I do performance art and I make a living at it! I’ve done it for 10 long years. It’s amazing isn’t it? Who would think that a performance artist could stick to it for 10 years and make a living at it but it’s true and I’m here to tell you so.
Where do I perform? I have a running show in the halls of corporate America. Who would think that a corporation would hire a performance artist; I’ll bet they do it all the time. Oh yes they do. They don’t know they’re doing it, they just do it. My job title doesn’t say “Performance Artist”. I don’t get to sit in a shop window in a flesh colored leotard and pick my nose and stick it to the window; though that often seems more appealing than what I do in my routine.
I have to say that I hate my costumes but what can you do? Part of it being Performance Art is that it isn’t who I really am or what I really stand for so of course my costumes would need to reflect that. Performance Art for 8 hours a day is EXHAUSTING work. I think the nose-picking routine would actually be more believable but that’s not what I was hired for so I can’t switch things up now.
Despite the original nature of performance art there’s a lot of structure surrounding my act. It’s what the producers demand. They pay the big bucks to get the show they want. The first few years seemed okay but as the years slip by the rules become more restrictive and tougher to navigate. I hate when they make me take my show on the road, I’ve done the road show all over the world and it’s as painful elsewhere as in the confines of the day-to-day space.
One thing I can assure you of is when I leave this gig it will be to get very far away from this type of work. I need to stop the insanity and leave it all behind. I can’t say that I will look back fondly on most aspects of this gig but I will certainly look back on it from time-to-time.
Some of the other people seem to really embrace this work and all it entails. They are buoyed by their supposed importance and believe they are somehow making a difference in some odd way. Rest assured, they are not making enough of a difference to cause even the slightest shift in the direction of the universe but still, they do what they need to do to serve the master or demons they’ve created.
So I gear up each morning in business casual outfits and a neatly coiffed hairstyle; conservative make-up patted on my face. I trek out for the morning commute toting my cuppa joe and my briefcase; I slip on a magnetic ID badge (just can’t wait ‘til they find out these things have been giving women breast cancer for the past 20 years or some other equally horrible revelation) to let me into the theater I perform in every weekday.
There needs to be an end in sight for this gig. I need to know that somehow I’ll be able to leave this stage behind once and for all. Kick out the footlights with the toe of my beat-up Doc Martens and twirl out the door in a haze of relief and confusion.
I wonder if anyone else feels this way? I wonder what the reaction would be if someone from there read this, would they have an “ah-ha” moment, would they be surprised, angry, hurt? Would they think it was funny? I doubt that humor would be a factor. My findings tell me that the corporate stage is a mostly humorless environment. I can’t see my boss, or HR reading this and laughing out loud at my antics. I can’t see getting high-fived in the hallway by the VP, but wouldn’t that be fun? It might even be a little honest.
I know that if I were doing a job I loved and had meaning for me I wouldn’t be doing performance art anymore. It would be real. I would be alive and in the moment. I do share the current stage with some people that actually appear to buy the myth. I’m fascinated by them. They use the word passion when they talk about their cubicle lives and I’m baffled by it. I want to know what drives them. I hope they genuinely feel that way for some reason. They may not want what I want but I want to understand what they want. I hope that they feel a connection and a sense of meaning about what they do because if they don’t, well, they’ll keep performing on that stage like trained chimps.
I’m not done yet. My run continues in the theater of the absurd but I can finally admit to what I’ve been doing. I can own it now. In 12-step programs they say that the first step to healing is admitting you have a problem.
Where do I perform? I have a running show in the halls of corporate America. Who would think that a corporation would hire a performance artist; I’ll bet they do it all the time. Oh yes they do. They don’t know they’re doing it, they just do it. My job title doesn’t say “Performance Artist”. I don’t get to sit in a shop window in a flesh colored leotard and pick my nose and stick it to the window; though that often seems more appealing than what I do in my routine.
I have to say that I hate my costumes but what can you do? Part of it being Performance Art is that it isn’t who I really am or what I really stand for so of course my costumes would need to reflect that. Performance Art for 8 hours a day is EXHAUSTING work. I think the nose-picking routine would actually be more believable but that’s not what I was hired for so I can’t switch things up now.
Despite the original nature of performance art there’s a lot of structure surrounding my act. It’s what the producers demand. They pay the big bucks to get the show they want. The first few years seemed okay but as the years slip by the rules become more restrictive and tougher to navigate. I hate when they make me take my show on the road, I’ve done the road show all over the world and it’s as painful elsewhere as in the confines of the day-to-day space.
One thing I can assure you of is when I leave this gig it will be to get very far away from this type of work. I need to stop the insanity and leave it all behind. I can’t say that I will look back fondly on most aspects of this gig but I will certainly look back on it from time-to-time.
Some of the other people seem to really embrace this work and all it entails. They are buoyed by their supposed importance and believe they are somehow making a difference in some odd way. Rest assured, they are not making enough of a difference to cause even the slightest shift in the direction of the universe but still, they do what they need to do to serve the master or demons they’ve created.
So I gear up each morning in business casual outfits and a neatly coiffed hairstyle; conservative make-up patted on my face. I trek out for the morning commute toting my cuppa joe and my briefcase; I slip on a magnetic ID badge (just can’t wait ‘til they find out these things have been giving women breast cancer for the past 20 years or some other equally horrible revelation) to let me into the theater I perform in every weekday.
There needs to be an end in sight for this gig. I need to know that somehow I’ll be able to leave this stage behind once and for all. Kick out the footlights with the toe of my beat-up Doc Martens and twirl out the door in a haze of relief and confusion.
I wonder if anyone else feels this way? I wonder what the reaction would be if someone from there read this, would they have an “ah-ha” moment, would they be surprised, angry, hurt? Would they think it was funny? I doubt that humor would be a factor. My findings tell me that the corporate stage is a mostly humorless environment. I can’t see my boss, or HR reading this and laughing out loud at my antics. I can’t see getting high-fived in the hallway by the VP, but wouldn’t that be fun? It might even be a little honest.
I know that if I were doing a job I loved and had meaning for me I wouldn’t be doing performance art anymore. It would be real. I would be alive and in the moment. I do share the current stage with some people that actually appear to buy the myth. I’m fascinated by them. They use the word passion when they talk about their cubicle lives and I’m baffled by it. I want to know what drives them. I hope they genuinely feel that way for some reason. They may not want what I want but I want to understand what they want. I hope that they feel a connection and a sense of meaning about what they do because if they don’t, well, they’ll keep performing on that stage like trained chimps.
I’m not done yet. My run continues in the theater of the absurd but I can finally admit to what I’ve been doing. I can own it now. In 12-step programs they say that the first step to healing is admitting you have a problem.
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