It started with a marching band, led by a severe gray-suited woman with medals pinned to her breast. Following them upstairs, you were plunged into semi-darkness—first aware only of a huge space echoing with wails, chants, music, and the sounds of stamping feet. Then, suddenly slap-bang in front of you there was a state funeral going on: a propped-up figure of the Communist leader of the former Yugoslavia Josip Broz Tito on one side, while center-stage an imposing singer monumentally swathed in a black taffeta robe, with a towering felt head-dress ululated a piercing Serbian lament. The woman in the gray suit laid flowers and marched on into the darkness.

Thus, you’d transitioned into the creepily affecting world of Marina Abramović and her Balkan Erotic Epic performance. Summoning her ho

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