Te haré invencible con mi derrota


Photo by Susana Paiva from the On the Boards website

When we chose Spanish artist Angélica Liddell's piece 'I will make you invincible with my defeat' as part of our season subscription to On the Boards, I was fully aware that it would be difficult to watch. I was prepared for the razors, the blood, the spiral of despair. I was prepared to squirm uncomfortably in my seat and to cover my eyes during the worst parts. I was not prepared, however, to find myself bored watching a grown woman throw a tantrum befitting a 14 year old because she had turned 42.

Yes, life is unfair. Yes, it sucks to lose your looks, your energy and your youth. But Ms. Liddell's performance lacked what you gain with age: wisdom and perspective. I would have found it more meaningful to watch Ms. Liddell struggle with cutting herself and then NOT do it, because as a 40something, you realize the futility and immaturity of such an act. One of the most humbling revelations of aging is not only recognizing that you don't matter, but that it doesn't matter that you don't matter.

In a performance last year at On the Boards, Ralph Lemon gave voice to his own grief over the premature death of his lover. In the work, one of his dancers sobs loudly for several minutes, out of view at first, then slowly making her way onto the stage. Those long minutes were excruciating, and the audience struggled in discomfort. Some laughed, some sighed heavily, some left. All who stayed shifted uneasily in their seats. The stark simplicity of watching this woman cry alone on stage forced us all to face what grief means and how we respond to it, especially when it lasts longer than what is socially acceptable. I do not deny Ms. Liddell's right as an artist to push the audience's buttons, but her performance did not steer me toward contemplating existential questions, as Mr. Lemon's work had. Because Ms. Liddell's performance was so lacking in content, I was left to focus instead on her histrionics.

Perhaps if I were younger, I would have identified with Ms. Liddell's rage and labelled it as "raw" and "real." Instead, it felt contrived, empty and ugly. I recognize that it takes a great deal of willpower to consistently mutilate yourself with razors and pins for the sake of "art," but there have been episodes of Louis C.K.'s comedy show 'Louie' that have far more poignantly illustrated the trials and despair of being middle-aged than all of Ms. Liddell's screaming, blood-letting, spitting and stomping.