STINA FORS

JV

Since you’re about to once again exploring long durational performance as a way of taking up more time and space in the visual arts field aka the institutional world, I want to go back to Venice. You were working inside one of the most high-end, snobby art contexts imaginable, two weeks in a national pavilion, constantly surrounded by audiences, and sometimes by people who seemed determined to test the limits of your patience. How was it to create a new piece under those conditions?

SF

I wanna go back to clowning. Then I’ll share a detail.
Clowning: play, failure, vulnerability, surprise, embarrassment—turned into pleasure.
Bouffon, the darker cousin: mockery, parody, exaggeration—mocking power and expectation.

Let’s go back to your question in the beginning: maybe it all started with clowns?
At the time, in the Venetian lagoon, I was unaware.
After this fancy experience, I saw it: this old practice runs through my work.
Centuries of knowledge backing me up.

Many times a visitor would come in. Glide. Fake drone. Pan their phone across the room toward my face. In that setting, I was more like an object.

I remember Selin Davasse, who was also an artist in residency saying: how do you create an audience, especially here?

While trying things out, I didn’t mind switching between hosting, interacting, making small talk with visitors as a way to get to know these figures: the ghost, the vampire, and the tall lady, and other days, just being deep in rehearsal mode and not addressing anyone entering. But it’s hard not to say hi.

Mostly, it was the phones that disturbed me. I’m interested in the “we are here now in this room” moment, and the phone created a shield in between. In the final days, I would show my tits when I didn’t want to be captured or have moments posted on social media. Mainly when I did my tongue tricks, I didn’t want to see this online anymore. Nipples became censorship power.