Milked Dry
Oh dear, looks like I didn't post this piece when I wrote it. Pretend it is April 24th.
On Friday I gave a paper at the Somatechnics conference held byMacquarie University. It was a highly personal account of my inducedlactation project, part blog entry, spoken word piece, anecdote,reflection on my motivations and musing on things I had read and founduseful or provocative. It was well received, and I had many a flattering comment and mind-melting question from the brilliant andvery generous audience of academics and activists. I stumbled my way through question time, and came out with much to consider in terms ofwhere my research should be directed. Currently my thinking is that I need to read a LOT of work on body art and performance and see if I can angle my thesis in that general direction.
Then it was time to head off to do my Divine Bovine show at Hellfire.The visuals didn't work, the cling wrap didn't cling, and my left tit proved Mayhem's theory that it is indeed the shyer of my breasts by refusing to squirt milk AT ALL (just a mere dribble, even after heatpacks and threats and grovelling, though was working fine the nextday). But somehow it came together well in the end, and as my friend and collaborater Mimoiselle told me later 'Consensus says 10 out of 10hot chicks agree your performance was awesome'. Certainly I seemed to get an incredible amount of feedback from the crowd afterwards, all of it positive. For those who didn't make it, or were so bewildered by it that you can't remember what happened, here is a brief run-down:
First song was Patti Smith's 'Summer Cannibals'. Came out dressed inblack and white paper mache cow mask of my own making, blue/red/whitestriped butcher's apron, tail, half-white half-black wig with wired plaits. Walked through the crowd, then across stage on all fours,stood up on my back legs, danced about. Grabbed a meat cleaver, waved it around, threatened a sweet young audience plant with it and then lifted my apron to reveal cow-bells haging from my labia piercings and made her 'go down' on me. My cohort in crime, Hunter, resplendent in white shirt and half blue/white butcher's apron, chased me about the stage with a meat tenderiser and gave my arse a little pounding. I stripped off my apron to reveal that I was painted up like a side ofbeef with MEAT written on my left tit and CARCASS down my right thigh(thanks to Y for the artwork). Then I pulled on some black latexgloves, grabbed a scalpel and cut the word EAT across my stomach.Hunter tried to wrap me in cling wrap, but it was all too slippery and didn't work- but still got the point across I think? MeatZoo. Second song came on, The Cramps' 'Strychnine'. Ripped off cow mask to reveal face all drawn up like meat too, danced about, sprayed milk at the audience, on me, in my mouth, on glass window at back of stage, over Hunter, fed Hunter etc. To conclude the show I proceeded to grab three milk bottles, only half full, that said 'Have You Seen MooZoo? Call1800-Divine-Bovine' on one side and 'Pick'/'Your'/Poison on the other.Downed the milk, dribbling it everywhere, pouring over myself etc.Last bottle ('Poison') was full of pinky-red milk which I tipped over my head. Still had a few seconds left of song so rubbed my wounds and milk all over Hunter's lovely white shirt.
Afterwards was a complete maniac, hyped up and bouncing about wildly from one person to the next, holding thoughts for approximately 5 seconds if I was lucky, babbling and generally acting scatty in post-performance-shock. When I was finally able to articulate mythoughts a little I remarked to Nattie The Flattie that I felt like I had been flayed alive. Totally vulnerable and exposed, emotionally, physically, mentally.
This is not academia, this is not performance. This is ZOO, me, withskin and mind and nipple leaking my secrets to the world.
On Friday I gave a paper at the Somatechnics conference held byMacquarie University. It was a highly personal account of my inducedlactation project, part blog entry, spoken word piece, anecdote,reflection on my motivations and musing on things I had read and founduseful or provocative. It was well received, and I had many a flattering comment and mind-melting question from the brilliant andvery generous audience of academics and activists. I stumbled my way through question time, and came out with much to consider in terms ofwhere my research should be directed. Currently my thinking is that I need to read a LOT of work on body art and performance and see if I can angle my thesis in that general direction.
Then it was time to head off to do my Divine Bovine show at Hellfire.The visuals didn't work, the cling wrap didn't cling, and my left tit proved Mayhem's theory that it is indeed the shyer of my breasts by refusing to squirt milk AT ALL (just a mere dribble, even after heatpacks and threats and grovelling, though was working fine the nextday). But somehow it came together well in the end, and as my friend and collaborater Mimoiselle told me later 'Consensus says 10 out of 10hot chicks agree your performance was awesome'. Certainly I seemed to get an incredible amount of feedback from the crowd afterwards, all of it positive. For those who didn't make it, or were so bewildered by it that you can't remember what happened, here is a brief run-down:
First song was Patti Smith's 'Summer Cannibals'. Came out dressed inblack and white paper mache cow mask of my own making, blue/red/whitestriped butcher's apron, tail, half-white half-black wig with wired plaits. Walked through the crowd, then across stage on all fours,stood up on my back legs, danced about. Grabbed a meat cleaver, waved it around, threatened a sweet young audience plant with it and then lifted my apron to reveal cow-bells haging from my labia piercings and made her 'go down' on me. My cohort in crime, Hunter, resplendent in white shirt and half blue/white butcher's apron, chased me about the stage with a meat tenderiser and gave my arse a little pounding. I stripped off my apron to reveal that I was painted up like a side ofbeef with MEAT written on my left tit and CARCASS down my right thigh(thanks to Y for the artwork). Then I pulled on some black latexgloves, grabbed a scalpel and cut the word EAT across my stomach.Hunter tried to wrap me in cling wrap, but it was all too slippery and didn't work- but still got the point across I think? MeatZoo. Second song came on, The Cramps' 'Strychnine'. Ripped off cow mask to reveal face all drawn up like meat too, danced about, sprayed milk at the audience, on me, in my mouth, on glass window at back of stage, over Hunter, fed Hunter etc. To conclude the show I proceeded to grab three milk bottles, only half full, that said 'Have You Seen MooZoo? Call1800-Divine-Bovine' on one side and 'Pick'/'Your'/Poison on the other.Downed the milk, dribbling it everywhere, pouring over myself etc.Last bottle ('Poison') was full of pinky-red milk which I tipped over my head. Still had a few seconds left of song so rubbed my wounds and milk all over Hunter's lovely white shirt.
Afterwards was a complete maniac, hyped up and bouncing about wildly from one person to the next, holding thoughts for approximately 5 seconds if I was lucky, babbling and generally acting scatty in post-performance-shock. When I was finally able to articulate mythoughts a little I remarked to Nattie The Flattie that I felt like I had been flayed alive. Totally vulnerable and exposed, emotionally, physically, mentally.
This is not academia, this is not performance. This is ZOO, me, withskin and mind and nipple leaking my secrets to the world.
Labels: performance
posted by Zoo at 6/19/2007
3 Comments:
Sounds hot. But why do you never post any pictures?
i agree
i would like to see somes
of you and your milk-producers breasts
=)
msn?
paranoia180_@hotmail.com
Hey Zoo,
Slow coach that I am, I've only just found your blog. I love it.
I was reading Rosi Braidotti's essay "Teratologies", which speculates upon the possibilities of a feminist politics of becoming-monster. No doubt you're already familiar with it. I just thought I'd share 'cause I thought of you're work as I was reading.
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