guilt

Although I had seen documentation photos of Schneeman's Interior Scroll performance before, I hadn't seen the text of the scroll. I read it as an indictment of myself — I saw in the portrait of the unnamed structuralist, a mirror of my own practice and preoccupation. And I saw how clearly gendered that and the paired messiness of performance seemed.

How is it that I don't sit in prison? How is it that I have so far avoided a finger pointing, which would sit me there regardless of evidence and circumstance? And why, if I am free, do I think only of how penned in I am? Of real prisons, the descriptions of which I can compare to my cell, I have with an ample sampling. And none compare; this is ease, while that is surely hard time, torture.