NEXT
PROJECT

I was invited to experiment with a new performance piece at RuptureXIBIT’s performance evening at the end of November this year. My idea was to spend the whole evening hiding in a cupboard so that no-one could see me, and no-one would know I was there. I had been researching being seen, visibility, and what it is to perform, and I wanted to continue exploring ideas of “wasting time” and whether, if someone doesn’t know that something happened, it still matters.

 

The performance ended up being the most anxiety-inducing work I’ve made so far. I expected it to feel like a wide, unfocused exploration of not being involved or interacted with — light-hearted and possibly boring — but instead it became super concentrated, involving specific people, and at times feeling really scary and difficult to do. If I had been wearing a Fitbit, I think my heart rate would have counted the whole thing as vigorous cardio.

 

My favourite thing I experienced during this performance was the flipping of the dynamic between performer and audience. I found myself sitting dead still, making no noise, and being highly affected by the behaviour and choices of the people around me, whereas the audience had no idea I was there. If I hadn’t been there, their night would have been exactly the same. I wasn’t even boring them — I was non-existent to them. I found this interesting, as usually it’s the audience member who sits still and quiet and observes the performer, and that was what I did for the whole evening.

 

“To do nothing is to hold yourself still so that you can perceive what is actually there.”

Jenny Odell, How To Do Nothing: Resisting the Attention Economy (2019)

 

Usually when I do a performance, I make lots of notes afterwards reflecting on what happened. But for this one, I had the chance to make notes throughout, documenting my thoughts, observations and feelings over the whole 4 hours I was performing. The notebook is interesting to look at physically — my handwriting gives away so much of how I felt. When I was scared and anxious, my handwriting became tiny and dense and narrow: this was me trying to make as little sound and be as small and invisible as possible. 

 

Here are the main observations I made in the notebook, and a few thoughts I’ve had since:

 

How hard it is to not do

 

Straight away it was really tricky to get smuggled in without anyone seeing me. I felt rude and shifty. Not telling people in advance what the performance would be made me feel pretentious. Beforehand I was aware of the connotations of hiding from someone but hadn’t really thought about what it would actually feel like. At different stages of the performance people were hanging out right next to me, thinking they were in a private quiet space, having private conversations or feeling like they were alone. I felt awful intruding on them and felt like I was spying on purpose. I felt totally trapped — I couldn’t come out without scaring everyone and also ruining the piece. So I sat as still as I could, barely breathing so I wouldn’t get caught.This physical stance sent me into an insanely anxious place. 

 

My heart went BOOM BOOM BOOM and my imagination went totally wild. I imagined people suddenly telling a terrible secret, and then my phone would buzz, and they’d say “there’s someone there.” And they’d rip open the door and see me and be furious that I was an invasive creep spying on them and making notes. And because my anxious imagination is really out of control — and I’ve been watching loads of 24 Hours in Police Custody this month — I then imagined they’d decide to kill me so I couldn’t tell anyone their secret. So I was planning ways I could protect myself or escape. It all got really out of hand in my head, and I spent about two hours praying I could magic myself out of it and wishing it could be over.

 

It’s mad how, when you can’t see people but you’re really close to them, the mind can make so much up. The anxiety stayed with me until the next day — even the sliding doors opening as I walked past Sainsbury’s made me jump out of my skin. This fear also made me think about how awful it would be to actually be invisible. Maybe we don’t want to see what people don’t want to share with us.

 

A subconscious metaphor for shyness

 

In a way, it was a dream to be at an event and have no-one see me or speak to me. It meant I didn’t have to confront all the horrible anxious feelings of saying the wrong thing, or not saying enough, or making anyone feel uncomfortable because I felt uncomfortable. It showed me how self-erasing I can be in social situations.

 

At one point someone spent some time alone near me, saying they wanted a bit of space from people because they were feeling anxious. It was interesting to both be doing that in different ways right next to each other, with him thinking he was completely alone. It made me think a lot about how hiding is comforting because you don’t have to face anyone’s perception or expectation of you.

 

It made me think about the fear of being ignored, the fear of being invisible, and whether doing a performance like this is a way of taking control of that.

 

“It is a joy to be hidden, and a disaster not to be found.”

Donald Winnicott, Playing and Reality (1971)

 

It made me think of the idea of a tree falling in the woods and no-one seeing it — the question of whether it happened.

 

It made me think of childhood games gone wrong.

 

“As long as no one knows about it, it’s like it isn’t really happening.”

David Szalay, Flesh (2025)

 

It made me think about how I’ve struggled to feel secure in my practice this year, and that maybe by embodying ‘not performing’, I was working that out in some way. I felt like I simultaneously gained so much and lost so much power by hiding. I felt like I turned myself into a sort of prisoner.