Unvarnished physicality was a trademark of Paul McCarthy's earliest works. In the Black and White Tapes (1970–75, 32:50 mins, B&W), a compilation of thirteen short performances, McCarthy uses his body to examine and contest ways of making art. In one segment, he becomes a human-scale paintbrush, dragging himself across the floor while pouring paint in his path; in another, he furiously thrashes the walls of his studio with a paint-soaked sheet. The consummate iconoclast, Leslie Singer took on another cultural product, celebrity. In a series of bratty performances in 1987 and 1988, she duked it out with Madonna, Whitney Houston, and Laurie Anderson (10 mins, Color). Cheryl Donegan's Rehearsal (1994, 14:25 mins, Color) has the artist assuming a series of painterly gestures. In one instance, she paints her shaven head, then draws it along a canvas to create a delicate minimalist sketch. In Iggy Want to Fuck… (2003, 3:30 mins, Color), Patrick Rock stages a Keatonesque spectacle of comedic failure. Guy Overfelt's homage to Tony Labat, Untitled T-Shirt Piece (2004, 8:30 mins, B&W), reifies the buildup of cultural residue as it swathes the body. Finally, Scott Stark's Shape Shift (2004, 3 mins, Color) employs a devious editing device that thoroughly destroys our sense of physical integrity. What is the artist's body? A fixed resource poised for delivery? Or a plastic volume for easy reinvention?