In total honesty, contemporary performance has slowly started embracing the formality of other art forms. There are now “correct” ways to perform and rules of engagement with the audience. Even if the work pushes right up against these socially constituted restrictions. If you see enough performances, the familiar steps and routines become all too clear.

        Yet, Jinlu Luo’s work is never routine. No matter how many times I see her work, I can still never predict what will happen. Intrigued, I asked her to sit down and discuss her experience working and living in Chicago, her performance practice, and why she believes everyone should be a stick figure.

“For the past decade, I have been Chicago-based and all my friends and colleagues are part of showing at community galleries. I love the vibe in Chicago. Chicago artists have less commercial thinking than in New York, but it’s still very urban. It’s not like LA where you have to drive a couple hours to get somewhere. It’s still convenient. It’s cosmopolitan… It has multiple layers from nonprofit to experimental to underground.”

 

        Luo is also quick to note how this attitude aligns with earlier generations of performance artists who saw the new medium as a way of breaking with the traditional art market and expanding the reach of art.

“I think the emergence of performance art as an independent art form is historically and politically tied to the year 1968. 1968 is this post-war moment of global crisis. So, the beginning of performance art was not humble. It’s very bold. It’s very loud.”

        Having seen several of her performances, I was interested in how Luo begins crafting and developing a performance.

“The first step is that I always keep a journal. Journaling daily is my personal habit for both my art life and personal life. Because I have ADHD, my brain is hyperactive. It’s very heavily loaded, so I have to dump something onto the paper, and I really enjoy that, so my journals are very fragmented. The second step, I will pick up something or select something from my journals and brainstorm about what part might have potential to create an actual happening. So that’s the reason why my performances seem very collaged… I consider myself an observational artist. Every artist is a keen observer, but my performances are like observational comedy. It’s based on the mundanity of daily life. It’s not super bizarre, like from another planet. It’s hyperaware of the trivial or the mundane—especially things that people discard. I love to explore and do deep-research about the performativity of our daily lives. Our movements—little movements—can be really poetic and performative. I think that my responsibility in being an artist is to remind the audience that your own life is already hyper-performative. There are lots of moments that are so beautiful—don’t forget it!”

        Luo’s work is a subtle revolt. Her work isn’t bombastic or brash, but elegant and brooding. You are teased and seduced into a new world where time grinds to a near halt.

“I love to make performance in a low-key way. It’s not very loud or like propaganda. I can be, but that’s not my current focus or ambition. My ambition is very low-key. I want to say big things in a little way.”

 

        Luo elaborated on how her performances emerge from the common actions of living life.

“In general, I am focused on mundanity and the ordinary. I create my own performance vocabulary from daily life and movements. In my understanding, performance—this word in English—means behavior. Performance means behavior or action, so I love to trace my performance back to these origins. Back to the instinctive human actions like how you sleep, how you eat, how you walk, how you blink, how you smile. It’s a bit of a deconstructive way of thinking in my process.”

        This kind of performance culminates in a unique praxis of refusal. The long durations of time, the vast silences, the longing stares into the middle distance invite the audience to be patient. To properly enjoy and appreciate Luo’s artistry, you have to put in the work of paying attention.

“When I think about a persona or presentation, I always think about something that is empty. I create a vacuum to be more generous, more expanded to involve more people and have them belong in the moment.”

 

        You see, the figures who flit in and out of existence through Luo’s oeuvre are alter egos of her personality. Different aspects of Luo or personalities which might have emerged in some alternate universe.

“An alter ego can come from a very light change. If you are a coffee person, try being a tea person for a day. I’m a vegan, but I’ll try a little bacon in my salad today. It’s the little actions and behaviors [that change], but it means a lot…I think it could be good for people to let go of their identity sometimes because you can gain a better perspective on life… I think everyone should be like a stick figure sometimes.”

 

        Luo’s work is as existential as it is gratifying. For those willing to endure, the rich tapestry of existence comes into view. A never-ending series of minor actions and reactions, ebbing and flowing upon the shores of the mind and rippling out into a vast, blank eternity. As Luo stated, she says big things in a little way. It’s not the kind of work that tells you what to think about the world but forces you to re-examine how you perceive the world. It’s for this reason that I love Luo’s work and am always excited to see her perform. Each performance is a new puzzle that I eagerly anticipate working through.

John Thomure is a performance artist and writer currently based in Chicago. His performance and writing practices fixate on local art history, ecology, and exploring underappreciated artists and their archives.