I sat at a small square table, lit by a bright white light, in the center of the Near Death Performance Art Experience at the Boston Cyclorama. The space is so big (more than 12,000 square feet) that once daylight had faded I was surrounded by darkness.

I sat at the table from 4:00 p.m. until 11:00 p.m. Continually throughout those seven hours, I very slowly, nearly imperceptibly, pushed two clear glasses of water across the table. They sparkled in the light and reflected the space and the people standing nearby. My hands, my focus, rarely left the glasses. At 11:00 p.m. they teetered at the edge, tumbling one after another to the floor, crashing and breaking, the water slowly spreading. I stood up and left, walking into darkness.

Other performances took place throughout the seven hours. They were sited around the perimeter of the space, moving in a circle around me. Their sound was sometimes loud, but whenever there was a break, you could again hear the ticking of a clock echo throughout the space, emanating from my site.