As spectators gathered there on Wednesday, a woman in a wool coat and sneakers came gesticulating toward us, the courthouse as her backdrop. A vagrant evangelical, she preached about “His glory” and shouted at confused pedestrians — a convincing display of what New Yorkers habitually dismiss as “crazy.” Only her gauzy white veil, metallic body paint and a hovering cameraman gave her away as a performer.
Unlike many of the avant garde performers we poke fun at here, Bora Yoon seems to have a modicum of musical talent, a voice, and some ideas. (Although "music by carrot chopping" is probably an idea better left unexplored.) But all her skills are in service to a kind of spacey, esoteric, pretentious ambiance that seems, to me, hell to sit through.
There's an hour's worth below to test your tolerance.