Walk Through Walls: A Memoir

by Marina Abramović

Suddenly a man appeared and lit my cigarette for me. (I used to hold my cigarette with my thumb and forefinger, palm up: very sophisticated.) The guy sat next to me, and we started talking—just chitchat at first. I told him I was coming from London for a meeting in Belgrade. He said that he, too, was going to a meeting in Belgrade. Then he said a little more, and I realized he was on the arts commission that oversaw the job I was applying for. I suddenly had a flashback to my session with the Russian clairvoyant. Then he lit another cigarette for me. I said, “Thank you, Boris.” We hadn’t introduced ourselves—he instantly turned pale. “How do you know my name?” he asked. “I also know that you have had a terrible tragedy in your life,” I said. He started shaking. “Who are you?” he asked. “How do you know these things?”