By Daniel Thomas

There is a movement of suspensions being used as a contemporary art form, but it’s definitely not a new concept. A Cyprus-born, Australian performance artist named Stelarc was creating artwork with suspension since the ‘70s before the modern suspension movement was really even a thing. Stelarc had some breathtaking work. For me, his 1980 installation of “sitting/swaying” at the Tamura Gallery in Tokyo, Japan will always have a place in my heart for its pure beauty. Stelarc began with 18 rocks equalling his weight attached to a circle of eyebolts in the ceiling, using ropes with slip knots. The other end of each rock was attached to a hook in Stelarc’s skin. As the performance began with Stelarc sitting in the center of the circle, each slip knot was released and he was lifted, slowly swaying until his body was completely counterbalanced in a seated position.

I have been fortunate enough to be involved in the creation of many of my visions for suspension and the visions of my dearest friends. One of my first real experiences with exhibiting suspension to the public as an art form was in early 2014. I had just moved to Christchurch, New Zealand – a city of around 375,000 people. Christchurch had been hit with a series of earthquakes that demolished the majority of their city. It was obvious that one of the coping strategies the city used was making art. The suspension team I was a member of, Skindependent, was asked to install a suspension inside a shipping container that had been converted into a downtown art gallery. We suspended one of our team members in a horizontal position facing down with lines filling the entirety of the container. The suspension was carefully designed and mapped out by our team leader, Eden Thomson. I was quite nervous about being involved in this because of the possible reactions. There were definitely some ruffled feathers from this creation, but the majority of the people were receptive and full of questions about what suspension was. I remember being uplifted by all the beautiful conversations with complete strangers about why we choose to suspend, and subsequently, we even inspired a few people to be suspended by the team later that year. I didn’t really think much of this; I just put it down to the people of Christchurch being more open-minded, and maybe because the Skindependent team had already been creating beautiful suspensions for many years prior.

Each time that I was involved in a public demonstration with artistic suspension, this pattern continued, no matter where in the world we were. I would get a bout of anxiety about possible negative reactions, but they would never materialize. People were always so curious and open-minded. I only truly realized the effect that artistic suspensions could have after designing, and helping to create, a suspension at the Skin Project in New York City. Skin is an annual event, hosted by the Anchors Aweigh team, bringing practitioners from around the world together to create a gallery-style production. This event has done a great deal for the development of artistic suspension and continues to push boundaries each year for what is possible within this art form, but for me, this pushed boundaries in my own family. I come from a loving and supportive family, but they have made it clear that suspension is something that they would rather I was not involved in. After the event, I posted some photos online of this suspension and I received messages I never expected to see. My mother, father, and grandmother had all individually sent me messages of praise that meant so much to me. It wasn’t the praise that meant a lot; it was the beginning of acceptance of my involvement in something that I love so much.

I believe artistic suspension has a very special purpose and that is to create a form of wider acceptance for what we do. To me, suspension is a beautiful, empowering act. I see it in an entirely different light than the general public. People tend to see it as a form that is tortuous and is linked to a purely sadistic/masochistic motive. Often just the idea of suspension evokes emotions that will turn people’s stomachs and set boundaries that will prevent them from ever wanting to see this act.

I believe that art itself encourages us to challenge our own boundaries. People view art, not only for its ability to be visually pleasing, but also its thought-provoking nature, allowing us to act differently when something confronts us.

For those who suspend, regardless of the reason, it becomes more than just an act you do. It is something that becomes a crucial part of your identity, so finding a way to bridge that gap is exceptionally important. Ask a suspension practitioner what their favourite part of suspending a first-timer is and often their response will be, “that first suspension smile”, the look on the suspendee’s face when their feet first leave the ground and the realization that they have done something that moments ago, they were more than likely telling themselves was entirely impossible. I can’t even count the number of times that I have facilitated a suspension for someone and later heard that their elation of self-empowerment had been crushed by some degree of strain within the relationship between them and their family, even though they found it to be a positive, uplifting experience. I don’t think suspension will ever be something that is completely off the taboo list, particularly in a society that is constantly seeking comfort, and rejecting the idea of pain having any positive connotations. Regardless, I love the idea that working with beautiful lines can create a piece of art that attaches to the hooks, facilitating the ability for people to see suspension for the beauty it has behind the eyes of the suspendee.