Bucket Time
Bucket Time at the CAC
13 performances, August - October, 2016
Contemporary Arts Center - New Orleans, LA
curated by Andrea Andersson
Bucket Time is series of performances I did as part of the group show "A Building With a View": Experiments in Anarchitecture.
Generally speaking, in Bucket Time, I address an audience while holding a headstand (my head in a bucket, a hole revealing my mouth). In this position, the body above the bucket begins to separate from the isolated mouth that talks, sings, and recites from within the bucket. Some of the performances re-stage extant mouth-focused works (Samuel Beckett’s “Not I”, Vito Acconci’s “Open Book”, a minstrel show “stump speech” by Slim Williams). Some of the performances are new. All of the performances are a tipping over and pouring out of ideas, experiences, feelings, and memories. In the Bucket Time iteration at the CAC, I performed an original poem and sang Sonny and Cher's "I Got You Babe."
Bucket time –like snack time, playtime, storytime, and sexy time – is a pause, a discrete episode in a day that opportunes some relief from, some reflection on, or some avoidance of the rest of that day.
13 performances, August - October, 2016
Contemporary Arts Center - New Orleans, LA
curated by Andrea Andersson
Bucket Time is series of performances I did as part of the group show "A Building With a View": Experiments in Anarchitecture.
Generally speaking, in Bucket Time, I address an audience while holding a headstand (my head in a bucket, a hole revealing my mouth). In this position, the body above the bucket begins to separate from the isolated mouth that talks, sings, and recites from within the bucket. Some of the performances re-stage extant mouth-focused works (Samuel Beckett’s “Not I”, Vito Acconci’s “Open Book”, a minstrel show “stump speech” by Slim Williams). Some of the performances are new. All of the performances are a tipping over and pouring out of ideas, experiences, feelings, and memories. In the Bucket Time iteration at the CAC, I performed an original poem and sang Sonny and Cher's "I Got You Babe."
Bucket time –like snack time, playtime, storytime, and sexy time – is a pause, a discrete episode in a day that opportunes some relief from, some reflection on, or some avoidance of the rest of that day.
credits
Emily Nelson Lawrence - feedback
von curtis - feedback
Harry Dodge - feedback
Ashley Hunt - feedback
von curtis - feedback
Harry Dodge - feedback
Ashley Hunt - feedback
[A side-by-side arrangement of four photographs of Avery Lawrence performing Bucket Time at the Contemporary Arts Center in New Orleans, LA. In each photo, he does a handstand with his head in a white 5-gallon bucket. He is in an art gallery with white walls and a concrete floor. He is wearing black pants in all the photos but different button-up shirts. One is a Hawaiian shirt with palm trees and pink flamingos. The other shirts are green, light blue, and white. The bucket in each photo is on a two-foot high white plinth. Avery’s mouth is visible through a hole in the bucket. In a small stand in front of the bucket, a microphone and blue looping pedal rest on the plinth. To the right of the plinth there is a black rollable sound system the size of a small suitcase that has a battery backup system ratchet-strapped to its top. The strap is bright orange.]
[Another photograph of a Bucket Time performance at the CAC. Avery is in an art gallery with white walls and a concrete floor. He is wearing brown boots, dark green pants, and a light blue button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled. This photograph was taken from the side. Avery’s legs are more splayed in this image.]
[One more photograph of a Bucket Time performance at the CAC. Avery is wearing gray Converse high tops, black pants, and a green button-up short sleeve shirt, patterned with small dark dots. In the background of this image, figure paintings are visible in another gallery. In one painting, a woman smokes a cigarette next to a young boy.]
[An advertising poster for Avery Lawrence’s Bucket Time performance series with handwritten script in the center that reads “Bucket Time with Avery Lawrence”. Central in the poster is a silhouetted, upside down human figure with its head in a white, construction bucket. A faint reflection suggests the bucket rests on a glossy floor. Two photographs of people jumping and one photograph of the actor Bill Murray driving a truck with a groundhog surround the central figure. There is also a clipart-style image of a yellow clock with eyes sticking out its tongue. On the left side of the poster, there are 30 short phrases in red text that all include the word “time.” Information about the location, dates, and times of the performances are at the bottom of the poster in blue text. The background of the poster is a rectangle filled with a top-to-bottom red-to-yellow gradient.]
Bucket Time (2016) instructions + script
(put head in 5-gallon bucket with hole in it that exposes mouth. push off left foot to elevate legs, torso, etc above head.)
"I’d like to lead us in a breathing exercise.
Inhale. (close eyes) The articulation of the body starts...where? In the mind? What? (open eyes) What if I shiver? What if I tremble? What if I’m in a theater watching the projected light and the bad person does the bad thing, surprisingly, AND I jump? Who’s in control of that motion? Who decides? Is it something bigger bigger bigger than us? Something inconceivably small? Do I decide? Do you? Do we? Exhale. Thanks. Maybe we INHALE and hold it and hold it and hoooooooold it and poof. Exhale. We let it out and our collective relief stops the making of a promising but ultimately disappointing Hollywood reboot or remake or prequel or sequel or squeakquel. And we try again. And we inhale. Inhale. Inhale. And hoooooold it and poof. Exhale. And does our new relief stop a war or a skirmish or, at least, at the very least a Kardashian? But don’t think too hard! We can’t think too hard or we’ll lose it. So, inhale with the air. And let it sit. Feeeeeeel it occupy your fleshy meat palace. Feeeeeeel it inside yourself from outside yourself. Adjacent to yourself. And feel it satisfy you and you and you and you and me and us and them and future them and past them and dead them. And we remember that we’re holding it and then poof we exhale, COLLECTIVELY, and poof! We knock over a pile of cards and a magician dies and sausage is made and a party ends disappointingly. And how do you feel now? HUH? Now that you’ve killed a magician?
Ugh. Is it all a deception?
So INHALE and hold in the air cuz, in the end, it is all WE have. Well, I guess WE also have water, but maybe not for long. And WE have oil we slurp and spit. And WE have vast corporations that sponsor art events in which free labor is celebrated, wristbands distributed, white wine sipped. But I’m not complaining. Heck. Look at us in here now. We are lucky. We are sociality. WE have each other, if only for a little bit. Now focus on your breath, THE BREATH, cuz without it you’re a vast blob of directionless space debris pushing further and further away from some center waiting for that spreading to fatigue and the reverse BIG BANG to sluuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuurp you and you and you and me and us and them and future them and past them and dead them back together again until we are just THE one thing that every other piece of matter is too.
And exhale. Very good. And inhale and remember that Bill Murray as the character Phil Connors lives 34 years worth of February 2nds in the 1993 Hollywood rom/com blockbuster Groundhog Day. I recently rewatched it. We’re still breathing. You’re still breathing. Exhale. Inhale. And in the movie, Bill plays Phil (not the groundhog Punxsatawney Phil) but Phil the weatherman who is grumpy and dissatisfied and mean. But in the end, he’s happy cuz he’s in bed with a woman on February 3 and Sonny and Cher’s “I Got You Babe” is NOT playing on the radio cuz it plays on the radio every Febraruy 2nd but NOT every February 3rd. Exhale. Inhale. So he’s happy. But remember, it took him 34 years. And in the middle there is the suicide montage.
Exhale. Inhale. Bill Murray as Phil Connors places his toaster in his bath, the lights flicker. Dead. He drives over the cliff with the stolen groundhog, the stolen pickup. Dead. He steps in front of the big box truck. Dead. And he jumps from the tower. He’s dead dead dead dead dead over and over again. Exhale. Inhale. It’s like 9/11 all over again on your TV on September 11 and then again on September 11 on September 12 and then again on September 11 on September 13 and you get what I’m saying. In his book Extremely Loud and Incredibly close Jonathan Safran Foer includes a sequence of images that suggest a man is floating back up instead of jumping down from one of the burning floors above the crash site on one of the towers...or maybe above that. Exhale. Inhale. Then there’s Yves Klein leaping into the void - an artist’s second-story dismount, arms spread wide - super Instagram-friendly. But that was fake. But who cares? And then there’s Bill Murray - but not Bill Murray because he was playing the character Phil Connors - but not Bill Murray as Phil Connors cuz that was definitely, obviously a stuntman - arms wide, jumping from who knows where down to who knows where. But that was fake. But who cares? Then there’s the net to catch the iPhone builders at Foxconn. But there’s no net or wall at the Golden Gate Bridge cuz that’s proven prohibitively expensive. But there are hotlines. And text messages. And conversations. And hugs and kisses. And you and you and you and me and us and them and future them and past them and dead them. And you get it. Exhale. Inhale.
And remember to breathe. And remember to never forget. And remember we may all be wrought FROM and we may all end up AS that same original matter BUT that doesn’t make us the same BUT it may just establish that gleam of sameness that makes you me and me you in all sorts of unexpected, wonderous ways. And remember that you could wake up and it’s February 2nd and Sonny and Cher are singing “I Got You, Babe” on the radio and Bill Murray pulls back the covers and washes his face again and again and again and again and again and again and again. But remember tomorrow could always be February 3. Exhale."
(use looping pedal to create beat. sing Sonny and Cher's "I Got You, Babe". say "thank you". drop feet, torso, etc down. remove head from bucket. awkwardly acknowledge crowd/absence of crowd.)
comments "I’d like to lead us in a breathing exercise.
Inhale. (close eyes) The articulation of the body starts...where? In the mind? What? (open eyes) What if I shiver? What if I tremble? What if I’m in a theater watching the projected light and the bad person does the bad thing, surprisingly, AND I jump? Who’s in control of that motion? Who decides? Is it something bigger bigger bigger than us? Something inconceivably small? Do I decide? Do you? Do we? Exhale. Thanks. Maybe we INHALE and hold it and hold it and hoooooooold it and poof. Exhale. We let it out and our collective relief stops the making of a promising but ultimately disappointing Hollywood reboot or remake or prequel or sequel or squeakquel. And we try again. And we inhale. Inhale. Inhale. And hoooooold it and poof. Exhale. And does our new relief stop a war or a skirmish or, at least, at the very least a Kardashian? But don’t think too hard! We can’t think too hard or we’ll lose it. So, inhale with the air. And let it sit. Feeeeeeel it occupy your fleshy meat palace. Feeeeeeel it inside yourself from outside yourself. Adjacent to yourself. And feel it satisfy you and you and you and you and me and us and them and future them and past them and dead them. And we remember that we’re holding it and then poof we exhale, COLLECTIVELY, and poof! We knock over a pile of cards and a magician dies and sausage is made and a party ends disappointingly. And how do you feel now? HUH? Now that you’ve killed a magician?
Ugh. Is it all a deception?
So INHALE and hold in the air cuz, in the end, it is all WE have. Well, I guess WE also have water, but maybe not for long. And WE have oil we slurp and spit. And WE have vast corporations that sponsor art events in which free labor is celebrated, wristbands distributed, white wine sipped. But I’m not complaining. Heck. Look at us in here now. We are lucky. We are sociality. WE have each other, if only for a little bit. Now focus on your breath, THE BREATH, cuz without it you’re a vast blob of directionless space debris pushing further and further away from some center waiting for that spreading to fatigue and the reverse BIG BANG to sluuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuurp you and you and you and me and us and them and future them and past them and dead them back together again until we are just THE one thing that every other piece of matter is too.
And exhale. Very good. And inhale and remember that Bill Murray as the character Phil Connors lives 34 years worth of February 2nds in the 1993 Hollywood rom/com blockbuster Groundhog Day. I recently rewatched it. We’re still breathing. You’re still breathing. Exhale. Inhale. And in the movie, Bill plays Phil (not the groundhog Punxsatawney Phil) but Phil the weatherman who is grumpy and dissatisfied and mean. But in the end, he’s happy cuz he’s in bed with a woman on February 3 and Sonny and Cher’s “I Got You Babe” is NOT playing on the radio cuz it plays on the radio every Febraruy 2nd but NOT every February 3rd. Exhale. Inhale. So he’s happy. But remember, it took him 34 years. And in the middle there is the suicide montage.
Exhale. Inhale. Bill Murray as Phil Connors places his toaster in his bath, the lights flicker. Dead. He drives over the cliff with the stolen groundhog, the stolen pickup. Dead. He steps in front of the big box truck. Dead. And he jumps from the tower. He’s dead dead dead dead dead over and over again. Exhale. Inhale. It’s like 9/11 all over again on your TV on September 11 and then again on September 11 on September 12 and then again on September 11 on September 13 and you get what I’m saying. In his book Extremely Loud and Incredibly close Jonathan Safran Foer includes a sequence of images that suggest a man is floating back up instead of jumping down from one of the burning floors above the crash site on one of the towers...or maybe above that. Exhale. Inhale. Then there’s Yves Klein leaping into the void - an artist’s second-story dismount, arms spread wide - super Instagram-friendly. But that was fake. But who cares? And then there’s Bill Murray - but not Bill Murray because he was playing the character Phil Connors - but not Bill Murray as Phil Connors cuz that was definitely, obviously a stuntman - arms wide, jumping from who knows where down to who knows where. But that was fake. But who cares? Then there’s the net to catch the iPhone builders at Foxconn. But there’s no net or wall at the Golden Gate Bridge cuz that’s proven prohibitively expensive. But there are hotlines. And text messages. And conversations. And hugs and kisses. And you and you and you and me and us and them and future them and past them and dead them. And you get it. Exhale. Inhale.
And remember to breathe. And remember to never forget. And remember we may all be wrought FROM and we may all end up AS that same original matter BUT that doesn’t make us the same BUT it may just establish that gleam of sameness that makes you me and me you in all sorts of unexpected, wonderous ways. And remember that you could wake up and it’s February 2nd and Sonny and Cher are singing “I Got You, Babe” on the radio and Bill Murray pulls back the covers and washes his face again and again and again and again and again and again and again. But remember tomorrow could always be February 3. Exhale."
(use looping pedal to create beat. sing Sonny and Cher's "I Got You, Babe". say "thank you". drop feet, torso, etc down. remove head from bucket. awkwardly acknowledge crowd/absence of crowd.)
Avery Lawrence
Los Angeles, CA
48m ago
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Emily Lawrence
New Orleans, LA
30m ago
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1 REPLY
Beckett Lawrence
Bryn Mawr, PA
15m ago
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