Reading Marina Abramovic

“The gallerist drove me back to my hotel and I went to my room alone—feeling more alone than I’d felt for a long time. I was exhausted, but my mind wouldn’t stop buzzing, replaying scenes from the wild evening. The pain that had been absent when I received the pinpricks and the cut to my neck now throbbed. The fear of that little man wouldn’t leave me. Eventually I fell into a kind of half sleep. In the morning I looked in the mirror, and a whole clump of my hair had turned gray. In that moment, I realized that the public can kill you. The next day, the gallery received dozens of phone calls from people who had participated in the show. They were terribly sorry, they said; they didn’t really understand what had happened while they were there—they didn’t know what had come over them.” from “Walk Through Walls: A Memoir” by Marina Abramovic