This summer, and almost every other summer since I was born, I visited my Nana in northern Minnesota. She lives in a sage green house on the edge of a river with a garden that holds irises, mosses, a small fish pond that we have since renamed a frog pond (since it no longer holds fish and seems to gain a new frog each passing day), succulents, several small and flourishing trees, and more that she and my mother have created tended. Her house is full of framed cross-stitch that she embroidered herself, and shelves upon shelves of ancient books—along with beautifully crafted furniture. While visiting this year she brought me around her house, slowly walking and leaning on ledges and my arm, as she doesn’t tend to like to use her cane indoors (something about pride), pointing occasionally at objects that my grandfather made saying, “I want this to be yours”. She ended this small tour of a house I’ve known for twenty-two years with, “I don’t know how much time the Lord has left for me”.

On the ten hour drive back to Illinois I called my mother, still at her mother’s house, and told her about this. She said, “You should have put your name on duct tape on them; when people in the family pass away, some of the others go a bit wild and take everything they can get their hands on”. I suddenly remembered her desperate attempts to get my older sibling and I to learn Spanish by putting large white labels with black block text on them on almost everything we owned that said the object’s name in Spanish. The only one I remember is “basura”.

Three hours later, at two in the morning driving down I-90 in my father’s car, I narrowly miss a deer while going 70 miles an hour. 

“For Closure” starts with Eros C Backus “turning on” a hanging light which spotlights in a warm-orange/yellow glow a small house set. Hanging his coat on a rack next to what must be the front door he takes off his shoes and heads to a record player, rummaging through several selections until deciding on one as a soft piano intro begins Broken Bells’ “Love On the Run”. Eros starts to dance and hum the tune, reorganizing his space as friends stop by. The first person is seemingly a sibling who he hugs and greets, gesturing around to his home. His sibling stays for a little while, small talk is made unheard by an audience, and they put a white label with black block text with what must be their name on it on an object-unnoticed by Eros- before saying goodbye and heading out the door.

Shortly after, two more people enter the space, greeting Eros and sitting down for a cup of..something they too are shown around and talk some invisible conversation before also each leaving a white label with black block text and saying goodbye. This cycle continues a few more times with new and ‘old’(previously seen) people, some bringing objects and others just themselves as Eros becomes less and less aware of the people around him-he is sitting quite still on a stool now, and the people visiting no longer interact with him either, their labels on everything around him and they’re taking the set now as they leave. As if they’re practiced movers, each friend, family member, acquaintance- they’re taking apart the objects with their names on them and bringing the pieces with them out the door. Slowly, bit by bit, the set is taken apart and away.

Eros is lifted by the arms and legs as the stool he was sitting on is taken as well, he is now sitting on the floor. All that is left is the record player and hanging light now. There is what seems like a minute of him sitting in that emptiness until the record player is taken as well, the music stops, now leaving Eros and that warm, yellow/orange light. One last person enters- slowly and quietly they walk into what used to be Eros’ home- unable to see him on the floor. They softly sigh, untie the hanging light, and the spotlight is gone. The performance ends shortly after.

All cardboard used was gathered from friends and family and subsequently reused for moving the January of 2024 and the following summer.

All boxes remain labeled.