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The political act of art does not lie in its visibility but in its radical refusal to be archived—the "last free gesture of forgetting." This work develops a theory of the politics of forgetting, grounded in a dual dimension: on the one hand, the structural impossibility of archiving, rooted in the intrinsic ephemerality of performance; on the other, the active, strategic decisions to withdraw from powerful logics of documentation.
Drawing on Jacques Derrida's concept of the "anti-archive," Peggy Phelan's ontology of disappearance, and Giorgio Agamben's theory of "potentiality," it demonstrates how performance can sabotage colonial-patriarchal imperatives of memory. By integrating interdisciplinary perspectives from cybernetics (Wiener, 1948), biology, and surrealism (Breton, 1928), it argues that forgetting is not a loss but a productive force—one that opens "nomadic spaces of thought." Like a stone sinking into water, the performative act itself eludes permanent fixation, yet its transformative ripples persist in social and affective spaces.
Through case studies—including Tino Sehgal, Yoko Ono, Laurie Anderson, and Forensic Architecture—this work shows that, in an era of total surveillance capitalism (Zuboff, 2019) and algorithmic capture, conscious disappearance becomes the final bastion of individual and political freedom.
The question of art's political potential is traditionally answered with terms such as representation, protest, or intervention. Art, so the common assumption goes, exerts its political power by making visible what would otherwise remain invisible. Yet this perspective overlooks the fact that the most radical political dimension of art lies in its refusal to be made visible. In an era of total documentation—where even the mundane is archived, tracked, and monetised through social media—the final act of resistance may be to not be remembered.
This work proposes the following thesis: The political act of art lies in its refusal to be archived—and this refusal is embodied in the conscious practice of forgetting. This practice is both an impossibility (since performance is intrinsically ephemeral) and an active choice (as it resists documentation). The title of this work—"The Last Free Gesture – The Politics of Forgetting"—thus refers to both: the structural impossibility of archiving and the political refusal to submit to it. Here, forgetting is not passivity but the last free gesture—an act of liberation that evades all appropriation, like a stone that creates ripples in the water while remaining invisible itself.
Performance art exemplifies this thesis in a unique way. Unlike painting, sculpture, or literature, which can be archived as material objects or texts, performance exists only in the moment of its execution. While a painting, due to its physical presence, remains susceptible to appropriation by museums or markets, performance evades this logic from the outset. Its ephemerality is not a deficiency but its political potential: it cannot be archived—and it does not want to be.
With Walter Benjamin, we might ask: What remains of the aura of art if it is not only irreproducible but also undocumentable? The relevance of this question is particularly evident today: archives, museums, and digital platforms determine what is preserved and what is forgotten—and thus what is deemed "true" and "relevant." Performance art, which resists this logic, becomes a site of disruption: it interrupts the narratives of power by refusing to be appropriated. But why is this political?
Because the power of art does not lie in its memory but in what it does—like a stone thrown into water: the stone itself sinks, but the ripples it creates endure. The political nature of performance is its catalytic character: it triggers something that has a more lasting impact than the mere memory of the act. It is in this refusal to be archived that its subversive potential lies. This refusal is the "last free gesture"—an act of forgetting that is simultaneously liberation and resistance. This work argues that performance art functions as an anti-archive (Derrida, 1996), thereby opening nomadic spaces of thought (Deleuze and Guattari, 1987) that challenge established structures. The body becomes a site of affect and the invisible—a space where political moments emerge beyond text and logic.
This work employs an interdisciplinary methodology, combining art theory, philosophy, and political theory. At its core is a critical discourse analysis of key texts on performance theory, archive critique, and power analysis, supplemented by case studies of selected performances.
Building on Jacques Derrida, the archive is exposed as an instrument of power. Performance disrupts this order by opening "nomadic spaces of thought" (Deleuze & Guattari, 1987).
Affect cartography (Massumi, 2002) examines the body as a site of fleeting processes such as silence or trembling. This is complemented by dream protocols and unconscious gestures in the spirit of surrealism (Breton, 1928).
Following Norbert Wiener (1948), "noise" (forgetting, pauses) is analysed as a productive disruption that destabilises fixed meanings.
The octopus model, which erases memories to survive, serves as an analogy for performative survival strategies against the petrification of the archive (Hochner et al., 2016).
The theory of "algorithms of invisibility" (Dean, 2010) analyses tactics of refusal within surveillance capitalism.
Archives are not neutral repositories but instruments of power (Derrida, 1996). They determine what is remembered and what is erased, who remains visible and who is rendered invisible—thus stabilising narratives shaped by colonial, patriarchal, and capitalist structures (Foucault, 1975, p. 25). Once art is archived, it loses its subversive edge: museums reduce performances to objects through documentation, thereby stripping them of their political explosive force. Walter Benjamin (1963) emphasises that the aura of art lies in its uniqueness—and this is destroyed by archiving.
Performance art is the most radical expression of this refusal. Unlike painting or sculpture, it exists only in the moment of its execution. This ephemerality is not a deficiency but its political potential (Phelan, 1993, pp. 146–150). Phelan argues that performance evades documentation, thereby undermining the power of representation:
"Performance's only life is in the present. […] It cannot be saved, recorded, documented, or otherwise participate in the circulation of representations of representations." (Phelan, 1993, p. 148)
Giorgio Agamben (1999, p. 180) adds that the refusal to be archived is not passive but an active resistance against the logic of power. Forgetting thus becomes the last free gesture—an act that evades all control and creates freedom.
The thesis that the political act of art lies in its impossibility of being remembered can be grounded in nomadic thought (Deleuze & Guattari, 1987). Performance art creates nomadic spaces—spaces that evade control and open up new possibilities. In a world where data is the new currency of control (Zuboff, 2019), the disappearance of art becomes the final act of resistance. Like a stone thrown into water, it generates ripples that extend beyond its own vanishing.
In performance, the body becomes a site of thought and resistance. Affects such as silence, trembling, or tears are not mere emotions but political acts that evade control through language (Massumi, 2002). In performance, the body becomes a space of thought for the invisible—a space where political moments emerge beyond text and logic.
Surrealism, particularly in the sense of André Breton's Nadja (1928), provides a crucial theoretical link to the ephemerality of performance. Breton conceives of the body as a site for unconscious, fleeting gestures such as trembling or silence. These reactions are inherently unstable and resist linguistic or visual fixation, thereby constituting performance as an "anti-archive." Surrealism thus supports the central theme of this work by demonstrating that the most radical political power of art lies in those non-fixable affects that transform the body into a nomadic space of thought, thereby evading the "memory imperatives" of the archive.
Norbert Wiener, in Cybernetics: Or Control and Communication in the Animal and the Machine (1948), emphasises that systems remain flexible and adaptable through noise and disruptions—that is, through a productive forgetting:
"The role of noise in a communication system is not merely to corrupt the message, but to introduce a certain randomness which may be essential for the system's ability to adapt and respond to new situations." (Wiener, 1948, p. 109)
Applied to performance art, forgetting becomes the "not-yet": an open space where new gestures, subjects, and realities can emerge. Precisely because performance is most political and effective when it is not archived—or even forgotten—it unfolds its subversive potential.
In ethology, octopuses (e.g., Octopus vulgaris) have been observed to possess a highly developed learning and memory system that allows them to quickly recognise and flexibly respond to threats. Neurobiological studies (e.g., Hochner et al., 2016) show that the vertical lobe—a brain region central to learning and memory—plays a key role in storing experiences through mechanisms such as long-term potentiation (LTP). Transposed to performance art, the principle of flexible adaptation and the non-fixation of experiences can serve as an analogy: forgetting is understood not as a loss but as a productive force.
Jodi Dean (Blog Theory, 2010) demonstrates how non-participation—boycott, silence, or exiting digital spaces—becomes a political gesture. Dean (2010, p. 212) emphasises that:
"refusal, withdrawal, and exit disrupt the circuits of communication capitalism, exposing the fragility of its demands for participation and visibility."
Applied to performance art, this idea is radicalised: its political efficacy is not only realised in the absence of archiving but precisely in the active act of being forgotten. What is not documented and not remembered not only evades control—it erases the traces of power itself.
Tino Sehgal's works exist solely as oral instructions and social interactions. This Progress (2010) consists of a series of conversations between visitors and interpreters, leaving no material trace. By existing only in the social memory of the audience, his works evade the control of archives and museums.
Yoko Ono's Cut Piece (1964) was a radical work about vulnerability: the artist sat motionless on stage, inviting the audience to cut away her clothing piece by piece. It is precisely in being forgotten that the work unfolds its radical efficacy, for only then does it remain beyond the logic of visibility and possession.
Joseph Beuys' I like America and America likes Me (1974) was a three-day ritual in which the artist lived with a coyote in a gallery. Beuys himself emphasised that his works only unfold their meaning in process: "The process is the artwork."
Marina Abramović's The Artist Is Present (2010) consisted of silent, hours-long eye contact with visitors. Although it was documented, the emotional and bodily experiences remain unarchivable.
Forensic Architecture uses the absence of documentation as a forensic tool to reveal structural violence, as in "The Destruction of the Village of al-Araqib" (2016), reconstructing missing satellite images and state records to prove systematic displacement (see Weizman, 2017).
Laurie Anderson's works (e.g., O Superman, 1981) use the voice as a medium that resists fixation. In her VR work To the Moon (2023–2024), Anderson paradoxically uses cutting-edge technology to deliberately dissolve the audience's memory in the digital space.
La Ribot uses repetitive gestures as cybernetic "noise" to deliberately dissolve meaning. Laughing Hole (2006) is a six-hour performance in which performers laugh continuously while working through hundreds of cardboard signs—without narrative, without documentation.
"Does art not vanish into nothingness without documentation?" This objection fails to recognise that the impossibility of archiving is not a loss, but rather the political core of performance (Benjamin, 1963; Phelan, 1993, p. 148).
"Is this approach not elitist, given that only a few experience the performance live?" Exclusivity functions as a necessary sanctuary against total exploitation within surveillance capitalism (Zuboff, 2019, p. 10).
"Is there not an insoluble paradox in archiving the act of forgetting in writing?" This paradox is productive: the theory serves as a signpost to a space it cannot enter itself—much like "noise" in cybernetics (Wiener, 1948, p. 109).
"How sustainable can the 'ripples' be in a digital attention economy?" The efficacy of performance is measured not by its digital half-life, but by the affective impact on the subject (Massumi, 2002, pp. 25–28).
The refusal to archive performance art is not a loss but a political act. It sabotages institutions, resists surveillance capitalism, and undermines colonial power structures—thereby creating spaces of freedom that evade control.
Art that evades archiving undermines the mechanisms of appropriation by museums, archives, and markets. As Boris Groys argues, art is most political when it withdraws from the market (Groys, 2007).
In an era where data has become the currency of control (Zuboff, 2019), the disappearance of art is an act of resistance—the last bastion of freedom.
Archives are shaped by colonialism: they decide who is remembered and who is forgotten (Mbembe, 2003). Many Indigenous cultures have no explicit word for "art," yet rely on rituals, artefacts, and ephemeral practices that act not as property but as living, transformative events.
The performance of the future is not a consumer good but an event of transformation. Its political radicalism lies not in visibility but in the right to be forgotten—in the sovereignty of disappearance. Impossibility and refusal: it cannot be archived—and does not want to be.
"Freedom begins where the power of memory ends." — Manuela Johanna Covini, 18.07.2026
Figure 1. This image embodies the central conflict between fixed memory and the living gesture. The extensive handwritten annotations attempt to control, interpret, or canonise a precarious, dark passage—the document represents the power of the archive.
Figure 2. This image depicts the physical site of selection: the archive or library. The rigid rows of shelves represent the "memory imperative" of a society that seeks to document and monetise everything.
Figure 3. A graphic representation of a negative choreography, visualising invisible structures of power. In the spirit of Forensic Architecture, it reveals structural connections through the documentation of voids.
Figure 4. This ruinscape in fog represents the result of "immersion"—the stone that has sunk into the water, with only the ripples remaining visible. A place that can no longer be possessed or fully understood.
Figure 5. The monument to the victory of the ephemeral. It does not document a gesture; it enacts the gesture of disappearance itself—the sovereignty of vanishing as the last bastion of freedom.
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