JM:  It just fit — it's the way I experience the world. I grew up in a museum where my father worked, so learning about history, tragedy, and ideas through a blending of art forms, as in the galleries, was totally commonplace for me. I wasn't ever comfortable or capable of making the choice between "visual art" or "design" or "dance." Often, people have misunderstood me as a choreographer, but I'm not. "Performance art" is probably the best term, but I never perform… so it gets confusing for people, which is fine.

JM:  Both were interventions of a sort: When intervened in the rush of Broadway to remind people of natural time, and Six Square intervened in the passing of passersby to remind them of an architectural landmark. Both performances occurred in the interstices between public and private spaces, and within that, using costume, I joined the female body to rotating architectural planes.

When was commissioned by the New Museum for a show critiquing the West's relationship to aging, and so I tried to reveal our anxious relationship to time. I slowed down the viewers long enough to perceive "change," which is the basis for time perception. Six Square created a building ritual motivated by the initial design principles of Vito Acconci and Steven Holl, who wanted to dissolve the boundary/skin between art gallery and pedestrian space. Holl invited me to create this performance, and I was interested because I had rarely seen the gallery used in its full capacity, especially at night. We brought in lighting design and essentially unfolded the space until it and all the performers were red and exposed.

JM:  I believe in the necessity of public interventions to create small shifts in perception, causing people to turn from one realm of meaning to another. The intervention serves as a type of catalyst, underscoring my belief in the role of curiosity as the lifeblood of our cities. Variable City fits into this system, but my process was distinct from my other projects because I was more methodical. I worked collaboratively over three years, consumed with layers of research prior to the 100 public performances, which evolved into an exhibit as the finale.

JM:  With all the choreographers, I work very closely and intimately. The more experience the choreographer has, the more their independence is expressed. In the early days, I worked with the computer program Life Forms Studio to delineate the movement I wanted for the performers — a kind of mechanized choreography lab and notation device, all in one. It was great. Lately, however, I've been working without a choreographer and have created a movement score composed of questions for my performers. I ask them to move out of their own emotional and intellectual motivation rather than play a role. I work with a movement consultant who specializes in a certain technique that supports the intensity and endurance required with this new method.

JM:  Actually, it wasn't a very big challenge, because I had anticipated the exhibition during the entire project. The exhibit was always a critical part in conveying the impact of public performances on the early design phase of urban development. I worked with two graphic designers, Bethany Koby and Sidney Blank, who helped us transform the pre-site work, performances, and post-site work into an amazing three-room display. We had one long room filled with tall plinths that had information on all sides, but from a distance it looked like a cityscape. We had a key on the left side of each plinth that alerted viewers to where they were in the process. We also were able to show very clearly and actually prove how successful performance art was in engaging the public in the urban-design process. We generated enormous public interest in the site.

JM:  I believe the absence of performers is a more potent presence. What's most painful about Guantánamo Bay is that the prisoners have disappeared with little hope of honest representation. Guantánamo, the Military Commissions Act, the Detainee Treatment Act, and the signing statements have created an environment where our president now has the power to declare anyone — citizen or noncitizen — an enemy combatant and have him or her taken away without the right to a fair trial. These hoods — really, these men and boys and women — are firsthand witnesses to this devastating, illegal, and inhumane reality. Those of us who aren't personally connected, well, we can tune it in and out. I feel our inaction equals complicity, and this installation, these witnesses, hang like a dark cloud on our future horizon.

JM:  I think of this performance as an American portrait — a self-reflection. Americans are experiencing an identity crisis; we're really confused and worried and distracted. I want to look at that and ask: what does it mean to be an American today? Who controls our actions and image abroad? Why is it that we are so devoted to a bargain mentality where we expect to take more from the world than we put into it? What will it take to catalyze us into action? Similar to all my work, I want to intervene in the everyday and create a reason for people to stop, pause, and reflect. Americans are the only ones who can save America at this point. We have to stop waiting for someone else to do it for us.