Imagine sitting across a table from another person, looking at each other for an extended period of time. No distractions, no food or drinks on the table, no words spoken--just looking, eye to eye, face to face. How long could you do that without one of you looking away?
The performance artist, Marina Abramovic, at the age of 63, created a piece at the Museum of Modern Art in which she sat in a wooden chair every day, all day, for three months, gazing at the person who sat in the opposite chair. People came from everywhere to sit across from her--as shown in the documentary, The Artist Is Present.
Words and gestures absent, the faces speak--in subtle movements, openings, and tears. Often both people would spontaneously put a hand to their heart in parting, as if to express the gratitude of being seen in that way.
When Marina's former lover appears--after many years apart--he sits across from her in silence, just as the other museum patrons do. Her eyes overflow with tears as she looks into his face. In a scene that rivals any brilliantly acted scene of passion, their eyes speak to each other in a way that is at once vulnerable and playful, full of pathos and knowing.
What a radical thing it is to see and be seen by another person!
As I watched it, I remembered my teacher Mary Frances whose definition of love is "being fully present." Martina's performance piece echoed that--as you could see what "fully present" looks like.
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