For this performance ROXANNE was equipped with megaphones; Sophie held it while Katelyn spoke into the microphone. Then we switched. We made fun of people we saw and also offered deep existential thoughts about the nature of the world, in passing. We offered up free art criticisms. We hung a painting in a tree. We walked in circles around the lake in the middle of the park, having an audible private conversation. One gentleman followed us the entire time. Katelyn tripped a few times and laughed into the megaphone. Sophie asked Katelyn questions like “I swear, have you seen my keys? Yes I already checked my pockets, YES I LOOKED AT THE COUCH CUSHIONS I SWEAR THEY HAVE GOT TO BE HERE SOMEWHERE?” Our costumes were formal wear, nylons over our faces, wigs, and a fake butt worn on our backs. We wear our asses on our sleeves, giving those that wear their hearts on their sleeves a bit of a break. We walked around the park, laid in the grass, harassed people on Segway’s, and started crying because we just couldn’t find our keys, and felt eventually as if someone stole them. Losing your keys is perhaps a metaphor for misplacing anything that is seemingly important and functional, prohibiting as well as simultaneously admitting access. Anger follows these types of losses.

This performance was in conjunction of the release of a publication called AWANNANANAW GARDEN including essays of institutional critique as well as critiques of critique, which was organized to coincide and take place on the same night as The Walker Art Center’s annual benefit AVANT GARDEN.

The title of our piece, “Where Are My Keys” refers also to the language the Walker employed to distinguish the levels of donation and access: “gold key, silver key” etc. We wanted to make a comment that art should not require keys, or special access, but rather strive to destroy all lines of exclusivity. Keeping in mind the over capitalization and professionalization of artists today, the admittance of stupidity as a quality we all possess, and an attempt to interrupt passersby’s otherwise passive courses of action, this performance was two hours long and lasted until we were exhausted by our own attempts.