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Marina Abramović’s performance “The Artist is Present” at her MoMA retrospective is unsettling. Her posture and stillness are otherworldly. She’s a guru. A crowd of people surrounded her perimeter, their eyes locked for hours. The foyer was brightly lit and cameras were stationed at each corner. To add to the spectacle while I was visiting, a superfan stood in line wearing a robe that was an exact copy of the robe worn by Abramović.

MoMA, being social networking savvy these days, has a Flickr pool of the performance participants. This set of images allows a new reading of the performance that one would never contemplate in the presence of the actual piece. The grid of faces allows for a quick deduction that about 1/8 of them are in tears, a few are celebrities, and according to one comment – New Yorkers have bad hair (ouch! – guilty as charged). Three weeks into the show comes the blog: “Marina Abramović Made me Cry.”

The blog’s author, 28-year-old Katie Notopoulos, hadn’t seen the exhibit before making the blog, even though she apparently works down the street. (As a fellow overwhelmed New Yorker, I am not one to judge not taking advantage of things that occur down the street.) I find this detail interesting in wondering if her unique read of the performance was aided by the fact that she had not attended the exhibit. For instance, would you be inclined to research the Flickr pool after visiting? This theory would be difficult to prove.

Notopoulos, did eventually see the exhibit, but did not partake in the performance. However, based on her Flickr expertise, she is receiving as much coverage as the man who lost his membership for engaging in inappropriate behavior (hopefully). If this comment sounds snarky – it is not in relationship to Notopoulos’s blog – perhaps I roll my eyes at WSJ’s lack of reference when covering the blog. They treat the blog author as an expert on the phenomenon of people coming to tears during the performance. I would think an expert on hypnosis or the silva method would need to be consulted as well.

The site of the exhibition (MoMA) is filled with copycat performances in all corners. I even saw a charming couple wrapped in duct tape recreating “Point of Contact” on the street outside.

Perhaps because of MoMA’s enormous size, I often feel blasé when I finally make it through an exhibition and its crowds. Abramović’s work in an institutional setting can surpass its mall-like confines and inspire people to get their freak on in the streets and engage Internet surfers and lackadaisical journalists. I will be sad when it leaves.

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Why Marina Abramović Makes Me Cry

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