News. (Editing by Yasmeen Serhan and Aurora Ellis)

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