28 Days in May

Occasionally in life there are events that shock social norms and transfigure human and environmental relations. How does the nature of a space alter the potential dynamics of human interactions? How do property rights restrict or enable the ways persons can be in the world?

28 Days in May was one of those events that raised to consciousness these very questions. A Portland resident living on Mount Tabor, staring into the face of an upcoming foreclosure, decided to open up his house to local artists to allow them to create using a variety of media for 28 days in May of 2010. Nearly everything was filmed, from musicians performing, painters painting, sculptors sculpting, art installers installing, puppeteers puppeteering, fabric designers fabricating, welders welding, and on and on, a chorus of creators creating. Hundreds of artists created during that month and it was not unusual for there to be over a hundred occupying the house and spacious grounds at any given time.

There was a rhyme and a reason with art directors and film producers coordinating and collaborating. The talent came and went and came back again, each day unfolding in particular ways. It wasn’t entirely random, although for all the world it appeared like a smiling, spontaneous incoherence. The question that continued to arise was “What is this?” There were more meanings than there were participants and observers—and there were observers. I was one. But by writing about the event I become a participant after the fact. This writing is my offering.

If there were at least as many interpretations of the event as there were participants and observers then what meanings did I witness or even create? I was fascinated by the short-term use of this space, by the opening of a privately owned house about to be repossessed to a mass of creators. The house had the feeling of being possessed by a horde of squatters, random collections of comers and goers, mingling, mixing, mashing, musing, and making. As I said, there were directors, those who determined when and where particular spaces were used by whom. There was a purpose created that rejected the notion that this space was merely a residence, particularly an American residence. Sure, there was eating, sleeping, shitting … but you never knew who you’d be eating with, who you’d be sleeping with, or how you’d shit without interrupting a threesome attempting to have acrobatic sex in the tub while being filmed by someone sitting on the toilet and another crouched in the sink.

Because of this purpose, there existed protocols and norms developed that channeled creativity in the making of 28 Days in May. The sensibilities of the artists at times clashed with those of the directors and there were often competing needs and desires. So, the space had escaped from domesticated life, but not from politics. There were challenges to notions of how a residential property could be used, challenges to zoning laws for sure, but there was no escaping the conflicts that arise between humans in confined spaces at any particular time. What was interesting, though, was how those conflicts were managed and resolved … or not.

There was a hierarchy of power despite the appearance of a chaotic free-flow of events. As I mentioned, art directors and film makers, those who were producing and directing the project, made decisions in a top-down manner largely independent of the whole. A class system existed, almost patriarchal in nature—not so different from domesticated or workplace life—a dividing line separating artists and observers from directors and producers with the talent playing the role of child/labor while the few who controlled the space and time operated in the familiar roles of parents/managers.

It was not exclusively a top-down model, though—there was collaboration on projects between artists and the directors. But in all endeavors there was a director and/or a producer. They were the core and they determined, both intentionally and unintentionally, how each artist settled into their “roles” in the space, whether inside the house or on the grounds outside. There was even a protocol for parking.

Some individuals had shopping duties, cooking duties, cleaning obligations, and so on. Most of those duties and obligations were performed by artists and observers but sometimes even directors. The head of the kitchen, though, was a professional chef who traveled from Argentina donating her time to cooking coordination. The food was incredible. There were no bartenders--you made your drinks on your own. How many drugs were used or consumed I couldn't say. Impossible to even guess.

What I witnessed, in a way, was a miniature civilization, a society born, living, and dying in a matter of a month. I observed a culture’s planned rise and fall, a slice of humanity’s relational pie. The structural dynamics remained the same but the content of the relationships diverged wildly.

During the evening on May 27 a gypsy nomad squeezed her accordion and told those of us present a series of stories. I was transported from unattached observer to actively engaged, enveloped by appreciation for this woman’s presence, voice, passion, and rhythms … I was grateful for her. The totality of the event taken as a whole disappeared from my consciousness and I ceased constructing order and meaning. In a matter of moments I disappeared and connected with the artist’s performance. When she stopped singing and playing the world came back and I felt an urge to scream “NO!” I begged her to continue. She put her head in her hands, smiling and giggling, but came up for air and began again. Once again, order disappeared and life commenced.

That was my golden moment, the reason 28 Days in May existed. But each person, if he or she was fortunate, had their own golden moments. What I sense, though, is that the recordings that came from and may still come from the production of 28 Days in May will not be able to capture the authenticity of those golden moments. They were made stark because of the mass of mundane that existed between times and across spaces. The transcendent quality was the event itself consisting in being present, engaging and participating. Present … in space … living.

As an artist’s playground the space has died. Regardless of order or meaning, the house on Mount Tabor was played for 28 days. Goodbye, moment. I miss you.