Nine to Five
I was asked if I wanted to use the sculpture display case at the Memorial Union on Oregon State University campus. I waited nearly a week before replying because I didn’t have enough object-made work to fill the space and it didn’t inspire me to do an installation. But a friend started nudging me to put myself inside the display case. I hedged but the more she mentioned it, the more I realized what a great idea this was. The glass-enclosed case had a floor sturdy enough to stand on and it was wide enough sit, kneel, and move around a bit. I said “okay.”
I was in the 24′x3′ display case, 9 a.m. to 5 p.m. for about 8 weeks. I had a schedule of activities that transformed the space and meaning of the work with time. During the entire 8 weeks, I daily hand wrote the same sentence, numbering each, onto 3×5 lined index cards. After each card was finished I posted it on the padded wall behind me. The sentence was “I’m sorry for the mistake I made.” Along with this ongoing activity, I planned weekly writing events that were posted on the glass for those who wanted to be there when each event happened. When writing, I worked seated or kneeling on the floor of the case. Passersby stopped to watch. Some people would lightly tap on the glass to try to speak with me. The glass was thick and muffled their voices. I did not respond. I chose not to engage with people until the last day.
The writing events:
week one: Placed inside: a large mirror, a book on “How To Remove Stains” open to the page on how to remove lipstick stains, a notebook of handwritten numbered sentences from a previous performance, 20 tubes of red lipstick, and about 15-20 yards of white netting. I wrote in cursive with lipstick onto the outside of the display windows the same sentence (I’m sorry for the mistake I made) numbering each. Then I wrote it onto the mirror inside the display case. People could see their reflection when they walked up to the glass, with the sentences in the mirror as if written across their reflected faces and bodies. The mirror also reflected the sentences on the glass it was facing, picking up the handwriting from the interior side of the glass, which read backwards but when reflected in the mirror they got righted. Therefore the view saw three different versions of the handwritten sentences: the sentences written on the outside of the glass, the sentences written onto the mirror, the reflected-righted sentences–all written across the reflection of the viewers.
week two: At one end of the case, I taped to the inside of the glass identical slides of the twin towers being hit.
week three: Placed a podium inside the display case and spent off and on a few hours reading aloud the index cards that were accumulating by now. When not reading, I was writing the cards.
Note on Week 4: Week 4 started late: I decided not to come in on Monday and posted a sign that read I couldn’t make it to work that day but would be in on Tuesday as usual. I was afraid that I wouldn’t be able to complete the piece. During the days and weeks of non-stop writing “I’m sorry for the mistake I made”, my mind would fill up with memories, instances for which I considered myself guilty, those erasable events when we know we have hurt others, when words lose their power. Or I found myself in tears remembering situations I’d been falsely accused of, taken advantage of, when the mistake was one of trusting someone I shouldn’t have. Again, words being rendered impotent in the relationship.
Although I was experiencing emotional and physical exhaustion at this time, when I took the day off I also found I missed being in the space too. The work had become a time of intense meditation. The activity induced a trance state which felt relaxing. At the end of the day I emerged as if from underwater, to feel renewed and invigorated. So, not just the reading of the sentence, but the act of handwriting this particular sentence, became a collection of moves that my hand memorized. Each day, after an hour or so into the writing, I didn’t have to think about what I was writing or how to write it (except for the numbering which I kept track of obsessively making relatively few mistakes), my hand was moving in the same automatic way our mouth, teeth, and tongue move in order to enunciate words for a language whose vocalization is embedded into our bodies.
After a day off, I felt better and went back to work in the case on Tuesday
week four: Added the rest of the slides, totaling 80, and used the lipstick to draw hearts around each of the slides. At the end of the week I smeared the hearts until they became a mess of red. I used my shirt to wipe my reddened hands and pinned it to the back wall with the index cards.
week five: Writing the sentences on the index cards has been going on the whole time, but this week focused on the effort and endurance of the handwriting in the transformed space. I wrote continuously with only short breaks, and then at the podium 20-40 minutes two or three times a day.
week six: Took out the podium. Spread a drop-cloth on the floor of the display case. Brought water, a large bowl, and 10-15 packages of fat-free instant chocolate pudding mixes. Mixed half of the pudding in the bowl with water unt
il it had a thick consistency. Began to smear the pudding onto the inside of the glass quickly so it wouldn’t dry hard, and then began to lick off the word “Fallible” in 2′x3′ letters, about in the center of the window space (not counting the space at the end taken up by the slides), so it could be read from the outside. Then went back and licked off the words: “The Word Is…” Altogether it read: “The Word Is Fallible”. Last, I licked off an arrow pointing to the slides.
week 7: I hadn’t seen the space since the Friday before. When I walked up to the glass it looked like there was brown glass broken on the floor. I thought someone had gotten into it and broken a beer bottle leaving tiny shards of brown glass covering the floor. I was glad I had left the drop cloth to catch it all. But, when I opened the window, I saw it wasn’t glass but flakes of dried pudding. Under the bright display lights, some of the pudding had dried and fallen in shiny flakes.
I stopped writing this week. I swept up and saved the pudding-flakes in small air-tight containers. I hung the chocolate-stained drop cloth over the index cards on the wall and did not appear in the space until week 8.
week 8: I began cleaning the space as part of the performance. I began with the windows, wiping them clean inside and out, and then the mirror. During these last two days, for the first time in over a month, I was accessible to viewers. I worked outside the glass, or in the case with the windows open, talking to people who wanted to talk with me.
The following week wasn’t officially part of my performance but became part of it as people returned to view its restored state.
