Why would anyone self-impose a prison sentence in the name of art? Only a peerless performance artist would, and that is Tehching (Sam) Hsieh. In his first-ever retrospective at Dia:Beacon, “Tehching Hsieh: Lifeworks 1978-1999” (on view through 2027) offers a remarkable vision of Hsieh’s extreme concepts in a show that reflects his obsessive creative capacity and personal power. Featuring photographs, video, and ephemera from five, year-long durational performance works, the absolute melding of art and life is Hseih’s unparalleled contribution to the global canon.
Hsieh arrived in New York in 1974 to escape the conservative culture of his native Taiwan. Now 74 years old and retired from making art (he ended his practice in 2000), Hsieh’s intense “lifeworks” began with One Year Performance 1978-1979 (Cage Piece) (1978-79). The focal point of this piece is the bamboo cage that housed him from September 30, 1978, to September 30, 1979, when the artist was 28 years old. During that year, he did not speak, read, write, or leave the cage (a friend took care of his food and waste as a daily chore). Hsieh clocked the days as lines on the wall made with a nail clipper.
As part of this exhibition, the original bamboo-style jail cell offers art lovers a chance to embrace the reality of Hseih’s life during that year. Other sections include coffin-like vitrines that showcase his clothes, meager belongings, and objects from the other performances, including the 8-foot rope of course.
Peering into the stoic jail cell, I thought of my older brother, who spent nearly four years imprisoned, and I was overcome. What did his family think of this work? What prompted this outrageous idea? How about the soul-crushing FOMO of that year? Is this not the ultimate vision of the artist as madman?
Next in Hsieh’s performance timeline is One Year Performance 1980-1981 (Time Clock Piece) (1980-81), where he hourly punched a timecard into an analog clock. The sheer stamina needed for this kind of artwork is unfathomable, and a row of mugshot portraits of the artist across the wall reveals the only change over the year: his bald head grows out a thick mullet. One Year Performance 1981-1982 (Outdoor Piece) (1981-1982) is another doozy: Hsieh remained on the street in New York City through four seasons. As the sober, typewritten statement declares: the artist will “never go inside” for one year. The photographs that document this performance are as equally precious as they are painful, and the image of Hsieh tucked into a sleeping bag and nestled between the wheels of two trucks busted my heart.
While all of Hsieh’s works are somewhat incomprehensible in their severity, his Art/Life One Year Performance 1983-1984 (Rope Piece) is downright bananas. For this performance, he and fellow badass performance artist Linda Mary Montano pledged to never touch while remaining joined by an eight-foot rope. The photos of this work are astonishing and absurd: the pair running, sitting apart with friends, Hsieh washing dishes at the sink, Montano getting a Tarot reading. Another litany of queries about the rope-year: What about time on the toilet? What about sex? Did they consider quitting? Did they do anything wild on the last day?
The final piece to define Hsieh is the work Tehching Hsieh 1986-1999 (Thirteen Year Plan) (1986-99), and here the long Dia corridor is an empty expanse that represents the 13 years that he kept his art out of view entirely, which happened after his One Year Performance 1985-1986 (No Art Piece) during which he rejected art altogether. These extraordinary works leave one grasping, and in awe.
Today, to be “obsessed” is a catchphrase of convenience, deployed for every minor fixation. Tehching Hsieh’s obsession as an artist is total physical discipline, yet entirely cerebral, the immaculate “readymade made.” His durational performances are legend, and their record allows us to feel the intensity for ourselves, revealing the artist in a word: master.
This article appears in January 2026.
