top of page
Play Video

Lady Justice 
Performance, 14 minutes 

E3-Home Exhibition_6Z7A6560_February 09, 2024.jpg
E3-Home Exhibition_6Z7A6561_February 09, 2024.jpg
E3-Home Exhibition_6Z7A6563_February 09, 2024.jpg

Desk phone rings.


Me: Hello, this is Abbie Coombs speaking.


Her: Abbie. Hi - how are you?


Me: Who’s speaking please?


Her: Look. Ok. This is going to sound insane, but I really need you to trust me. Ok? It’s.. it’s… you - from the future.


Me: I’m sorry I really don’t have the time for this right now. I have a court filing at 10am tomorrow morning.


Her: No, no, wait! Please! I know things about you that nobody else could know. I know how trapped you feel, in this job. How claustrophobic.


Me: Sorry, am I speaking to a recruiter? I mean, credit where credit’s due – I’ve never had that one before. But really, I haven’t got the time to talk right now.


Her: I know you had an abortion 4 days ago.


She pauses.


Me: Do you think this is funny?


Her: On the contrary. I think its despicable. The way you sat there on zoom calls until the early hours of the morning. Turning the camera off when you had to throw up into a mop bucket.


Me: How did you..?


Her: I told you. I’m you. Listen, I don’t have much time to explain.


She starts to become visibly frantic.


Me: Did I fall asleep at my desk? Did someone put something in my coffee?


Her: Abbie.


Me: This is impossible.


Her: Abbie, listen to me. Just listen.


Me: I can’t. I don’t understand. I don’t…


Her: Open your bag.


Me: What?


Her: Just open your bag.


She opens the bag on the floor next to her desk, pulling out a black transparent skirt, a lace corset, fishnet tights, and a silver silk top.


Me: What is this? Who put this here?


Her: I did. You need to put them on.


Me: What?


Her: I, I need to show you something. But you can’t come dressed like…that.


Me: What do you mean you need to show me something? I don’t have time! I have a court filing in less than 12 hours. 


Her: Abbie. Trust me. None of this, matters. You know, deep down, that none of this, matters. I know you want more. I know it’s the reason you chose to take that pill. When the time comes, you want to be a fulfilled mother. This – killing yourself at your computer screen until the sun rises – is not the way to get there.


Me: But I don’t know any other way. I’ve spent my entire adult life working for this.


Her: This? This all-consuming, hollow anxiety you don’t know how to escape?


Me: I wouldn’t even know where to start.


Her: Come on, let me show you. I’m living a life that’s more expansive and euphoric than I ever could have imagined when I was sitting at that desk. I know you. I know you sit there looking out of your 29th floor window. Tormented by the view of the Tate Modern, just across the river. That could be you on that balcony. Waving back at yourself from the private view of your own exhibition.


Me: You’ve had your own exhibition at the Tate Modern?


Her: Well…no…not quite yet. But that’s not the point. The point is you could have. I’m certainly a lot closer to it than you are right now. You see, I don’t put any limitations on myself. Nothing. I’m free. My life is my own. And yours could be too. But I want to show you.


Me: This is insane.


Her: No more insane than willingly eating could curry at your desk at 10pm on a Friday night. Which, let’s face it, you’ll probably have a second helping of for breakfast at 5am.


Me: Ok. Ok. Fine.


Her: Good. Now, get changed.


She picks up the clothes, examining them closely.


Me: If someone walks into my office and sees me wearing this right now, I’m going to get fired.


Her: Good!


She begins to unzip my dress.


Her: Wait, wait, use the scissors.


Me: What?


Her: The scissors. Cut it off.


Me: Are you joking? Why can’t I just take it off?


Her: I’m deadly serious. It will be cathartic. Its more symbolic. And I think I’d like to use it, for a project perhaps.


She sighs.


Me: Ok. Fucking artists.


Her: Careful, that’ll be you soon.


Me: Mhm. We’ll see.


She begins to cut off the dress with the scissors.


Her: Yes, we will. Almost as soon as you’re dressed.


Me: And where are we going, exactly?


Her: To an exhibition. An exhibition that you’re in.


Me: Me?


Her: Yes. You’re doing a performance.


Me: A performance?


Her: Yeah.


Me: About what?


Her: You’ll see, soon enough.


Me: Well, where is it?


Her: Not far. You can probably see the building from your office, actually.


Me: Alright I’m dressed, now what?


Her: You need to move the desk. And the chair. It’s not going to fit in the space. You need room to dance.


Me: Dance? I thought we were going to an exhibition.


Her: Well, we are. But it’s also a rave.


Me: Ok. Ok. Just give me a second.


She moves the desk, creating a space around her large enough to dance.


Me: And now what?


Her: Dance.


Me: Dance? Here? Now?


Her: Yes. Trust me, people will start to join in soon, I’m sure of it.


She begins to dance.


Me: This is ridiculous. I feel ridiculous.


Her: Well, don’t. Because now, you’re free.

E3-Home Exhibition_6Z7A6574_February 09, 2024.jpg
bottom of page