After the performance ended, I couldn't decide what was more important — what was happening outside the coat or inside it.
It was an experience of a certain deprivation. You are carefully dressed in a robe resembling a psychiatric gown, with your hands tied and a bag over your head, as if being led to the gallows. You can't see anything and can't move. You only feel the tips of markers on you, hear people's conversations, and feel their hands. A cozy hopelessness.
It's interesting to observe how quickly people forget that you are a living person if they can't see your face. They initially know who and what is inside, but now they are completely unrestrained, openly discussing the inscriptions, touching you like a statue, like an object. They create graffiti. Only a few people ask what it's like inside, if I'm still alive. And I can't even understand if I'm alive because both outside and inside, it feels like I've become a piece of marble. I kept silent.
At that moment, my thoughts took me back to the past. When I was 15, I worked at a local aquarium in the costume of a giant shark. I wasn't visible, and I could perceive the world only through a small slit — the mouth — where I could only see legs. People would put money in there for the opportunity to take a photo with me. People treated me like a stuffed toy that could be petted, admired, or even pulled by the tail, insulted, or kicked. After all, they couldn't see the person inside, and the person couldn't see them either, so anything was allowed.
Pretending to be an object allowed me to spy on the thought processes of the exhibition visitors. Some were very serious and sincerely expressed their feelings on the fabric. Others chose a post-ironic approach. Despite their anti-war stance, they discussed how witty it would be to leave slogans supporting the war and the government.
When graffiti is left on a building, the wall can't tell about the motives of those writing. But I became that wall, which not only had ears but also a mouth capable of speaking (but only after the performance, in this text).
So, it seemed like I was the vulnerable one in this experience, essentially at the mercy of the people around me. But in reality, it turned out that my “owners” were vulnerable to me. On my surface and only in my ears, they left statements and thoughts that are dangerous to show. For such frankness, one can end up in jail under various articles of the Russian Criminal Code, face public condemnation, or at least an angry tweet on the social network x.com. But the white coat on me, unlike the metaphorical one politicians talk about, is silent. It listens calmly and never judges.