"What is the cave of the mouth, the rounded walls inside one when not delivered into song?

Why is a violin never out of tune?

In 2001, in a loft under the J/M/Z train by the bank, I chose to play with fire in a performance. The fire caught onto my tights, rose to my chest and soon I was engulfed in flames. It was a protest of sorts and my first crucifixion, though devastating the outcome, the action in the end was intentional. I was violently unhinged, vehemently passionate, and firmly anti-worship. My dove eyes were pure and I felt poisoned by the music industry. It filled me with sorrow and this was a response...

A dear friend called it a “punk gesture” as she brought pink lights to the hospital to soften the harsh conditions of the clinical room. Another faxed me drawings from Texas, and telegrams from Paris were delivered by the nurse. Those days and months were a litmus test of sorts. It became clear who was there for you, and where things stood.

In 2016, I found the silicone patches, gels, foam and burn suits that I wore to heal my skin in a sealed bag. The smell of these garments were pungent but not vile. I started laying them out on paper and the work performed itself, finding shape in sculptures and collages. The wounds of the past gave birth to a new body of work.

This exhibition is an ode to performance. To idolize the burn is to embrace the self sacrificial condition of being on the "stage." Words out of the mouth, collapsing and dissipating into matter lost and uncaptionable from lipstick to cloth to hand. If one cannot sharpen the blade to the end, it will be nothing. I suppose this is what I was searching for. Then I wrote a lyric, I’ll never be free if I’m not free now."

Lizzi Bougatsos, New York January 2023