Twenty-one hours. The same sentence, written and erased. The body as its own limit.
IWYDD (I Wish You Did Die) is a performance shaped by survivor's guilt, endurance, and the unbearable contradictions that emerge from living through grief. Over twenty-one hours, I repeatedly wrote and erased the same sentence on a white wall, using white chalk while dressed entirely in white. The wall, the chalk, the body — all white — created a near-invisible act of inscription that required sustained proximity to be read.
As the performance progressed, my hand began to swell from overuse, the skin recording the duration in its own grammar. I continued until the physical limit of endurance imposed a boundary, ending the performance in hospitalisation. The final act was gathering the accumulated dust and using it to make a final inscription — the residue of twenty-one hours of writing becoming the material of its conclusion.
The invisibility of the act was its condition. A white sentence on a white wall can only be read up close, in the right light, at the right angle. The effort required to read it mirrors the effort required to receive grief — both demand proximity, attention, and willingness to remain with what is barely there.
IWYDD pushed PLRM to its bodily limit and established the principle that the body's endurance has ethical as well as epistemological stakes. The hospitalisation that ended the performance was not a failure of the work but its honest conclusion — the point at which the body's truth superseded the performance's duration. This work also introduced the poetics of near-invisibility: acts that are present but difficult to perceive, inscriptions that require closeness to be legible.