Praxis

BIOGRAPHY:

Death Be Not Comfortless: A Praxis Performance Piece With Lots of Hugs
Forget Me Not: A New Economy Mass
by Alexis Soloski
September 13th, 2005 3:10 PM

Forget Me Not: A New Economy Mass
By PRAXIS
P.S.122
150 First Avenue
212-352-3101
In the mid to late 19th century, the fear of being buried alive grew so widespread and keen that dozens of inventors developed coffins equipped with bells, alarms, air holes, and even ladders, in case the undeceased should wake from his deathlike sleep determined to ascend. But at the climax of PRAXIS's live art piece Forget Me Not: A New Economy Mass, audience members will find themselves gently sealed in a bell-less pine casket and the resulting sensation is, well, cozy.
Husband-and-wife performance team PRAXIS (Delia Bajo and Brainard Carey) literally makes an art of rituals of comfort. As part of 2002's Whitney Biennial, they offered hugs, Band-Aids, and ritual foot washing to exhibit-goers. In the first part of Forget Me Not, entitled "Tools for Living," they repeat several of these activities. PRAXIS divides the upstairs theater of P.S.122 into a warren of little rooms. Bajo and Carey first offer hugs; their assistants ply spectators with chocolate, cheek-to-cheek dancing, and whispered reminiscences of snug recreations such as sledding, drinking hot chocolate, or listening to jazz records with a favorite grandmother.
In the second section, "Tools for Dying," a series of video sequences and stills flickers on a screen as Carey (and later Bajo) relate the death of his mother from pancreatic cancer. Devoid of heroic measures or miraculous recoveries, the tale reveals mother, son, and daughter-in-law clumsily and generously coming to terms with her dying. The projected images aren't terribly interesting; nor is the language in which Carey and Bajo offer their narration, but the unabashed pathos of their project is hypnotic, easily transcending the mundane and the cutesy. We might all hope for such a tender interment.
by Alexis Soloski

New York Theatre Wire
—Review of Forget Me Not
5th October 2005
Praxis: Hugs and Kisses and Coffins
Praxis (Delia Bajo and Brainard Carey)
Forget Me Not
P.S. 122
September 7 to 13, 2005
Reviewed by Henry Baumgartner You dont run into good old-fashioned performance art that often these days. Of course, much of the usefulness of that term performance comes from the fact that it can be used to cover just about anything, but for some time it has generally indicated some sort of monologue, perhaps livened up with unusual actions or props. But Delia Bajo and Brainard Carey, who call themselves Praxis, do indeed specialize in just that sort of otherwise unclassifiable spectacle that the name performance art was originally invented for, at least to judge by Forget Me Not, their recent New Economy Mass at P.S.122. Praxis work is often compared to that of the Fluxus group, that bunch of elegantly playful provocateurs who emerged in the Sixties and still turn up from time to time, but the sweet and even nurturing spirit of Praxis work could not be farther removed from Fluxus sassy dadaism. Then again, P.S.122s Praxis publicity promised a penumbra of additional events, such as erotic video salons and adults-only pajama parties; as to how racy any of these ancillary goings-on may actually have been, however, your correspondent is, sadly, not in a position to report.
On arrival, the audience lined up, and we were admitted into the space one at a time. Once there, we were met by Bajo and Carey, who each administered a very nice hug, and were then free to wander through a series of rooms or booths that had been set up in what is usually PSs second-floor stage space. Each contained a different attraction, many of them manned by members of a large contingent of fellow-performers. There was a kissing booth, where we were invited to pick out a kiss from the large supply of Hersheys well-known product that was lined up along the walls. There were several alcoves with TV sets, showing kids swimming, or a pile of dirt, or people making love. There was dancing in the dressing room. And there was a booth with some nifty pieces of sound equipment, including a small theremin.
This first half is subtitled Tools for the Living; after a time, we were seated for the second half, Tools for the Dying. Earlier this year, Brainard Careys mother died of pancreatic cancer. Carey tells us the story, taking us from the diagnosis the previous autumn and the subsequent operation, through a period of well-being and one of decline, with hospice care at home and his mothers refusal of what sounds like useless chemotherapy, and finally to her death and the funeral arrangements--since pine coffins are no longer available and his mother wanted one, Carey and Bajo made the coffin themselves. This fairly matter-of-fact but affecting narration is accompanied by a film consisting of short segments that recur cyclically and eventually drop out of the rotation to be replaced by others. An old woman with a child, perhaps Careys mother and her grandchild; flowers; a carnival ride; someone digging in the earth; a boat with its wake; an old record player; sheep; a cat; a subway tunnel; and so forth. Eventually the tracks from the tunnel are superimposed all the other recurring images, leading us out of the picture frame toward an unknown destination.
Meanwhile, the performers were going through the audience, quietly whispering to a few people at a time, ...Its time to go now.., and leading people out in small groups, as the rest of us continued to sit there still watching the show. The groups of four or five being led hand-in-hand over the bleachers through the crowd looked like something out of The Seventh Seal. Once backstage, we were given the option of being carried out in a coffin or walking out under our own steam (which, I admit, was my own preference, thank you). Waiting in the hallway, we could hear the rest of the story, including Bajos harrowing description of the actual death. Back in the theater, the world kept going on without us, until finally the last coffins were brought out and we all went home.
nytheatre.com review

Fred Backus
September 12, 2005
P.S. 122 opened its fall season with Forget Me Not, an exquisite piece of interactive experimental theatre created by the performance art duo Praxis. Comprised of the husband and wife team of Brainard Carey and Delia Bajo, Praxis has been engaged in exploring the sacred moments of the human experience with intimate and personal interactions since its formation in 1999. With the recent and unexpected death of Carey’s mother in April of this year, Praxis decided to use its physical and symbolic concepts to create a piece that experientially explores life and death in a two-act event that is both provocative and profound.
Greeted with the offer of a nurturing hug from both Carey and Bajo, we are then quickly separated and whisked away to wander through a carnival of interactive experiences curated by the ensemble of performers that Praxis has assembled. There is an intoxicating quality to the event, and all of our senses are appealed to directly in some way. But Act I of Forget Me Not, entitled "Tools for the Living", is more than just a rave. While most of the experiences have an element of immediate gratification to them, many are also evocative of one’Äôs journey through life. Some of these include a kiss, an intimate interlude with someone of the same or opposite sex, a physical competition, a place to heal your wounds, and a corner where you can view the world from different perspectives, all alluded to symbolically with beautiful simplicity.
There is also a cult-like feeling of initiation that is evoked by these backroom encounters and that is heightened by the seductive guides luring us by the hand and whispering their suggestions in our ears. But any initial distrust is dispelled by the sense of warmth and sharing that emanates from the piece’s creators, which is transmitted to us by the rest of the ensemble. All of the offerings are truly offered and not coerced, and ultimately what you choose to experience and how you choose to experience it is left largely up to you. Do you go back for another thumb-wrestling match or another chocolate kiss? Do you sit and watch others experience what you have already gone through? Do you stare and ponder images of childhood on a television screen? What you bring to "Tools for the Living" is inescapably part of the event itself, which at times manifests itself quite literally. I opted not to check my bag when I entered, and found myself weighed down with literal and symbolic baggage as I went on my journey. Eventually I stopped looking for stimulation and started to ponder my surroundings and my experiences. At that moment we were all, without warning, confronted with death.
Of course all along you know this is coming at some point, so there is a somber inevitability that leads to "Tools for the Dying," the second act of Forget Me Not. As the audience sits together for the first time watching disparate images on a screen, we listen to the retelling of the story of Carey’s mother’s diagnosis with pancreatic cancer and her subsequent life and death. As we ponder the story, one by one we are escorted backstage, never to return. I was one of the early ones, and had barely realized this process was happening before I was approached and told it was time to go. Not realizing I wasn’t coming back, I left my bag and my companion behind without saying goodbye. While being taken early and unexpectedly was a profound experience, it was apparently at least an equally profound experience to be taken late. One by one the people around you disappear and leave you more and more alone, while a steady stream of coffins rolls from backstage to the theater entrance. By the time someone comes for you, you are somewhat prepared, but still not completely knowing what to expect.
Forget Me Not may be an important performance art collaboration, but it is also an effective and exciting experiment with the theatrical form. In its unique exploration of life and death, Forget Me Not creates individual experiences that are at the same time communal, blurring the lines between performer and artist and the personal and universal, and in doing so manages to live up to its creators’ lofty goal of pointing to what is sacred and profound in human interaction. Forget Me Not closed at P.S. 122 on September 13th, but I hope the future brings more opportunities to experience Praxis’s bold vision and stimulating work.