On Friday, within the stark institution of Alfred State, Ari Hendershot scrubbed the platform of a bus stop with a toothbrush. Clothed only in a sweater and jeans (no shoes) I immediately felt empathy for her as I was currently damning the chilly weather under my own layers. She was on dirty, cold rock--probably pebbles and glass digging into her skin--working vigorously to cleanse a public area, armed only with a small tooth-cleaning device and a muddy, unsatisfying cup of water.
In our critiques, we'd talked briefly about the notion of imagining the past and future of these performances (beyond our group's encounter with them). I wonder how busy the traffic actually is at that bus stop, and how A-Staters responded to her presence. And what went through her mind as she first knelt down to polish off her first square inch of concrete (probably the miserable anticipation of three hours in freezing, self-conscious discomfort)? Mostly, I wanted to know if in the end she had actually succeeded in cleaning her area--maybe she made it dirtier by spreading around the filth? After all, it was a tiny cup of reused, un-refilled water.
This latter thought, I believe, is the crux of Ari's performance. She is uncomfortable, exposed, and reenacting a task usually reserved for those of a lower caste (excuse the lack of political correctness)--yet, the result of her efforts are ultimately disappointing and, well, dirtier. It is a debby-downer of a message, but this performance is about how hard work sometimes gains us nothing (and in some cases, sets us further back). Ari reminds us that, like the dirt on the floor of a bus stop, inanity is indelible.
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