20th October
RM, ground floor, 295 Karangahape Road, Auckland
In the middle of RM sat a large concrete trough or tub filled with water, a towel and facecloth, then off to one side a ladder contraption, between it hanging a pair of beige stockings holding a weighty black substance in their feet- Ernesto Neto- style.
Next to the ladder sat a tray with a number of small drinking glasses on it.
The artist- Daniel Webby began by reading from a scrap of paper, the contents of which is now obliterated in my memory by the artists proceeding actions.
After a somewhat nervous talk the artist retreated behind a plastic curtain, and emerged naked except for a towel.
He then steeped into the large tub and began to bathe himself, immersing his whole body under water, washing his face with the facecloth, all the things one would do in their own home, but heightened by our looking in a sort of double gesture, or more conscious movements.
Unlike connotations that the naked body often has in performance art- endurance, testing bodily limits, watching someone bathe, naked, was a gentle, uneasily private action.
On stepping out of the bath Webby scooped some of the water up in a jug and poured it through the stocking contraption, which he told us was filtering system the black weighty stuff was a mixture of substances- some charcoal, that absorbed any impurities from his bathed-in water.
Webby then proceeded to pour a little amount of the bath water into the small glasses distributing them to the people in the room, to drink.
The bath water was tepid and had a curious concrete-y taste
Later walking home, the taste still lingered- carrying a residue of the performance home, I had the feeling that something had been imparted.
I felt like I had carried out some act of worship, I thought of the Eucharist, and about how we had all consumed something that had been intimate with the artist’s body.
But there was also something silly maybe even jokey about the whole thing, our compliance, and perhaps reverence for the artist in drinking his dirty bath water…
Upon leaving I felt quite excited even jubilant, complicit, and ultimately convinced…
Next to the ladder sat a tray with a number of small drinking glasses on it.
The artist- Daniel Webby began by reading from a scrap of paper, the contents of which is now obliterated in my memory by the artists proceeding actions.
After a somewhat nervous talk the artist retreated behind a plastic curtain, and emerged naked except for a towel.
He then steeped into the large tub and began to bathe himself, immersing his whole body under water, washing his face with the facecloth, all the things one would do in their own home, but heightened by our looking in a sort of double gesture, or more conscious movements.
Unlike connotations that the naked body often has in performance art- endurance, testing bodily limits, watching someone bathe, naked, was a gentle, uneasily private action.
On stepping out of the bath Webby scooped some of the water up in a jug and poured it through the stocking contraption, which he told us was filtering system the black weighty stuff was a mixture of substances- some charcoal, that absorbed any impurities from his bathed-in water.
Webby then proceeded to pour a little amount of the bath water into the small glasses distributing them to the people in the room, to drink.
The bath water was tepid and had a curious concrete-y taste
Later walking home, the taste still lingered- carrying a residue of the performance home, I had the feeling that something had been imparted.
I felt like I had carried out some act of worship, I thought of the Eucharist, and about how we had all consumed something that had been intimate with the artist’s body.
But there was also something silly maybe even jokey about the whole thing, our compliance, and perhaps reverence for the artist in drinking his dirty bath water…
Upon leaving I felt quite excited even jubilant, complicit, and ultimately convinced…
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