Libby Heaney’s performance was part of Eat My Multiversepart of the Art + Tech x Cosmos programme of Escola das Artes of Universidade Católica Portuguesa, Porto’s campus.
It mixed a live performance combining quantum computing, virtual environments, sound, voice, movement, embodied ritual, and surprises.
Two things instantly drew me to Libby Heaney’s Eat My Multiverse performance: the word multiverse, and a photograph of Libby on Nibble My Multiverse, MU Hybrid Art House, Eindhoven (2026), taken by Hanekke Wetzer.
I work in multiverses. Whether through The Polymath, of which The Polymath is an expression, through The Listening Room HQ, my music, my poetry… It’s no wonder the word stood out as if it had been written in fluorescent pink.
We are in a secluded performance space. Some of us sit on chairs, others on cushions, others still on the floor, all facing a large screen like a canvas.
Someone claps their hands, like a cinema clapperboard. The lights dim.
Libby enters and positions herself in front of the centre of the screen, wearing a nude-toned suit.
Chapter 1 — Multiverse (put in bold)
“Feeding on a special… and stardust, my tissues kick under gravity,” she speaks.
A person moves through the performance space, walking around Libby with a digital torch. Its presence shifting attention across body and screen. Libby moves gently, almost dancing, her red hair catching the light. Her gestures are soft but precise, as if responding to both sound and image.
The screen behind her shows shifting visuals, loosely connected to her words. Movement and image begin to merge, slightly out of sync, slightly blurred.
Libby walks towards the right side of the space, moving closer to the audience.
Something is said about the speed of light.
A constant beating emerges, heart-like, insistent.
“Wake, chest, sleep, repeat…”
She continues moving along the right side, bending, contorting, her breathing becoming audible. Her voice softens into fatigue.
She returns towards the centre, now among the front rows of seated audience members. She keeps speaking throughout.
Head down. One leg lifted. Heavy breathing. A voice that begins to sound physically tired.
She pauses to drink water. Asks us how we are doing.
“How is my multiverse now?”
Libby asks if anyone would like to share their multiverse. “My multiverse likes participation.”
Someone eventually speaks, describing a spiral, hunger, and a sense of disorientation.
“My multiverse is disappointed.” She responds simply, almost candidly since she is not a stand-up comedian; she is not used to this, she says. Adding “We never know how an audience will respond. We have to try new things.”
Chapter 2 — Quantum
Libby opens a transparent box and takes out a viscous, slime-like material.
She begins to play with it, throw it to us, to distribute it among the audience. A small amount lands on my backpack. I gather it into a small sphere; it now sits inside Notebook 25 of my Morning Pages.
A metronomic sound underpins the space, repetitive, grounding, almost mechanical.
“2008 to 2013… cold clustering corridors…”
Now, Libby lies on her back on the floor, speaking and gesturing. The heartbeat returns.
She crawls, then stands. Screens flicker. Sounds fracture into squeals.
Chapter 3 — Digestion
We are asked to stand.
“If you would like to come up and place on my body however you want, come.”
For me, this moment feels more unfamiliar.
I remain seated.
A “light bearer” moves through the space, passing a torch across her body.
“I invite you to join me… let us touch our portals…”
Bodies, space, and attention begin to fold together in a shifting configuration. A heartbeat grows louder.
Libby is on the floor again. “Thank you.”, she says. And for now, for us, her multiverse ends.
We leave the black box, each back to their lives, their multiverses. On that may, mine takes me to an ocean swim.
Mondo Bizarre Magazine 