{"id":15030,"date":"2011-04-26T11:53:48","date_gmt":"2011-04-26T15:53:48","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/?p=15030"},"modified":"2011-04-28T09:17:21","modified_gmt":"2011-04-28T13:17:21","slug":"put-up-this-wall","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2011\/04\/26\/put-up-this-wall\/","title":{"rendered":"Put Up This Wall!"},"content":{"rendered":"
\"\"

A screenshot of Salty slapping Dan Safer. <\/p><\/div>\n

Last Saturday evening, before a small audience gathered in the Invisible Dog Art Center in Brooklyn, a man named Salty repeatedly slapped a man named Dan.<\/p>\n

\u201cLess on the chin, more on the cheek!\u201d cried Dan Safer, a choreographer, standing inside the masking-taped square that had been marked off as the stage and steeling himself for yet another blow. With a red bandanna tied around his neck, Safer sported muttonchops, a handlebar mustache, and tattoos that ran the length of his arms.<\/p>\n

The fellow named Salty obliged, smacking Safer again and again until Safer\u2019s face turned bright red and he grew dizzy, widening his stance to stable himself. \u201cI love you!\u201d blurted Salty, a slight blond figure in maroon corduroys and a yellow-and-blue-striped tie, after landing a particularly fierce slap.<\/p>\n

\u201cHow we doing on time there, Rob?\u201d Safer now asked of Rob Spillman, editor of Tin House<\/em> and the emcee of the night\u2019s event, programmed by the French cultural institute Villa Gillet for an ongoing series called Walls and Bridges. Spillman had been conscripted as timekeeper for the current \u201cpiece.\u201d He stood off to the side, a reluctant accomplice in this sustained act of public sadomasochism.<\/p>\n

\u201cForty-nine seconds!\u201d said Spillman, looking extraordinarily uncomfortable. A low collective moan came from the audience. Four minutes and eleven seconds of this remained.<\/p>\n

The theme of the evening was \u201cborders,\u201d broadly construed. Journalists, philosophers, dancers, and musicians took the stage, one after another, in what amounted to a literary variety show, each offering a take on the night\u2019s theme. Literal borders\u2014the ones that separate hemisphere from hemisphere or country from country or borough from borough\u2014were the subjects of some stories or performances. Figurative borders\u2014like the borders between the religious and secular, between youth and age, between sleep and wakefulness, between the public and private\u2014were the subjects of others. And now, Dan Safer and his friend Salty were exploring another sort of border, one they declined to label precisely, but which may have been the border between comfort and discomfort, or perhaps simply that which is tasteful and that which is not.<\/p>\n

\u201cTry one with follow-through\u2014like a pimp!\u201d said Safer, gritting his teeth.<\/p>\n

In an evening as varied as this one, it was difficult to discern a single thread. Serge Michel, a correspondent for Le Monde<\/em>, told about the Cold War\u2013era shadow economy he had witnessed along the Hungarian-Romanian border. Virginia Heffernan, the New York Times<\/em> columnist, explored the boundary state of the trance, which she tried to provoke in the audience members with a rambling stream of consciousness on the topic of Ambien. Francisco Goldman narrated the great heist that he and a friend pulled off on Goldman\u2019s 40th<\/sup> birthday\u2014they had drunkenly climbed to the top of the Brooklyn Bridge (\u201cit wasn\u2019t nearly as difficult as you would think,\u201d he said) and nabbed the flag, which waved at half mast for Richard Nixon\u2019s passing. Filled with tales like these and punctuated by jazz numbers from Guilhem Flouzat and Ned Rothenberg, the evening marched eclectically onward.<\/p>\n

And yet for all its variety, a single overarching question\u00a0did<\/em> seem to emerge: \u201cAre borders good or bad?\u201d Nationalism is unpopular among most Brooklyn arts-scene crowds, it is fair to say. And even though\u00a0Robert Frost did once write \u201cgood fences make good neighbors,\u201d\u00a0there is a trend, originating in France, in which members of various professions declare themselves to be \u201cwithout borders,\u201d\u00a0sans fronti\u00e8res<\/em>. Indeed, toy around with the phrase for a moment on Google and you\u2019ll find it\u2019s not just doctors who have declared nationalism dead; engineers, lawyers, scientists, even clowns have followed suit.<\/p>\n

Still, the most intriguing moments of \u201cOverboard!\u201d came when the presenters suggested, if only for a moment, that we sometimes lose<\/em> something precious when we tear down a border. The journalist David Samuels, raised a strictly observant Orthodox Jew (\u201cI couldn\u2019t take my morning shit without thanking God,\u201d he said), crossed a border on stage, eating a bacon sandwich. The bacon tasted good, and he was glad to be free, he said\u2014but even so, he felt he had given something up when he had turned to secularism, years ago: he felt, even now, \u201ccheated of a sense of enchantment.\u201d<\/p>\n

Ruwen Ogien, a French philosopher with a wild shock of grey hair, spoke about the need for privacy. Though he opposed the borders between nations, he lauded the sacred sorts of boundaries that existed between individuals\u2014the door to the bathroom, for instance, or the curtain hanging before the bedroom window. And even if he didn\u2019t agree with its position entirely, Michel, the Le Monde <\/em>correspondent, called the audience\u2019s attention to a friend\u2019s book entitled Eloge des Fronti\u00e8res<\/em> (\u201cIn Praise of Borders\u201d). Perhaps the \u201cwithout borders\u201d trend had gone too far. Next, he quipped, we would have \u201ccustoms officers without borders.\u201d<\/p>\n

In the end, there was no better case for the value of borders than the act by Safer and Salty, which, after five tense, painful, exhausting, too rarely amusing, long, long minutes, finally drew to a close. (\u201cI don\u2019t think he realized how many slaps you could fit into five minutes,\u201d Spillman told me afterward.) The audience enthusiastically counted down the last ten seconds. The slaps stopped. Relieved cheers erupted\u2014pierced by loud, aggressive booing from those whose residual irritation outweighed their relief.<\/p>\n

Safer turned to the microphone, face red as a pomegranate. \u201cThank you very much,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n

David Zax is a writer living in Brooklyn.<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Last Saturday evening, before a small audience gathered in the Invisible Dog Art Center in Brooklyn, a man named Salty repeatedly slapped a man named Dan. \u201cLess on the chin, more on the cheek!\u201d cried Dan Safer, a choreographer, standing inside the masking-taped square that had been marked off as the stage and steeling himself […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":163,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[419],"tags":[2189,2188,117,2190,2191,1548,2187],"class_list":["post-15030","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-arts-culture","tag-borders","tag-david-samuels","tag-nations","tag-sadomasochism","tag-tin-house","tag-villa-gillet","tag-walls-and-bridges"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\nPut Up This Wall! by David Zax<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"April 26, 2011 \u2013 Last Saturday evening, before a small audience gathered in the Invisible Dog Art Center in Brooklyn, a man named Salty repeatedly slapped a man named Dan.\" \/>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2011\/04\/26\/put-up-this-wall\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Put Up This Wall! 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