I grew up in Hawaii, a blemish in the Pacific Ocean. Growing up, the ocean was our playground. After leaving to go to college on the east coast, my physical memories of home began to fade. My memories of the feeling of water and waves became distorted. With every recollection of home, my memories became warmer and foggier. My memory of home had become detached from my actual home.

This performance is an attempt to reach back to my playful youth and pulls from my memories of cliff jumping. To an outsider, the jump lasts seconds; to the jumper, the sensation of falling is stretched until you breach the surface of the water and claw your way back to the surface. The shattering glass around my ankles simulated turbulent water and captured the awe and fear of falling.

Several 3’ x 6’ x ¼” sheets of tempered glass were dropped from a mechanical lift above my head. As they fell at my feet, I mimicked the action of a cannon ball. Tempered glass shatters at Mach 4, so in human-based time, this performative act ends in 5 seconds. The aftermath shows me moving aside and slowly washing my feet—picking out bloody glass fragments from my legs and toes. While I am washing my feet, a high-speed camera projects onto the seamless behind me and plays back the footage at 12,000 frames per second. It stretches the moment into eight minutes of splashing. As the audience, you have seen and experienced everything that is being projected, but at this playback speed, you are allowed to bask in motion and physics. As the glass falls past my body, it distorts and warps my face, neck, torso, and then finally legs. The splintering glass looks harmless as it collides with the ground and my body. The suspended shards hang in the air with aimless purpose.

At the end of eight minutes, the video loops, but I hobble away, and you are allowed to stay in augmented time or return to reality.