By Randy Gledhill
Simply dressed in black, seated on a step-stool cloaked in white. A large hind quarter of raw meat on his lap. Perhaps the haunch of a pig, or a person. Burmese artist Nyan Lin Htet, with needle and thread, diligently sews the dead flesh. He does so with a meticulous devotion. Sewing the meat. One stitch at a time. Periodically he pauses, looks up, makes eye contact with someone in the crowded room. Then again he sews the meat. Sewing meat. Pausing. Looking around. Making contact.
He stands and places the sewn corpse onto the white shroud. Elegantly.
He extends his arm over it. His left arm. Pours red wine over his own limb. It flows onto the meat.
He offers his other arm. His right arm. Pours milk over his own limb. It flows onto the meat.
Then a change over. A video projection of a choir of happy blind young people singing.
“Happy New Year”
“Happy New Year”
“Happy New Year To You All”
He dances to the upbeat song with a responding joyous repeating funk, tai-chi, gestures.
The video clip loops over and over and over and over and over and over and over
His dance moves also loop
“Happy New Year”
“Happy New Year”
“Happy New Year To You All”
Hope. Propaganda. Optimism. Pessimism. Raw meat. Sewn flesh.
“Happy New Year”
“Happy New Year”
“Happy New Year To you All”
I feel complicit. I am disgusted with myself and my entitled society
I also feel strangely empowered.
I am reminded why I believe in the power of art. Why I am writing this.
Thank you Nyan
…but I might have a restless sleep tonight, and forever
