Mary Coble is a dedicated artist whose 2005 performance piece, Note to Self, involved being tattooed with the names of 436 gay, lesbian, bi and transgendered people who died as a result of hate crimes. The performance took 12 hours.
On the one hand, wow. On the other hand, is this art?
Here is a parallel, under the category of Too Much Information:
Late at night, I like to pick at my legs. “Like” isn’t the right word. It’s more, I have to pick at my legs. This has been going on long enough that I know it’s a form of OCD because I don’t want to do it but I do it anyway.
It started with a tweezer and a couple of ingrown hairs. I hate shaving my legs but I hate ingrown hairs even more. Soon, you get a little scab and the next night, you need to pick off the scab. Pretty soon, it’s war. My legs are a battlefield and no one is winning. I stopped for a few months but then started again.
I know this is a response to intolerable anxiety. I know I should wear mittens at night, or take up knitting or wear high boots until I get into bed.
Nevertheless, I haven’t managed to stop.
Mary Coble has inspired me to ask the question: IS THIS ART?!? How about if I call this a six month performance piece, with my husband the sole spectator??
I think that having only one spectator makes it super arty!
I already feel kind of important about my work!
What do you think?