Sogol Mabadi @ Studio 41

Crossing the threshold of Studio 41, you immediately enter a small room, where it seems everything is awaiting your arrival in order to begin. The invigilator speaks in hushed tones, telling me what’s going to happen. “When you’re ready, have a seat opposite the other. She will remove her blindfold and use it to blindfold you. If you could lean forward when she does this to make it easier…” His words sound rehearsed and have been carefully chosen.

It’s slightly uncomfortable at first, sitting so close that our knees are almost touching. Although she is blindfolded, I avoid facing her head-on, instead looking around me. The walls are painted pistachio green and matching padded totems encircle us, screening us from view of the window. Everything seems soft, cushioned, restful.

When she unwinds her blindfold and draws it forward to transfer to me, I don’t see her face, as my head is bowed forward ready. By chance or design, it falls to cover my whole face and mask my expression. The sounds of traffic outside are now heightened, but also muted.

The artist’s knees touch mine and nudge them apart slightly. Next there is a light pressure on my thumb joint, gradually working its way to press against my palm. It would be easy to respond more actively, unclasping my hands, but it seems that isn’t the point. Is it strange that to have this kind of slow, tentative intimacy with strangers, we blindfold it and call it art?

As I leave, it feels rude not to thank the artist, but wordless thanks aren’t possible as she remains blindfolded. Even stranger is not turning to someone to chat. This reluctance to leave life outside and acquiesce to the silence is perhaps due to the lack of any anteroom device as prep for the performance. But perhaps its lack of remove from life or butting up against it is what the work’s about. [Jac Mantle]