By Enzo Acquaviva, contributing writer in Bushwick, Brooklyn. 

Billy X Curmano has never been a stranger to the extreme. Whether it’s being buried alive or swimming the length of the Mississippi, Billy has spent his career dedicated to expressing his art however he so pleases in the name of social justice and self actualization. We had the wonderful opportunity to reach out to Billy and get his thoughts on this year’s festival as well as his art and its development over the years. 

What was your reaction to this year’s theme of invisibility?

Invisibility is interesting, especially for a species that may well be overly dependent on sight. As an artist, I’ve tried to develop my senses, but sensual overload and horrific inhumanity sometimes teaches us how to… not see… not hear…not feel… not touch… not smell … not live.

If you can’t see something, perhaps it’s invisible, or maybe it’s just ignored or not seen or not there. I think working with elders is also noteworthy. Elders are often invisible, ignored and warehoused in nursing homes.      

What is your project for this year’s festival? Tell us how it came together.

My appearance at Art in Odd Places will be as a mute prisoner – visibly unseen. The mere presence of a wearable, sculptural cell in all its chain-link elegance is meant as a pop-up reminder of our precious freedoms contrasted by the plight of the planets unseen political prisoners – people that have virtually no voice.

My take on political prisoners is broad. It includes those incarcerated because they question societal norms, those charged with victimless crimes, the children at the border, prisoners of conscience, targeted minority groups and refugees fleeing never ending wars, crime and a changed climate. Let’s add seniors and the infirm locked away in their rooms.

The wearable lock-up allows me the luxury of mobility. It will be a series of live art walks along 14TH Street interacting with people, the other players and audience. Each frozen moment may be viewed as a “Portrait of the Artist as Political Prisoner”.  

Where are you from? What was your upbringing like and did it inform your art?

Of course these things influence our art, but my personal history is of little significance. I’ve enjoyed alternating and fabricating places and dates of birth. My mom and fan club president, “Ex Officio Perpetuitas”, once stated in an interview, “With four boys, how am I supposed to remember when and where they were all born?” Was it four and were they really all boys? I bask in that lovely fog that surrounds me.

(Although, I hate to admit – with all the electronic intrusions, facial recognition, the e-everything age – my fog dissipates.)

 “Ancestry be damned. It’s the deeds not the blood that makes us human.”

Who inspires you as an artist?

Those on the edge – always willing to risk failure for possibility. I have traveled great distances to interact with luminaries I admire, but the list is simply too long. I would be certain to leave some out.

My sage advice is to seek out those that inspire you. Even if they are extremely busy – and they are – they will appreciate your journey. Often, they are under-valued. They need to know they have inspired people.

What is your approach? What makes one decide to fast in the Death Valley or swim the Mississippi?

I love the concept of life simply as art – it runs through me. But what if the reality of my life is confused by dreams and fantasies? What is life? What is real? What is not? I think my take on live art is sometimes akin to automatic writing or a painter painting a fantasy. I seem to be compelled to live out my fantasies. Life as art morphs into a life in peculiar circumstance: in the Mississippi River, the Arctic, or Death Valley, or wherever. Or maybe it’s life as art – as life takes a turn. Then again, maybe I’m simply bored when trapped inside walls, even walls made of glass. I take great solace in nature.

I’ve tried to balance urban life and nature. I’ve been a tree planter. I’ve lived in the woods. I’ve slept in a hammock near the crown of trees. In a fit of artistic isolationism, I moved to a farmhouse on a minimum maintenance road. My work has allowed me to be intimate with the Mississippi for thousands of miles. It’s taken me to the beauty of the desert and the deep seated spirituality of a 40-day juice and water fast. It lets me step out of what eventually always becomes the everyday.

How has your art changed over the years, what kind of themes have your returned to and what is of most interest to you at this moment?

I have always delighted in breaking boundaries. Crayola outside the lines. I was probably an intermedia and performance artist long before I knew those terms existed.

My past is foggy and checkered. I have witnessed war on two continents driven by lies and greed. I don’t trust authority or the status quo. I have been been arrested, jailed and beaten by the police. Long ago, I had a brief encounter in a county jail with a transgender woman. Those were less tolerant times. She complained of being arrested simply for dressing as a woman. That was probably my first direct encounter with a political prisoner. First hand experience has guided my themes towards social justice, anti-war and environmental awareness – which includes climate change.

“Tiger Cage on Wheels” is a welded steel performance sculpture that focused attention on Kon Son Island detainees during the Vietnam War. The political prisoners were held in small stacked cages without the benefit of trial. They often became cripples as their legs atrophied. My cage was used in formal performances, exhibitions and street actions in several states and Canada and even loaned out for demonstrations. It was effective, but transporting it became a burden, so going full circle, it inspired the wearable lock-up for AiOP.

Why do you make art? Specifically, why do you make art using your body in space: Swimming a river? Locking yourself in a cage?  How have those experiences informed each other? 

I’m compelled to make art. I see my body as an instrument just passing through time and space. I try to explore It’s limitations. When viewed, I hope the performances have a positive impact on any audience that happens by – intentional or unintentional. (Living, dead, animate, inanimate, sentient or insentient) But many of these performances are simply my own vision quests in search of other realities.  

I think each project informs the next as I search for new levels of awareness. A student may continue education through levels – a seeker through meditations.

Walking with war – with Death – while still a teen shaped me. It probably guided me to the “Performance for the Dead”. I was buried alive for 3-days. Fasting, absolute darkness and visions hit me like an acid trip and my work was forever changed. I swam through Lily pads and wildlife, but came close to death again during the Zen of stroke after stroke after stroke for thousands of miles in often perilous conditions. The swim was never an athletic event, but rather a performance and environmental statement. I re-claimed the Mississippi for life affirming pursuits under the banner of art and was changed again. It sent me on a vision quest to the  desert where I communed with it’s creatures and so on and on.

What value do you feel that performance art has over other forms of expression?  

I find performance art to be extremely valuable. I think performance artists have been skillful in avoiding definitions that could limit the form. Performance is a form more free and open to experimentation than some, but I’m not sure if any form of expression has an intrinsic value over any other form. I use forms as needed. The value comes with the skill of the practitioner. I’d rather engage with a brilliant poet than a lame performance artist… and of course… vice-versa.

Any current projects or exhibitions? What should we look out for?  What’s next?

Time will tell – Maybe I should be buried alive again, without the air exchange.

Besides catch as catch can performances and appearances with my music projects the New X Art Ensemble and Threat Level 3, I still like to make things. For the moment, I’m kicking back and trying to finish some projects on land I care for near Winona, MN.

1. “The Leaning Grotto of Witoka” is a converted concrete block outhouse destined to become a grotto with a pyramid roof. It’s history is notable. It’s predecessor was blown-up as a prank by some “good old boys”. It blew differently than they anticipated covering them and their truck with easily identifiable crap. In those days, it meant an overnight in jail and restoration with a new outhouse. It will be embedded with spiritual icons, a more detailed story and performance videos housed inside – of course there will be postcards and tourist brochures.
2. “The Monument to Stupidity” – a concrete block wall not blocking or protecting anything. It will be “dedicated to all the national and international policies of the USA that just did not work out quite so well.

Are there any ways that we can keep updated on all of your current projects?

I always thought artists deserved fan clubs. Long ago and sort of tongue in cheek, I started one with a newsletter that’s been published once a year. On one hand “The Fandango” was a goof, on the other it was (and still is) a way to document my work, look back, announce future projects and get support. To my surprise, it brought in dues paying subscribers.

The dues range from a $2 Cheapo to a $5,000 Buddy, but the funds are less important than the conceptual work created with fan application forms. I could not produce works like the live burial or Mississippi Swim without volunteers. The calls go out through the

newsletter. It also becomes a reference posted on billyx.net and archived in several libraries including the Museum of Modern Art.

My website www.billyx.net links to additional sites. You can follow me on Facebook and other sites.