Performing after

“Don’t worry, performance art never starts on time!” I had called out to my boyfriend as I bolted out of our apartment. And, indeed, I seem to have arrived comfortably pre-event, when I stride up, a few minutes late to the closing event of the “Evidence” group show at UNTITLED vol.2 in Temescal Alley. A microphone is set up in one room, with a few finely-attired folks having already nabbed seats in front, but the balance of the small throng is still arranged in clusters in the alley outside, still busy sipping bubbly drinks and filling the pleasant evening air with chatter and laughter. I scan the crowd for familiar faces and find none, but I grin when I spot Guillermo Gómez-Peña, the very performance artist, writer, activist, and Bay Area legend that I’m there to see, already holding court within his own circle of admirers.

One of the gallery’s directors makes a point to welcome me and nods me toward an adjacent narrow gallery space (these buildings used to be horse stables, everything is narrow). I am instantly drawn to Gómez-Peña’s photographs on one wall. The show is curated around the physical ephemera, or “evidence,” which is left behind after performance. GP has been in the performance art business for so many decades that he is a genius at portraying complex, slippery realities in a single shot. In one photo he spars near a punching bag with a Mexican flag, boxing glove on one hand and an American flag on the other; in another, he stands serene in an elaborately-embroidered dark veil in front of a mirror so that we see an image of GP in triplicate.

I want to spend more time with the other artists in the show (Selby Sohn and Eugene McCoy) and the alluring array of topical books from SF gallery Et al. for sale, but a murmur from the crowd indicates that the live portion of the evening is starting. I step back to the microphone room and find a stool right at the front. Gallery director #2 gives a warm Pride weekend welcome and introduces Quinn Edlin, local author and fall 2025 resident at Bathers Library. Edlin notes that her father is in attendance, finds her reading glasses, and shares a new short story in which a narrator addresses her brother’s girlfriend in a letter. 

(The narrator and the girlfriend had been in love, they had done a crime. The story is poignant and darkly hilarious and sexy and uncomfortable. I love it.)

After Edlin finishes and receives whoops of appreciation, Guillermo Gómez-Peña steps to the front and asks all except for the “radical elders” to clear the space for about 15 minutes so that he can prepare. I take the intermission opportunity to slide over to Curbside Creamery in the main alley for a scoop of nectarine sorbet (delicious!) and carry it back to UNTITLED with me just in time to see Boots Riley and his very tall hat sidle up. He’s there to see GP. Everyone is thrilled that he’s there. Everyone is also trying to be real cool about it. 

Soon enough GP is ready for us and receives an extensive intro from gallery director #2 and a request for no pictures or video: There will be no Evidence from this particular performance. He takes the stage and lifts a white flag aloft and whips it side-to-side above our heads while a doo wop version of the Star-Spangled Banner plays. He comes within a hair’s breadth of whacking a few folks in the front on the head, but everyone is laughing and (like me) just happy to be in his formidable presence. He raises a middle finger in salute at the end of the anthem and we all cheer wildly.

For the next hour GP performs various spoken word pieces about politics and culture and yes, of course, technology. In between acts he spins a roulette wheel and nods sagely at the result, takes small sips of whiskey. He embodies a wild range of characters, casting his voice up and down, speaking in Spanish, speaking in tongues. When his voice starts to give out a little he ruefully says he has to remember that he’s 70 and accepts a cough drop lollipop from an audience member. Noise from Pizzaiolo next door threatens his concentration; he momentarily leaves the stage to go have a word, before realizing it’s a wedding, so he comes back and carries on. He asks us to translate his Spanish during a bilingual piece, he silences himself during a censorship piece, he glitches during a glitch poem.

He checks on the time and then explains that his final piece is a commentary on the current state of his activism. He holds up a bullhorn, points it directly at someone’s ear, but then mouths silent words into it. He goes around the room, folks leaning in as if they can actually hear him. Finally he gets down on hands and knees, places the bullhorn on the ground, and barks into the mouthpiece. There is a dog barking nearby and it is unclear if he is responding to the dog in the moment or if the barking was planned all along. ¿Por qué no los dos? 

GP hoists himself to his feet and bows to all corners of the room during rapturous applause. His friend Hugo Morales, founder of Radio Bilingüe, has been sitting grinning in the audience, and GP introduces him and pulls him to his feet. They embrace, and GP turns back to the crowd to send us back into the night. “All right! Let’s party!”