Tilda Swinton takes a nap — the artwork.

At NYC's Museum of Modern Art — if you go at the right time — you can look at Tilda Swinton in a glass box, purportedly sleeping. It's called "The Maybe." If you've ever wanted to go right up to a celebrity and gape and her, this is your chance.

An integral part of The Maybe's incarnation at MoMA in 2013 is that there is no published schedule for its appearance, no artist's statement released, no no museum statement beyond this brief context, no public profile or image issued. Those who find it chance upon it for themselves, live and in real—shared—time: now we see it, now we don't.

Presumably, "no no" is a typo. I love the way the celebrity's need to control her own time/sanity is — by the usual museum-bullshit text — deployed to give depth and mystery to the art.

I think it's a great opportunity to observe everyone other than her, as they relate to a celebrity and to a work of art in a museum.

Will they get right up close? Will they display the attitudes of politeness/deference that are ordinarily used around a stranger/sleeping person or will they get that ponderous studiousness that people summon up when they are looking at art?

If I were Tilda, I'd have some confederates in the crowd to get right up to the glass and point at my body parts and say provocative things. Press your nose against the glass right by my face. Huff some breath on the glass and write words in it. Have someone dressed as a guard come over and enter into a dialogue that begins as a simple don't-touch admonishment and spirals slowly into a My-Dinner-With-Andre-type inquiry about what is art.

"I think there's a very fascistic thing under The Little Prince, you know.... I think there's a kind of SS totalitarian sentimentality in there somewhere."

"You know, there's something, you know, that... masculine love of a certain kind of oily muscle, you know what I mean? I mean, I can't quite put my finger on it, but I can just imagine some beautiful SS man loving The Little Prince. You know, I don't know why, but there's something wrong with it. It stinks!"

A quote from "My Dinner With Andre" that ties together this morning's 3 posts:

Andrew Cuomo's "muscular brand of politics"  

Politicians, including Hitler, using children 

Hitler's resemblance to Chaplin

Is there a Chaplin/Little Prince connection?



Talk about the sentimentality of fascists.

"Audience Participation Cues for the My Dinner with Andre Midnight Screening."

When those "Rocky Horror" events leave you feeling empty and questioning your very existence, it's time to move on to the Andre scene...

When André tells the story of his attempt to workshop a production of The Little Prince, and how he found himself eating sand in the Sahara desert with a Buddhist monk, eat some sand.

Throw a banana at the screen every time André mentions his wife Chiquita....

When André and Wally discuss the lamentable state of the theater and wonder if it’s possible to create a theatrical experience that would shake people out of their complacency, ask yourself: Is attending this screening/performance of My Dinner With André making you less complacent, or does it allow you to wrap yourself in yet another protective layer of ironic detachment? Is endlessly reenacting My Dinner With André a way for members of The MDWA Midnight Madness Troupe to hide behind a mask of performance and avoid exposing who we really are? Are we really saying anything with this show, or is it just an excuse for people to get drunk and dress up on a Friday night?

Treat yourself to a nice amaretto when Wally orders an after-dinner drink....