Pain as Performance: Witnessing Cherry Velour’s 2426F
- Filip
- Jun 30
- 3 min read
Updated: Jul 4
31/05/2023
I first encountered Cherry Velour through her playful, disarmingly warm kinky clown persona—a welcome burst of joy in a scene often misunderstood. Her presence was magnetic, her energy infectious. But nothing prepared me for the sharp pivot when I witnessed her darker, more intense work live. It felt like watching two sides of the same coin—both raw, riveting, and unmistakably her. Trigger Warning - This Article Contains Graphic Images.
Witnessing 2426F
The evening began with 2426F, a 40‑minute document of a four‑hour durational scene—no plot, just visceral presence. We sat in tense anticipation as Cherry was marked, broken, and reshaped. At the post‑screening Q&A, it was hard to recognise that she was the same person; she spoke with warm enthusiasm about choosing her own undoing, reclaiming power, and transforming pain into art.
Then she became the next act.
Resurrection: More Than a Performance
Cherry stepped barefoot onto the small stage and knelt—composed, deliberate. At first, the glint on her wrists looked like jewellery or cuffs—something familiar. But when the masked figure behind her gently raised each hand, the reality landed like a gut punch: metal hooks, pierced clean through her flesh. One by one, the figure attached thin white cords to the hooks, pulling her arms slowly overhead—partway to crucifixion.
A heavy iron collar locked her into place. Then, with clinical ritual, the figure returned to pierce four more hooks across Cherry’s midriff, each one its own unbearable moment. You could see the force required to push each one through her skin, and the way she shook and screamed and laughed to receive it. But unlike in the film, there was a palpable tenderness to the exchange. At one point, the two locked eyes, and Cherry—face streaked with sweat—smiled in pain. A check-in. A flicker of trust. It may have comforted the audience more than it did her.
Despite the physical brutality of what we witnessed, we knew she was safe.
Once the hooks were in place, white cords were threaded through each one and pulled tight toward the front of the stage, stretching her forward. Under the stark lighting, the cords shone like surgical thread—impossible to ignore. Every taut line dragged the eye back to her trembling body, no matter how much you wanted to look away.
Cherry’s face betrayed everything: agony, defiance, pleasure, control. She screamed. She smiled. She grimaced. She laughed. And the laughter cracked open into another scream as the cords pulled tighter. The audience barely breathed. It was less a performance than a slow unravelling of power—offered willingly, reclaimed minute by minute.
Only when her body surrendered fully to the stretch did the figure begin the final sequence: a crown of needles traced across her forehead, followed by a gleaming metal skewer pushed—slowly, unmistakably—through her cheeks. The pop as it broke through echoed in the silence. It was unbearable. And yet none of us turned away.
When the blood finally veiled her face, Cherry remained upright. Trembling. Radiant. Transformed.
The live performance rivalled the film in its intensity—but gave us something the film couldn’t capture: bliss. Pleasure. Laughter. Unmistakable autonomy in her own undoing.
The Art of Masochism
Cherry’s work inhabits a rare space where kink becomes something you feel viscerally, even from the sidelines. It’s about intimacy and agency, not just endurance. The rituals she performs could live just as easily in dungeons as in galleries—and that’s exactly where they should be. After the performance, I reached out to learn more about her relationship with pain, politics, and poetics—and she graciously shared her insights in an in‑depth interview you can read here: All You Need to Know About Masochism, Sadism, and BDSM.
What’s Next
Cherry’s journey continues across Europe, with 2426F screenings paired with live talks and performances, beginning in Scandinavia. She dissolves the lines between dungeon and gallery, pedagogy and ritual, pain and play—inviting us to feel it all.
Written by: Amanda Sandström Beijer
