Breakfast For My Father
When I was growing up, my father ate breakfast most mornings at a local diner in SF Bay Area. It was possibly the first ritual I was aware of. He was often alone, but surrounded by men like him speaking through the waitress to each other. At other times, he was in the company of a few male friends. They told some jokes, talked about the issues of the day, and ate, then went about their business. As I got older, if I wanted to find my father in the morning, I knew where to look. I shared some breakfasts there with those men over the years. As I get older, I find that I miss the company and the closeness that they shared, if only for the time it took to eat two eggs over hard with dry rye toast and coffee, not too hot.
Breakfast for my Father, 2013, was a durational performance suggested by my father’s custom of eating at a local café in the company of other men. I invited men to allow me to buy them breakfast as an opportunity to recreate the intimacy of my father’s circle of friends. When our meal was over, I asked my guests to sign a baseball, which I archived along with the check.
This is a project about male intimacy and belonging.