24 Hour Embrace (after Young Sun Han)

On Father's Day, conceptual artist Brian Feldman vowed that he would hug his father for 24 hours straight. “24 Hour Embrace” was first performed by artist Young Sun Han at Swimming Pool Project Space in Chicago, Illinois on December 31, 2008. “24 Hour Embrace (after Young Sun Han)” marked the first time that Young Sun Han had granted permission to re-perform this piece, as well as the first time that Brian Feldman had re-performed another artist’s work.

I arrived at Orange Ave Gym (1616 North Orange Avenue) just before midnight on the eve of Father's Day. Brian was a nervous spinning dervish. He kept knocking over his "Best of Orlando" award plaques as he adjusted them. He coached volunteers David Mooney and Christin Carlow on admission prices and the media press comp list. I was thankful that I was on that list. Admission was $10 for an all day wristband. Christin slipped the wristband snugly around my wrist. I asked where the boxing ring was and she directed me to a cavernous back room to the left. When I entered the back gym, Brian's dad Edward was getting changed by a locker. He asked me to shoot several photos on his iPhone when he and Brian first embraced.

This was going to be one of Brian's last major projects of 2011. I felt a sense of urgency and wanted to fully document this piece. I considered doing 12 to 24 sketches, staying with Brian and his dad through the whole embrace. After talking to Terry, I altered my plan, deciding to just sketch the beginning and end of the hug. As I was filling my watercolor brushes with water in the bathroom, Brian and his father entered the ring. Edward opened his arms and said, "I love you Brian." and the hug began.

The event rules stated that I could enter the ring at anytime. I took off my boots and crawled under the ropes. I set up my stool and leaned back in the corner. Brian and his dad shifted their weight leaning back and forth into each other. They twisted and rotated always searching for a new more comfortable angle. David shouted, "Good night!" and soon Al Pergande came in and shot some digital photos. Orlando Live had a video camera set up to record all 24 hours. Two videographers shot cutaway shots constantly during the first hour. Halfway into my first sketch I was alone with father and son. One of the rules was, "No talking inside the ring." The embrace continued in silence.

I began my second sketch around 8pm on Father's Day. Brian looked green and exhausted, relying of his father's blocky solid stance for support. Omar Delarosa and his mom Virginia Brown sat and watched for a while. Then they crawled into the ring and embraced for perhaps 15 minutes before leaving. In the final hours, a crowd began to gather. A rowdy young man put on some boxing gloves and danced around the ring like a gorilla to his girlfriend's delight. His antics actually caused Brian to laugh. A freelance photographer shot endlessly. With my second sketch finished, I exited the ring and laced up my boots. I didn't need to see them exit the ring. The drama was not in the smattering of applause but in the long tedious moments of pain and reflection that happened when there was no audience. I was a proud witness.

Foul!

It was the opening night season premiere game for the Orlando Magic in the brand spanking new Amway Arena. As I walked toward the venue, two hours early, I saw small crowds of fans dressed in blue and white all along Orange Avenue. Several news helicopters hovered over the city most likely shooting footage of the gathering crowds around the Amway Center. I wasn't going to sketch the game, I was going to catch Brian Feldman as he read the NBA Rulebook to the crowd. At just about any sports or theatrical event in this town there is always a person on a soapbox shouting hell and damnation to the crowd. Brian's performance didn't offer salvation, but enlightenment regarding the rules of the game.

When I arrived, I unfolded my compact artist stool and leaned against a metal pylon getting to work. Brian's father was using his iPhone to shoot continuous video footage of the reading. The sun set behind a bank of deep blue clouds. Brian shouted the rules into the megaphone. The rules are amazingly repetitive. I thought at first that Brian might be reading the same rule over and over, but listening closely I found the variations in the pattern. Erin Volz in a blue jersey rode up on her bicycle. After listening for a while, she relieved Brian's dad by taking over the iPhone and shooting video. She remained there listening intently, a true Magic fan.

A policeman approached Brian and the two of them spoke for a while. I couldn't hear what was said. As Brian got back on his crate, he looked at me and shouted, "Incident!" I started sketching faster adding color to Brian and his dad in case they were told to move along. So far I had escaped detection. A female security officer rode up on a high tech electric tricycle. She spoke to Brian and when he showed her the rulebook, she smiled, laughed then drove off. A third officer, a huge muscular fellow with a motorcycle helmet also approached. He insisted Brian move his crate a foot further west. He said to Brian, "You are blocking pedestrian access to the curb." He also insisted Brian not use the megaphone. He complied and continued reading and shouted into his cupped hand. I couldn't hear a thing he read from that point on and I was only ten feet from him. The Center was blasting the insipid commentary from two announcers who were predicting a stellar season for the Magic. The crowd rushed past me growing thicker and louder. I wanted more rules.

I think it was Erin who thought of rolling up a Magic poster, creating a crude paper megaphone. Brian shouted into it, "Thor! Can you hear me?!" The second time he shouted my name, I looked up and gave him a thumbs up. The paper megaphone was only a minor improvement. A couple of times fans paused and listened, never for more than a minute. Perhaps two people ever noticed what I was doing. One woman walked up and said, "Look at you, Mr. etch-a-sketch!" I cringed but gave her the blog address. I finished my sketch long before Brian finished reading the rulebook. I patted Brian's dad on his shoulder and waved to Brian who continued to read valiantly. I made my way East on Church Street a lone fish swimming against the school of blue and white all heading to the game. My job was done, a slam dunk. Brian said this might be his final Orlando performance in 2010, so something big must be on his horizon. I think route 66 is calling his name.