In the murky, grey light of dusk, half-filled vintage milk bottles line a sidewalk path. Some of them are covered in clear tape, giving the could-be-cutesy objects a disheveled, broken, almost slimy look. Anticipation grows and a small crowd gathers. Photographers take their place behind a low barricade. It could all be very hip, but there is something sour in the air.
When the models finally arrive on the catwalk of Annie Tatton’s performance-art piece Milk and Mucus, they are covered in goo and struggling to strut as one spike on their extra-spiky heels has been amputated. These are professional models, though, and they bravely soldier on. Wincing and limping, these willowy, ethereal, and very-young girls, hobble along, each pass more painful than the last. It is impossible to watch Milk and Mucus without understanding its comment on the inherent cruelty of the fashion world, and the twisted perspective and methods of the beauty machine. It’s a heavy-handed message, but, as in all good performance-art, the value of the piece lies in actually seeing those shivering girls, covered in wheat paste and dragging a foot, walking with stony faces and glittering eyes.
Tatton herself plays a role, holding a slab of plexiglass and periodically stepping in front of a lumbering girl as she tries to continue on her path. The model must keep walking in place until the plexi moves away, and these are powerful moments which, for me, evoked many images from an x-ray (illness), to a peep-show’s protective window (pornography), to the obvious yet still enraging “glass ceiling” on advancement, respect, and influence for women.
The show runs about 15 minutes – as brief as fame and, for fashion models at least, youth – but is packed with striking images and ideas. If you’re seeing something in the area I recommend investigating yourself, especially if you are interested or involved in the fashion world. But if you’re on a budget, it might be too short to warrant a trip across town.
