The ‘grandmother of performance art’ and I both have Slavic roots. But I didn’t recognise any of her 14th-century Dalmatian fertility rites – and neither did my mum
I’ve just texted my mum to ask why, on the morning of my wedding, she didn’t advise me to drill a hole in a wooden bridge and put my penis in it. No reply from her as yet.
This is the morning after I was lucky enough to be at the world premiere of Marina Abramović’s Balkan Erotic Epic at Aviva Studios in Manchester. It is said of Ms Abramović, formidable as ever at 78, that she is the “grandmother of performance art”. Addressing us beforehand, visibly nervous, she spoke of this work as perhaps her most ambitious, her magnum opus. In the programme she writes: “This gives me the chance to go back to my Slavic roots and culture, look back to ancient rituals and deal with sexuality, in relation to the universe and the unanswered questions of our existence.” Having Slavic roots myself, I wasn’t going to miss this one. And fully acknowledging – as a friend of mine from Stourbridge would put it – that what I know about performance art and a five-pound note wouldn’t get my hair cut, here is my review.
The show – that word feels inadequate – isn’t a play or a musical or a static exhibition. It’s kind of all three. It begins at the funeral of President Tito of Yugoslavia. The audience falls in behind a slow-moving, dirge-playing band to be led into the huge performance space. For me, this was most affecting, as I was brought up well aware of Tito’s cultural weight.
