BREATHING FACE DOWN, I REFUSE THE GROUND

I

I enter the gallery with bare feet.

My feet are touching the ground.

I can feel my sole, as much as I can feel the ground.

I walk slowly to press my body weight deep into the floor.

Perhaps aimlessly, or perhaps intentionally, I appear to be walking pointlessly.

I see a space, I stop and stand still.

After a while, I begin to lie down.

Facing towards the ground, I rest my body in the prone position.

With my hands, feet and head off the floor, my torso is now my base.

Every breath I take, my chest sinks, my back rises.

When I inhale, my face moves away from the ground.

When I exhale, the ground moves closer to my face.

I count every breath I take rising and falling quietly to myself.

One hundred breaths is gone and I carefully lower my limbs.

I return to my feet.

I exit the gallery.

II

I enter the gallery with bare feet.

My feet are touching the ground.

I can feel my sole, as much as I can feel the ground.

I walk slowly to press my body weight deep into the floor.

Perhaps aimlessly, or perhaps intentionally, I appear to be walking pointlessly.

I see a space, I stop and stand still.

After a while, my body begin to collapse.

Falling off balance, I crouch on the ground like an animal.

Like a helpless creature, my hands, feet, torso and head move in different directions.

I have no sense of up or down or front or back.

There are only spaces between my body and the ground.

My body is an existence as a lump of moving flesh.

I stop to take a few breaths and continue to move until I can no longer take it.

I return to my feet.

I exit the gallery.

End of performance.