Concepts

I busk on the street in an outrageous costume, making a horrible droning noise on an accordion I don't know how to play, singing Queen songs in an extremely loud falsetto, making annoying sproingy sounds on a jaw harp, getting obnoxious with a kazoo, infuriating birds and local businesses with a nose flute, or whistling so impressively it makes everyone jealous. My busking sign says PAY ME TO STOP.

Art show attendees dress with a lot of attention to detail. They are presenting a specific version of themselves to the other people in the gallery, peacocking their individuality.

For this intervention, I bring a stack of shirts in a variety of sizes and styles and set up shop in a corner of the gallery. When asked about prices, I tell browsers they are welcome to take any shirt of their choice to keep forever, no money required. The price is the shirt they are currently wearing.

Eventually, it happens that someone comes along and chooses a shirt that belonged to another attendee, thereby assuming the chosen persona of that attendee, down to the scent of their perfume and body odor. Sometimes, the previous owner will see the new owner, and they will interact, sparking a potential new friendship and a strange sort of intimacy.

When I was a kid, I saw a crime show on TV where the detectives were looking at the way people walked on some security footage, trying to find a criminal. They said someone's gait was even more distinct than a fingerprint. I took it as a challenge and began altering the way I walked for weeks at a time, taking tiny steps, taking longer steps, wider, criss-crossing, higher, dragging. I think I just wanted to see if anyone noticed. I was a weird kid.

As an adult, I had developed a bad slouch after a relationship with someone much shorter than me. I often looked down when I walked to make sure I wouldn't trip over anything. I stepped quietly and carefully, trying not to make a sound. I also made myself smaller so I wouldn't accidentally brush up against someone. 

At one point, I came across an article that said rapists can spot an easy target by the way she walks. Is that what it was?

It became my goal to permanently change my walk. I would focus on my posture, making my back straight and squaring my shoulders. I'd hold my chin high, scoping out obstacles far ahead, rather than right in front of me. I'd swagger, pretending there were loose gears in my hips and stepping boldly (and loudly). I'd swing my arms and take up a lot of space. I noticed that people would move to accommodate me. I tried to fill my walk with power and confidence. I looked people in the eyes and smiled.

At the Bare Oaks Family Naturist Park in August, 2016, I made myself available to each person who signed up for one to two hours during my Naked State Residency. In that time, I listened to them. I gave them the opportunity to really be heard, and the time and space to talk about themselves in a way they probably didn't often get a chance to. I let myself fall in love with them for awhile. Some wanted to ask my advice. Others told me their life stories. A few told me secrets they couldn't tell anyone they knew. A couple cried. I comforted them.

At the end of our time, I gave them a memento: a bar of soap I carved in the shape of an ear while we sat together.

I faked my own disappearance during a backpacking trip around Europe. A lot of my friends told me when they heard I was missing, they figured it was just an elaborate prank. A few of them never forgave me, and I felt really bad about it. I recorded interviews with strangers I met while I was pretending to be disappeared, and then I interviewed my friends when I came back.

I hung out at the foot of the Eiffel Tower pretending I was a celebrity and got tourists to pay 5€‎ to get their picture taken with me.