art as performance is pretty much an extension of 'happenings' in everyday life. it may be a suicidal accountant telephoning his bank to cancel his credit cards before throwing himself off the brooklyn bridge at noon. it may be a zombie flash mob in the streets of new york city. even a man being shot in the left arm with a rifle by a friend standing 15 feet away, just like Chris Burden did in 1971. some people will go to great lengths to make a statement, even if it means blood, tears and civil suits.
so, anyway, new york city isn't the only place where weird shit happens. keep your eyes peeled as potato skins and you may see something you weren't supposed to see. or, most likely, something you thought you saw and weren't sure and had to look twice.
walking on long street on friday night i noticed a nun dressed in drag. a man, dressed as a catholic nun, conversing with the bouncers outside some club. i wondered what she was doing so far from the convent, bearded, and resplendid in a habit and veil, showing no signs of obediance, chastity or sacrement. i thought this was pretty funny. perhaps i should name her sister frank benedictine and make up a story.
what you doing dressed like that?
dressed like what? a woman?
a nun. you're dressed like a nun.
so i am. it's because i am one.
what do you mean? you can't possibly be a nun. you're a man.
no. i am a nun.
you are a man dressed as one. that doesn't make you a woman, or a nun.
it makes me what i says i am.
you have a beard. and you are drinking bourbon straight from the bottle. you are a man, a drunken one at that, and dressed like a woman, who thinks she's a nun. nuns don't drink bourbon.
they don't, eh? i tell you girl, all nuns drink bourbon. just not in public they don't. but i can promise you that they'da done it long before i ever did.