Time Poor
20220807 09:25-11:10
An MRT cleaning staff member, listening to instructions from her radio, pointed across the street and said, “They say it’s dangerous to stand here. They told you to come down.” I said okay.
Then I went and bought a small NT$50 stool, returning to the same intersection. This time I stood further from the MRT exit, but closer to the ground, facing Exit 1.
A man came from the left and asked if I had lost a game of truth or dare. He said it was brave of me to do this and that he, too, was time-poor—he was on his way to work. He was the first person to reach out and stop the clock’s second hand for me.
An older man approached and spoke in Taiwanese. He asked if I was filming. He told me he worked nearby holding a sign advertising a new property development, from 9 to 5, earning NT$750 a day. He also wanted to donate some time to me, but before I could show him how, he eagerly pressed his index finger on the minute hand. It was lovely.
This time it was an MRT staff member who came over to check. She said I needed a permit to perform. I explained I wasn’t performing; I was just standing there, and people approached me, guided only by their own curiosity. At most, I was simply a passerby, dressed a little unusually. She then asked what I was trying to express and said she thought it was meaningful. She said she would report it to her superiors.
As soon as the staff member left, a woman who had been quietly standing nearby asked if she could take a picture. I said yes. She took a few shots and went off to catch her train.
Then came nearly twenty minutes of silence. No one stopped to talk to me.
A man carrying a large painting exited the MRT, made eye contact with me, then walked back to the top of the stairs, put his painting down, and took a photo. We nodded to each other.
A man in a suit pressed his palms together in a slight bow as he passed. A foreigner with a Dulan Elementary School bag slung over his shoulder gave me a thumbs-up.
Another man from Taoyuan wearing sunglasses walked up and asked why I was “time poor.” After hearing my answer, he strongly encouraged me to move to Taoyuan, repeating, “You really don’t have to stay in Taipei!” He spoke with lots of gestures and animated expressions, all while holding down the second hand—he probably gave me more than two minutes of his time.
In the end, people donated a total of six minutes (actual end time: 11:10; clock time: 11:04). Counting all the conversations and pauses, the interactions added up to about 20 minutes. Thanks to everyone who donated.
Special thanks to K for helping with writing words on my body and documentation.
I held a clock with its glass cover removed. Written on me were the words “Time Poor” and “Spare me some.” If anyone was willing to spare me time, all they had to do was stop and hold the second hand of the clock in place, preventing it from moving forward.
Across from the Shin Kong Mitsukoshi department store, I stood on a concrete bollard at the intersection. Within two minutes, an older man emerged from the MRT exit, circled me twice, watching closely but saying nothing. At the same time, another older man approached from behind and asked what “Time Poor” meant. I said, “Because I often feel I don’t have enough time. After subtracting the hours I spend working to earn money, commuting, cooking, cleaning, and chasing the garbage truck, the only time left to do what I want is when I should be sleeping.” When I finished, he simply said, “You’ve got it tough,” and walked away.
A female staff member from Taipei Milk King rushed out for a quick glance at me. The woman at the stir-fried vermicelli stall also turned around and slowly walked over, watching me twice from a distance of about five steps.
Someone tapped me on the shoulder from behind — another male staff member from Taipei Milk King. He asked, “Can I ask what state you’re in right now?” I found his choice of words intriguing. While I was answering, the woman with dyed hair who had just passed by and the vermicelli vendor came over to listen. After hearing my explanation, the woman with dyed hair exclaimed, “Ah! This is performance art!” The three of them nodded and scattered in three different directions.
An older woman with an umbrella approached and said this looked interesting. She was from Taoyuan and came to Taipei on weekends for good food. She helped me turn the clock back one minute. Then she said, “Even rich people can be poor in time. You Taipei folks walk fast, eat fast. Look — McDonald’s is right there, but why do so many people buy from this vermicelli stall? Because they can grab and go, no waiting. That doesn’t happen in Taoyuan.” (Though I suspect the vermicelli is just really good. I’ll try it sometime.)
A man in a blue shirt emerged from the MRT, pulled down his mask, and shouted in Taiwanese, “You artists! No one understands what you’re doing!” I shouted back, “If they ask, I’ll explain!” He told me I should write my name so people would know who I was. I answered that my name wasn’t the point, what mattered was what I had to say.
A woman wearing a pet bag across her chest with her cat inside came over with an umbrella and asked if this was performance art. She told me she often visited art museums. First she pressed down the second hand with her finger, then switched to using the furry paw of her cat. Meanwhile, a man nearby kept taking photos. Before leaving, she said she was working on a photography workshop assignment and asked if she could include the photos. I said of course.
An auntie passed by, then came back and tried to give me NT$100. I said I didn’t want money, I wanted time. After hearing this, she said, “You must love yourself more. Life is uncertain. Live in the moment!” Then she took out a Buddhist blessing sticker and gifted it to me, saying she only had two left and it would help my wishes come true. We wished each other well and said goodbye.