The Gazebo

Velocity at the opening of his performance piece

The Gazebo
by Akiko Amora

I have known Velocity for eleven years. In that time he has performed inside a running cement mixer, curated a show entirely underwater, and once spent three weeks as a documented rumor. He is not a man who sits still.

Which is why, when the press release arrived, I read it four times.

Velocity announces his most ambitious work to date: an open-ended durational performance, location fixed, duration indeterminate, subject: the question. Press inquiries welcome. Photography permitted. Refreshments not provided.

The gazebo belongs to his family. It sits at the edge of a property in the hills, ringed by old garden beds that nobody tends anymore. When I arrived for what the press release called "the opening," Velocity was already there, cross-legged on the floor in black — high neck, long sleeves, shoes — as if he had dressed for a meeting that turned out to be with himself. Small vines were beginning to make their way up the lattice at the edges. I assumed this was intentional. With Velocity it is always safer to assume intention.

I asked him how long he planned to be there.

He said he didn't know.

I asked if he needed anything.

He said he had what he needed.

I stood there for a while. A photographer from a small arts journal arrived and took several pictures. A collector I recognized hovered at the perimeter, nodded seriously, and left. There was a release form. I am not certain what I was releasing — the document cited, in precise and unironic language, effects including but not limited to: reassessment of current commitments, unwanted clarity, and the sensation of having wasted something. I signed it. There was also a guest book. I wrote came, witnessed, had questions, kept them. Velocity did not look at the guest book. Velocity was not looking at anything in particular, which is its own kind of looking.

I left after an hour. I told myself I would come back.

The press coverage was, briefly, real. A performance blog called it "a meditation on voluntary stasis in an age of compulsory momentum." A regional arts paper called it "brave." His former gallerist called me to ask if he was alright and I said I thought so and she said are you sure and I said I am not sure of anything, Renata, that is the nature of this piece.

Velocity had, by all accounts, thought of everything. A small structure adjacent to the gazebo contained what was described in the press materials as "logistical support." His phone remained active. He was not unreachable. He had simply stopped.

There is a photograph taken approximately one year after the opening.

Velocity approximately one year later

In it, the gazebo is no longer quite visible. The vines — those small, well-intentioned tendrils from the opening — have expanded their ambitions considerably. They cover the lattice, the roof, the posts. They have covered the figure inside with the patient, thorough attention of something that has nowhere else to be.

You can still see it is a person. Just barely. The shape of a person who has not yet figured it out, or who has, and is a consummate professional.

I have not gone back. I keep meaning to.

The press release, I notice, is still on his website. No update. No closing statement.

Duration indeterminate, it says.

It was not wrong.