Rosanna Albertini about MELINDA RING‘S Forgetful Snow, a four hour performance
at The Box Gallery, Los Angeles
Could it be that human bodies, skin coats on bones growing bushes of hair here and there move in the space like snow flakes? The landscape is contained by right angles honestly supporting the architectural skin around a naked movement. No costumes, no music. I could listen to the ticking of my brain and drag the human figurines into my engine as if they were hungry cells coming to clean my room: words, grammar, and memories disappear. And the human flakes fall and fall on the white carpet almost as if expecting to be absorbed by it.
Of course they are not. One could say they find one another, arms and legs recombined in a collective body for awhile, then move apart, fall on their own. My moments of mental emptiness do not last. Other images appear. I let them come. “Dana”, 1885. One of Rodin’s sculptures made under the influence of Camille Claudel.
Camille Claudel’s bodies trying to contrast the heaviness of their lives and losing power in that very effort. Melinda’s bodies exploring a space that brings back John Cages’ silence, and filling it with figments of her mind. A child would ask: “Are they real?” “Certainly” I reply, “As real as any dream.”
The metaphor, after three hours, melts. For an hour the four figures become completely human musical personas.They challenge their weight, their strength, their self-awareness. Eyes lost inward, as if they don’t see. The white garden blooms with their movements, the skin is made pink and red under the effort, translucent with sweat, and human smell. Peter says, “I forgot they had a face, each body, their whole body has become a character.”