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In 1980, when I first began performing, I was a purist—or perhaps I was simply naive. My performance ideal at that time was “hit-and-run,” the guerilla-like disruption of an event-in-progress, an electric jolt that would bring a strong response, positive or negative. But whether I was doing Mlle Bourgeoise Noire at a downtown opening or Art Is… before a million people in Harlem's Afro-American Day parade, as the initiator, I was free: I did not have an “audience” to please.
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