Weigh a moment

I stand in the room, elegantly dressed in a jacket, shirt, tie, and formal shoes. The audience surrounds me.

No one recognizes me, and my outfit doesn’t help me identify with the performer. I look more like a businessman, a distinguished figure witnessing something.

I walk briefly down the street leading to the gallery, pause, resume, sit down, and finally enter the gallery. I mingle with the audience, who still can’t distinguish the performer. After a few minutes, I move to the center of the room and put on my weightlifting belt over my suit. I tighten the belt as much as possible.

I’m addressing someone in the audience: Excuse me, weigh a moment… and then lift her, keeping the person as airy as possible. I choose different personalities so as not to give the impression of trying to use lightweights. I alternate the choices. I repeat the action several times until my strength allows. Once I reach my limit, the performance is over. I exit the stage, saying aloud, “Wait a moment.”

A masculine, hedonistic, and spectacular representation of the strength of a tragicomic figure wearing a weightlifting belt over elegant clothes. Nothing else to display at the opening of an exhibition.

By lifting someone, I certify their presence, I give the individual weight, I give them the importance they deserve. I act as a base for what I lift, and there’s a strange perspective when it’s the viewer who dominates.