On Sunday, August 31, performance artist Irina Danilova invited audience members to shave her head. Bald.

The Quadrennial Shaving Performance was hosted by The Tank, a non-profit organization that provides space to emerging artists of all disciplines, and occurred at the Manhattan Children’s Theatre. It was, however, not child’s play.

Nor was it a joke, a political action, or a narcissistic exhibition of de-beautification. Rather, Danilova offered an informal ceremony commemorating the sixth anniversary of what has become a regular ritual in her life.

Every four years since 1984, Ukrainian ex-pat Danilova has shaved off all her hair. The first shaving took place in Communist Moscow and was executed by friends at the artists’ request; Danilova then sold her hair for one kilogram of butter.

The circumstances of each subsequent shaving have varied over the years. In 1992, the private tradition became a public performance, immediately prior to Danilova’s move to America. She likened the action to personal sacrifice: “You shaved for monastery; you shaved for America.”

The artist, whose English reveals a strong Russian accent, was adorned Sunday night by long, coarse, flowing, salt-and-pepper hair. By the end of the evening, her scalp was stubbly—made so by three volunteers from the audience—and signed in permanent marker by every person present.

“It’s a performance about loss,” explained Danilova. Moreover, the collection of braids saved from each shaving “show time,” she says, and compares the growth of hair to a timeline. Each thick braid, the first portion of her hair to get chopped, is stored in a plastic tube, added to her collection, and displayed at future performances. The collection of braids now consists of six.

Film projections of previous haircuts accompanied the performance—as did brown Russian bread, pickles, and free shots of vodka. Danilova indicated that the liquid courage was for anyone who might need it in order to participate in the hair cutting or head signing. Clearly, the bravest person present was none of the volunteer shavers or the audience members; without a doubt it was the artist Danilova, who shared her personal loss as a public performance.

Photos by Ignat Ayzenberg and Hiram Levy