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It’s First Friday in the Exchange District and Wilder, Commonwealth and Oldhat’s new studio space is hopping. People mill over a spread of cured meats, cheeses, beer, and boxed wine laid out on a large work table; others lean against sewing machine tables and desks, deep in conversation. Occasionally a spirited game of darts or ping pong starts up. I pick up a paddle and manage to best a friend in a game - a fact of luck more than actual skill, since neither of us is a particularly strong player. The pleasant murmur of conversation and a subdued Spotify playlist is occasionally punctuated by peals of laughter, small cheers for winners, good-natured exclamations of disappointment by players who’ve missed their shot.

When I return for my interview with Brendon, Nate, Andrew and Nathan on a late weekday afternoon, the pitch is less ebullient, but still friendly. Each is huddled at his workstation, making cracks about “keeping things pretty” for the camera.

Approaching the large, white tarp piled between two columns in the centre of aceartinc.’s main gallery, Alexandra begins her performance. With the efficiency and precision of a washerwoman on a warm summer day, she pulls the tarp out, drapes one corner over a ladder, fixes it in place with clothespins and rope. Stripping off her black slip dress, she begins to wash herself in azure sand from a large silver bucket in the centre of the tarp. She scrubs the sand into her face, across her body, into armpits and behind ears. This task complete, she sweeps up, then begins to put together an outfit from a small selection of items hanging from a wicker screen just outside the circle of the tarp: a lace dress, a string of pearls, a fur collar, a black cap, heels. Satisfied by her appearance, she sets out items for tea, and sits down to drink. Pouring the sand from tea pot to teacup, she takes her first tentative sip, then empties the cup — sand streaming down her face, onto her dress and into her lap. With a small brush and pan, she cleans up after herself and carries the tea things away. Next, she changes into blue yoga pants and a black cotton crop top. She pours out more sand, and begins to move around in it, tracing out swirls and patterns, lying down and reaching out. She steps outside the tarp once more and returns to the wicker screen to don headphones and an iPod shuffle. With movements reminiscent of a construction worker on a roadside jackhammer, she pours out heaps of sand onto the tarp from a large, black funnel. After discarding the funnel and headphones, she sits down and begins to pull the tarp in towards and around her. For a time the tarp becomes a boat, bearing her forward, then she’s in the waves, writhing, floundering, and ultimately, drowning within.

She lies still. The tarp rises and falls ever so slightly with her breath, as the sound accompaniment by Joel Mierau slowly fades.

The performance over, Alexandra emerges from the tarp, takes her bow with Joel and frees the audience to explore the rest of the space, filled the interdisciplinary works of a small group of female artists of Latin American descent. Alexandra’s work is part of a group show titled Mujer Artista: Speaking in Tongues. The show is dedicated to exploring “the weight of [the artists’] cultural histories, which are often brutal and tragic, and burdened with paradoxes.” The body of work is “extremely personal and it is also the product of complex toil.”

A week later, we sit down with Alexandra to discuss her performance.