Walk Through Walls: The Power & Provocation of Marina Abramović

I recently finished reading Walk Through Walls by Marina Abramović, and while I was already familiar with her performance 'The House with the Ocean View' from the iconic Sex and the City season 6, episode 'One,' where Carrie follows Charlotte to a performance, and later in the night meets famous Russian painter and sculptor Aleksandr Petrovsky, this memoir marked my first deep dive into the world of one of the most renowned performance artists of our time.

Marina Abramović is a Serbian performance artist, who came into prominence for her provocative and boundary-pushing works that explore the limits of the body and mind. Often referred to as the "grandmother of performance art," she has become a pioneering figure in the art world. Her memoir, Walk Through Walls, was released in 2016, offering an intimate look at her life, artistic journey, and relationships from a different perspective.

While reading about one of her earlier performances, called Rhythm 0, a word flashed into my mind for a brief moment—masochism. Rhythm 0 featured Abramović standing still while the audience was invited to interact with her using any of 72 objects placed on a nearby table. These items ranged from harmless objects like a rose, feather, and bread to more dangerous ones, including a scalpel, nails, and even a loaded gun with a single bullet. The word “masochism” and thoughts of self-inflicted damage resurfaced later when reading reviews of the book. One review that stuck with me said, “You’ll enjoy this book if you enjoy self-mutilation. It’s so much easier to get the world to notice you if you’re naked and bleeding.” While this review was articulated clearly, there were several other short but harsh ones, like “Evil disgusting person.”

While the first review clearly articulates an understanding of the work as confrontational, the second takes a much more hostile and moralizing stance. The duality in these reactions reveals how the artist’s work and style are perceived through very different lenses—some seeing it as an unsettling but deliberate engagement with pain and attention, while others view it as morally reprehensible or distasteful.

These negative responses reflect a broader tension in the reception of art that challenges norms. In some instances, works that evoke discomfort are praised for their audacity, while in others, they are condemned for their destructiveness or vulgarity.

Marina Abramović, Rhythm 0 Installation photograph from: Museum of Parallel Narratives - In the framework of L’Internationale Museu d’Art Contemporani de Barcelona, 2011 Photograph: Rafael Vargas

Part of me wondered about the reason why people might fixate on the self-mutilation aspect of her performances, as many—if not most—of her works involve pushing her body to its thresholds, often causing harm to herself. But I couldn’t help thinking that this wording seemed too harsh. Exposing one’s soul in the way Marina Abramović did in this memoir deserves more than to be dismissed as simply the work of a brute. This might be masochism in its purest form, but does that mean it’s not art? The human body, in its design, is art. Pushing it to the very extremes and discovering those boundaries may be a form of art itself.

There has always been controversy surrounding her work and vision. It started with something as simple as her origins—Abramović was born in Belgrade, Serbia (then part of Yugoslavia), on November 30, 1946. Raised in a family of Communist elites, she left the country in the late 1970s. Many of the mixed reviews about her art come from her fellow Serbs.

Then, of course, there have been loud scandals regarding satanism, mostly due to her 1974 performance Rhythm 5,  for which Abramović laid inside a burning pentagram-like symbol, referencing both the religious and political climate of her native Yugoslavia. Abramović’s use of the pentagram symbol was intended to critique and reference the complex interplay between the oppressive religious and political ideologies of her native Yugoslavia, employing it to evoke themes of sacrifice, transformation, and resistance. This dual interpretation provoked polarizing reactions, with some fixating on the alleged satanic connotations while ignoring its deeper commentary.

In 2020, these satanic allegations were further reignited when a group of right-wing activists resurfaced her relatively obscure performance piece titled Spirit Cooking. This work originated as a series of etchings and notes describing imaginative alchemical recipes made with natural materials and bodily fluids. The controversy ultimately led to complaints against Microsoft, who responded by withdrawing an online advertisement featuring the artist.

Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum, New York Gift, Willem Peppler, 1998

With few examples being stated above, there are an endless amount of allegations about her institute, skincare line, and, of course, performances. But to decide which claims are true, which are ridiculous, and which are serious enough to boycott her art—or her as a person—it’s up to you and your judgement.

Keeping in mind the exploration of raw and flagellant themes through her art, not everyone is particular about enjoying this kind of performance art. Abramović’s performances are not for the faint-hearted, yet her performances with Ulay (Relation in Space 1977 and, Rest Energy 1980) and the absolute ultimate one in 1988, that also marked the end of their relationship – The Lovers: The Great Wall, are full of trust, understanding, passion, love, power, and beauty that it’s hard to ignore them.

When looking for the roots behind her eccentric style of performing, Marina Abramović’s approach can be traced to a combination of her strict upbringing in Yugoslavia, which instilled a sense of discipline and sacrifice, and the ritualistic elements of Eastern Orthodox Christianity that permeated her early life. Additionally, her deep engagement with Eastern philosophies, shamanic practices, and spiritual rituals added a meditative and transcendent quality to her work, making it a profound exploration of the human body, mind, and spirit.

Marina Abramović & Ulay Courtesy MarinaAbramović and Sean Kelly Gallery

“Beauty is terror. Whatever we call beautiful, we quiver before it.” (Donna Tartt, The Secret History)

Walk Through Walls provided the readers with extremely detailed accounts leading up to each performance, as well as the controversy that followed. 

One emotional description of the events in this book stood out more than any other. Abramović recalls how, on the first day of her performance The Artist Is Present, an Asian woman with a baby sat across from her. She describes never having seen anyone with as much pain in their eyes as this woman.

In the performance, Abramović sat silently at a table in the atrium of the Museum of Modern Art (MoMA) in New York, where visitors were invited to sit across from her, and each encounter was an intense, silent exchange of energy. The artist’s unwavering gaze and stillness created a powerful and intimate connection, allowing deep emotions to surface, as seen in this poignant moment with the woman and her baby.

Abramović then mentions the photographer Marco Anelli, who spent every moment of the 736-hour performance in the atrium, capturing photographs of all 1,500+ participants who sat in front of her. He took an extraordinary photo of the woman and her baby, a moment so powerful it earned a full page in the book published with photographs from the performance. A year later, the woman contacted Abramović and revealed that her baby had been born with brain cancer and was undergoing chemotherapy. On the morning she sat across from Abramović, she had just received devastating news from her baby’s doctor: there was no more hope.

Marco Anelli: Portraits in the Presence of Marina Abramovic

It also outlined her entire personal history, starting with her family and her deeply intimate relationship with Ulay, which was equal parts as interesting as it was heartbreaking. Marina Abramović and Ulay’s relationship, which lasted from 1976 to 1988, was as much a romantic partnership as it was a groundbreaking artistic collaboration. For much of their time together, they lived a nomadic life, traveling across Europe in a van, embodying a bohemian existence that deeply influenced their art. 

Ulay and Marina Abramović’s unexpected and deeply emotional reunion in 2010 at Abramović’s solo exhibition The Artist Is Present, after two decades of silence, was a moment that transcended art itself, as the past they had long since buried resurfaced in the raw, silent gaze they shared.

To gain that kind of insight into an artist’s mind is incredibly rare, and part of me thinks that the only reason Marina Abramović decided to share so much is that she has taken on the burden—or rather, the obligation—to carry on the teachings of performance art. In 2007, she founded the Marina Abramović Institute (MAI), a non-profit foundation dedicated to performance art. The institute focuses on supporting the preservation and creation of long-duration performances while also fostering new generations of artists through workshops, research programs, and educational initiatives. Abramović has consistently used her platform to advocate for performance art as a significant and enduring discipline, ensuring its accessibility to a broader audience and encouraging experimentation within the field.

Whether you consider Marina Abramović a horrible, satanic, and masochistic person or an absolute force of nature, reading about her life and work is undeniably intoxicating. It's a classic case of whether you love or hate this artist, it's hard to simply look away and ignore her.

Marina Abramović, as an artist, has fundamentally transformed the perception of performance art, pushing it from the margins of the art world into mainstream recognition. One notable example is her pioneering of long-duration performances, such as The Artist Is Present, which lasted 736 hours over a period of three months.

Another example of her long-duration performances is The House with the Ocean View (2002). In this piece, she lived in a gallery space at the Sean Kelly Gallery in New York for 12 days, without speaking, eating, or directly interacting with the audience.

Abramović has also completely broken down the wall between audience and performer by encouraging interaction rather than passive observation. A notable example of this is her previously mentioned performance Rhythm 0 and Imponderabilia (1977). In this piece, she and her collaborator, Ulay, stood naked in a narrow doorway, facing each other. The audience was invited to pass through the doorway, but to do so, they had to decide whether to walk between them, inevitably brushing against their bodies. The piece challenged the audience’s notions of personal space, boundaries, and intimacy, creating a tense yet intimate interaction between the performers and the viewers.

Her influence can be seen in the work of many contemporary artists who explore endurance, vulnerability, and audience participation in their performances. Notable examples include Anne Imhof and Franko B, both of whom resonate with Abramović’s focus on the body as both subject and object. Through her groundbreaking performances, Marina Abramović has challenged us to confront the deepest aspects of our humanity—reminding us that the true power of art lies in its ability to connect, transform, and endure. This may well be the legacy she leaves for us.