Lets talk about this chart for a little while since I haven't written in a while. I've been doing a lot of experiments with metrics in poetry, with prosody, and learning how to chart natural phrases. I'm planning a series of sonnets that may be in a sort of ghazal mode, as in they're going to approach themes of love and separation. Some of the things I've been thinking of as hallmarks or points of guidance for it are some of Berryman's Dream Songs (specifically for their use of recurrent characters), Borges' sonnets on some of his literary and other idols, and some Shakespeare. I never read any Shakespeare outside of school until recently and it only just started making sense. Sometimes I feel like the course I've followed for myself, my own sort of curriculum since 2006, has lent me a pretty solid yet amorphous foundation for further experiments.
But lets get back to this chart for a minute. I've also been learning a lot of geometry, I want to learn the calculus, especially its necessity. I'm a huge Borges fan, I read Borges learned Zeno's paradoxes from his father on a chess board. There are so many beautiful and romantic things about that image to me. Follow me long enough and you'll know two of my biggest idols are Borges and Duchamp. I'm imagining myself right now watching them play chess, something about the Ruy Lopez or a Spanish Opening. I tried for a long time to learn chess openings, some tactics and strategies, but I'm not into it enough to practice on a daily basis. Apparently I'm into writing and singing enough to practice those things, I tweet enough to aggravate the living shit out of most people and if you hung out with me I'm constantly either singing or playing Precorder...
I still haven't made it to the chart! This is a post about a nonchart, a nonmap and a nonplan. I been reading this terrific biography on Tagore and it has really touched me. I'm not one for, what seems to me, the forced sappiness of the Lin sect, but I'm all about sincerity in love in the mode of Hafez. I keep wondering about oppositions, the nature of the world in its dualism, how object and subject oppose and all the concomitant polemics. I think I read once about a "passive" oriental mindset, something opposed to the Nietzschean "superman," or active principle. I'd guess its like a Kinsey scale, there is no black nor white, there is merely a spectrum in between. But sometimes gradations and solid degrees are good tools, are good ways for us to frame an analysis.
Lets see how long he can avoid the chart.. I've also done some studies of chakra, though when I say I "study" it usually means about 6 hours or at most two days. I'm pretty keen sometimes, though. I did some drawings mapping out what I perceived as a concordance between 7 scale degrees and Western accepted 7 chakra positions. It made a lot of sense to me when I read it at the time, the seat of voice being 5th chakra, seat of melody in song being 5th degree. I'm working on a cosmology of sorts, ha. I'm always working especially by not working. Maybe I'll look into the etymology of work, Debord said "never work"? Reed wrote a song about Warhol, about Drella, and the lyric was "the most important thing is work." I guess that's why I find myself writing this today, weasel words and all.
Finally lets look at this chart! I promise! Vernal equinox was about 10 days ago, we see Sun a little past 10th degree Aries. Aries is the initator, the beginning of the cycle. Vernal point because it begins our Spring, Aries is associated with the head and with the sprouting of the seed. Here we see a conglomeration of luminaries. Mercurial intellect just turned around (retrograde) and initiates communications; expansive Jupiter sits mid-Aries opposed to Saturn, we get a fiery expanse; Sun soon conjoins Jupiter in this opposition, putting benefic, good luck, ego across from the scythe, Father and karmic ender Saturn. I wrote a little analysis once about the recent revolutions and how it's curious that Uranus (the Revoluter) is at Aries point for these events. Still we see Mars soon conjoining Uranus, so the conflict does not end soon, it stays martial.
Essentially the chart stays stressed. Pluto runs the T-square from 7 degrees Capricorn. Cardinal signs are shook by a series of squares. When Sun hits 8 or so degrees Cancer we'll get another flux of energies as it completes a Grand Cross. All of this is vague and awful. Astrology takes the truth of astronomy and grafts a traditional method of interpretation. We take the Moon's cycle and use it as an analogue for longer cycles. I feel a bit demoralized? The magic of my art is my vulnerability. I'll keep working through these metric studies and then the sonnet (song) cycle with the Buddha, with Ibn Arabi's Her, with all the love and heft of attachment/detachment will emerge. It's my malware, I assume the most innocuous form to infiltrate the system. Sorry I meander, stay lovely all. Especially those who don't read.
Meditations on art, poetry, language, sound, cycles, self, media and nothing...
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Illusory Subject and Object, Or Advaita: Non-Dualism
Many ideas about love and separation, many ideas about di-vision and duality in manifest Uni-verse and concomitant suffering. Perhaps we explore the meaning of Advaita, the re-semblance of separation demonstrated via musical consonance and dissonance, and many of the finite and thus finished signs an other has coined to mark static moments of existence. This will probably be exceedingly esoteric.
Been doing much study of musicality and manifold existence. Geometers map this world of forms in many ways. Korzybski has illumined distinction between map and territory for us exquisitely, but let us not assume he was the first. Essentially we suffer as result of di-vorce of Subject and Object. Some traditions agree on the illusory nature of this dis-tinction. In fact, the Upanishads exposit the essential equality of Subject and Object in their mantra "Tat Tvam Asi" meaning "That Art Thou."
The essential characteristic of the World is its mystery. Infinite means in-finite, unfinished, ever dynamic. All static representation of nonstatic existence is doomed by its very nature to failure. Only the unfinished is perfect. All expression, beit through glyph, image, act, even human life itself is doomed to finitude. Thus it suffers an impossibility of perfection. By their very nature all expressions of the Infinite (Absolute under any name) are assured inadequacy. Perhaps this is the Secret which a-muses mystics, quite literally ceases their thinking and sets them alaugh.
Advaita, as we mentioned earlier, is quite literally "non-duality." An essential aspect of tolerance, altruism, and love of fellow beings is recognition of similitude. All being and becoming are part and parcel of the One Song, widely known as Uni-verse, the singular Unity ever turning incapable of representation in static symbol. Much artistic practice since time immemorial, and especially, and quite curiously, in contemporary practice attempts to re-present this dynamism. The classic symbolism of the yin and yang we find here applicable. Another theme touched on repeatedly by Mowlānā is the coincidence of opposites.
Essentially all manifestation suffers this illusory duality. Conceptions of "good" have no hope of existence without concomitant "evil." The same is true of ideas of "right" and "wrong," "beautiful" and "ugly," and even "true" and "false." An acceptance, and perhaps prostration, submission, to the Uni-verse, the one song, a true tolerance of necessity must embrace all aspects of the Universum. The ugly is necessary for the existence of the beautiful, just as evil is necessary for the existence of good. Passive is necessary for the existence of active, favoring either principle sets one off balance and perhaps this is the meaning of the Buddha's "middle way."
We may explore, as I've mentioned, the patterns of manifold existence in many ways. Perhaps the most universal of these means of approach is that of music. A tonality is the establishment of a base unit and the dance of a music is quite literally differing relations in sequence about this Source. For example, a consonant re-lationship such as a fifth has a close relationship with the dynamic cycle of the tonic. This is represented by the ratio of 3:2 and we hear the ease of the interval and characterize it as consonant. The nature of music proceeds likewise in a similar fashion.
Other intervallic relationships we hear suffer a quite literal dis-integration of base consonance. Other ratios imperfect into dis-ease, so we find that a third suffers a 5:4 ratio, while a relationship we tend to hear as dissonant, a minor second, suffers further a 16:15. Perhaps this separation from Source is what gives differing musics their character. In consonance we hear the near-union of separated pitches, in dissonance we hear the agony of their separation. It was Rūmī and the other Persian expositors of ghazal who focused their art on themes of love and separation. In music itself we hear differing cycles in differing relationships, different degrees of separation.
Perhaps, indeed, the nature of a tonal music is an apt analogy for our intervallic re-lationship with the Divine, Brahman, the Universal Ground of All Being. Each and every one of us, all aspects and degrees of manifestation relate in some degree to the Absolute. Some have an apparent relation of ease and this is perhaps voiced, as in music, as a con-sonance. Some, however, have a relation of dis-ease, and this is voiced as a dis-sonance. While one we may judge as "pleasing" or "beautiful" and the other as "displeasing" or "ugly," both owe their re-lationship to Source, the Silence that underpins them, the Nothing that allows them. In this sense it may be valuable for us to recognize the debt owed Source for both ease and dis-ease. In fact, even the most dissonant of intervals (some explored by La Monte Young and others) must at some point re-meet the Source...
Beauty and truth are tremendous re-minders of the Unity from which we emerge. Theories of the Big Bang and the birth of our body's elemental building blocks in the stars are merely scientific re-presentations of our emergence from the Source, our di-vergence from primordial Unity. It is perhaps valuable for us to re-mind our selves and others, continually re-member the base, the tonic about which we dance, to which we relate. As the Tao Te Ching voiced: paths that may be taken are not the only paths, names that may be named are not eternal names. In this sense all paths and names become essentially identical, and each becomes a mode or tool for remembrance of God. All voicings are necessary, and their necessity is their beauty. I've decided I must love always, I must love all ways, and only hope a demonstration of this behavior benefits an other.
Been doing much study of musicality and manifold existence. Geometers map this world of forms in many ways. Korzybski has illumined distinction between map and territory for us exquisitely, but let us not assume he was the first. Essentially we suffer as result of di-vorce of Subject and Object. Some traditions agree on the illusory nature of this dis-tinction. In fact, the Upanishads exposit the essential equality of Subject and Object in their mantra "Tat Tvam Asi" meaning "That Art Thou."
The essential characteristic of the World is its mystery. Infinite means in-finite, unfinished, ever dynamic. All static representation of nonstatic existence is doomed by its very nature to failure. Only the unfinished is perfect. All expression, beit through glyph, image, act, even human life itself is doomed to finitude. Thus it suffers an impossibility of perfection. By their very nature all expressions of the Infinite (Absolute under any name) are assured inadequacy. Perhaps this is the Secret which a-muses mystics, quite literally ceases their thinking and sets them alaugh.
Advaita, as we mentioned earlier, is quite literally "non-duality." An essential aspect of tolerance, altruism, and love of fellow beings is recognition of similitude. All being and becoming are part and parcel of the One Song, widely known as Uni-verse, the singular Unity ever turning incapable of representation in static symbol. Much artistic practice since time immemorial, and especially, and quite curiously, in contemporary practice attempts to re-present this dynamism. The classic symbolism of the yin and yang we find here applicable. Another theme touched on repeatedly by Mowlānā is the coincidence of opposites.
Essentially all manifestation suffers this illusory duality. Conceptions of "good" have no hope of existence without concomitant "evil." The same is true of ideas of "right" and "wrong," "beautiful" and "ugly," and even "true" and "false." An acceptance, and perhaps prostration, submission, to the Uni-verse, the one song, a true tolerance of necessity must embrace all aspects of the Universum. The ugly is necessary for the existence of the beautiful, just as evil is necessary for the existence of good. Passive is necessary for the existence of active, favoring either principle sets one off balance and perhaps this is the meaning of the Buddha's "middle way."
We may explore, as I've mentioned, the patterns of manifold existence in many ways. Perhaps the most universal of these means of approach is that of music. A tonality is the establishment of a base unit and the dance of a music is quite literally differing relations in sequence about this Source. For example, a consonant re-lationship such as a fifth has a close relationship with the dynamic cycle of the tonic. This is represented by the ratio of 3:2 and we hear the ease of the interval and characterize it as consonant. The nature of music proceeds likewise in a similar fashion.
Other intervallic relationships we hear suffer a quite literal dis-integration of base consonance. Other ratios imperfect into dis-ease, so we find that a third suffers a 5:4 ratio, while a relationship we tend to hear as dissonant, a minor second, suffers further a 16:15. Perhaps this separation from Source is what gives differing musics their character. In consonance we hear the near-union of separated pitches, in dissonance we hear the agony of their separation. It was Rūmī and the other Persian expositors of ghazal who focused their art on themes of love and separation. In music itself we hear differing cycles in differing relationships, different degrees of separation.
Perhaps, indeed, the nature of a tonal music is an apt analogy for our intervallic re-lationship with the Divine, Brahman, the Universal Ground of All Being. Each and every one of us, all aspects and degrees of manifestation relate in some degree to the Absolute. Some have an apparent relation of ease and this is perhaps voiced, as in music, as a con-sonance. Some, however, have a relation of dis-ease, and this is voiced as a dis-sonance. While one we may judge as "pleasing" or "beautiful" and the other as "displeasing" or "ugly," both owe their re-lationship to Source, the Silence that underpins them, the Nothing that allows them. In this sense it may be valuable for us to recognize the debt owed Source for both ease and dis-ease. In fact, even the most dissonant of intervals (some explored by La Monte Young and others) must at some point re-meet the Source...
Beauty and truth are tremendous re-minders of the Unity from which we emerge. Theories of the Big Bang and the birth of our body's elemental building blocks in the stars are merely scientific re-presentations of our emergence from the Source, our di-vergence from primordial Unity. It is perhaps valuable for us to re-mind our selves and others, continually re-member the base, the tonic about which we dance, to which we relate. As the Tao Te Ching voiced: paths that may be taken are not the only paths, names that may be named are not eternal names. In this sense all paths and names become essentially identical, and each becomes a mode or tool for remembrance of God. All voicings are necessary, and their necessity is their beauty. I've decided I must love always, I must love all ways, and only hope a demonstration of this behavior benefits an other.
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Authorship and Authority: Why I Didn't Write This
"I love you!" Who wrote that? Ought you claim it? With the proliferation of media that we've seen over the course of the last 20 years and beyond, intellectual property and authorship have become hot-button issues. Social media and the concomitant applications offer services that allow us to "Share" information that we've encountered on the web with others very easily. One of the most oft-used features of an operating system is copy-and-paste. While artists have always dealt with issues of borrowing and sourcing, technologies in the information age bring these issues to the forefront.
Problems of self and property have been touched on by philosophers, social critics and others since before history. It was renowned textual and conceptual artist Jenny Holzer who included as one of her truisms, "private property created crime." It was the infinitely influential Rousseau who once noted that "the first man who ... fenced in a piece of land [and] said "This is mine" ... was the true founder of civil society." Preaching about the faults of property and the "I," "me," and "mine" of society, however, is not the impetus of this essay.
It has been drawn to my attention that there is a book being published collecting the tweets of some of those involved in the recent revolution in Egypt. Jraissati's article begins with an explication of authorship dilemmas in the digital age. She posits that "the dematerialization of cultural products is in the process of revolutionizing the notion of the “book.”" Not only is this "dematerialization" process changing ideas about what is or isn't a book, it is affecting conceptions of art across all media. Mainstream publishing and distribution is not the only avenue in which we may note changing ideas regarding intellectual property.
An examination of the terms "intellectual property" and "copyright" may now become appropriate. Intellectual property rights consist of laws in which "owners are granted certain exclusive rights to a variety of intangible assets, such as musical, literary, and artistic works; discoveries and inventions; and words, phrases, symbols, and designs." Intellectual property is slightly different from notions of copyright in that copyright protects not the ideas, but their expression. While we have each had the idea I've begun this discussion with, "I love you!," it seems absurd to claim an ownership of the idea or its expression.
It is curious that authorship shares much of an etymological basis with the word "authority." In the same sense in which we use the word "authority" to mean a certain degree of power over something, authorship as it relates to copyright and intellectual property grants an individual a certain power over an idea or expression. It is obvious how tenuous these distinctions become when we begin to consider some of the details of copyright law. Copyright grants an author rights over an "original work." While for some it may not be difficult to determine what is "original" and what isn't, considering the never-ending dynamism of language and thought may give us insight into what I consider the absurdity of "originality."
Jraissati's article states that "tweets are not copyrightable because they are too short." From this we may extrapolate that the components of a work, be they words, sounds, phrases, graphemes, lines, colors, etc., are not what is protected under law, but the composition of them all in tandem, a certain unity in their arrangement, is what is protected. Many artists in the past 100 years have toyed with ideas of replicas and reworkings. For example, Kenneth Goldsmith has completed tasks that include transcribing daily the New York Times newspaper, as well as writing out in excruciating detail the weather reports over a certain period of time.
Yet another, and perhaps more interesting, study was done by writer J. L. Borges regarding Don Quixote. Borges' "Pierre Menard, Author of the Quixote," explores issues of authorship, authority and property by positing a writer who goes beyond just translating the classic work of Cervantes and eventually recreates the document word for word through a sort of immersion in the original author's atmosphere. I myself have created curious "poetry" regarding Borges, ideas of literary forgery and the accompanying concern with authorship and property.
Issues of identity, likeness and similitude have been explored extensively by philosophers since time immemorial. One of the best studies as regards works of art and their ontological replications may be found in Arthur Danto's "Transfiguration of the Commonplace." Danto begins his study, which presents his institutional theory of art, by positing a set of blue ties that are empirically nondifferentiable, but have different causal histories. One tie was painted blue by a child, one was used as a rag by an illustrious artist, etc. His study of artist/author intent and the concomitant acceptance or nonacceptance by an art community gives a different insight into issues of authorship.
Finally, I'll consider the concept of authority and authorship in a religious context. It is widely known that the prophets in Semitic religions did not make claim to what they preached. From Abraham to Muhammad, each of these figures explained that the knowledge and language they were disseminating was not their own but that of a Supreme Being. Maimonides has written extensively on these issues, influencing Spinoza and thus most of modernism. These people make no claim that what they were saying was theirs and had no concern for their "right" to keep their expression free from copying, distribution, or adaptation. We find an applicable term in the tradition of Hinduism with the word "avatar." This term means a "deliberate descent of a deity from heaven to earth." In traditional symbolism we may interpret this as a manifestation of Source in our terrestrial realm.
It is also interesting that in the digital age we use the word "avatar" as "a computer user's representation of himself/herself." In a sense we are participating in an analogous relationship to the traditional description of a descent of a deity. We as users become the Source of our identity and authorship while our avatars are our re-presentations in a different realm, that of the Internet-work. It seems we have come full circle. Our "avatars" are talismans or placeholders for ourselves as authors or seats of authority (power) over our content. We see across all social media platforms a connection between our online self-image and our content. Online content in social networks typically consists of a user's name or image directly next to their content. As mentioned previously, however, it is easy using appropriation techniques such as copy-and-paste to separate content from user.
We find yet another striking example of this separation of content from author, work from authority, with rap music and DJing. Bourriaud has done a great study of the use of appropriation in contemporary arts with his Post-Production. All across mainstream radio we hear popular musics that are not only built from the samples of prior musics, but relentlessly reference and borrow from each other. It is possible to hear not only the recurrence of a typical voice (Lil Wayne might appear in a series of songs on popular radio at any moment), but we hear the same phrasings borrowed. While a hit like "Fancy" may have its own "original" content, another song will shortly thereafter reappropriate the phrasing for its own ends.
Because of the technology and automatons we've constructed in our Enlightened modern society, we have access to a plethora of information with an ease never before seen in history. It is possible for me to appropriate information from millions of sources within minutes where in years past I would have had to travel distances to sources of collected information and then perform the menial task of copying by hand. Freedom of media and access to information are changing the world around us rapidly. We see this in the recent political developments in North Africa and the Middle East. Ideas of intellectual property and copyright are being challenged and blurred by such technologies as Twitter and others. What one considers as "mine" is changing. I yearn, like Rousseau, for the moment when none of us "claims" a thought or expression as original and we each realize the debt we owe to the silence, the nothing, the Source that allows us. Until then I demonstrate only love, and insist that I didn't write this!
Problems of self and property have been touched on by philosophers, social critics and others since before history. It was renowned textual and conceptual artist Jenny Holzer who included as one of her truisms, "private property created crime." It was the infinitely influential Rousseau who once noted that "the first man who ... fenced in a piece of land [and] said "This is mine" ... was the true founder of civil society." Preaching about the faults of property and the "I," "me," and "mine" of society, however, is not the impetus of this essay.
It has been drawn to my attention that there is a book being published collecting the tweets of some of those involved in the recent revolution in Egypt. Jraissati's article begins with an explication of authorship dilemmas in the digital age. She posits that "the dematerialization of cultural products is in the process of revolutionizing the notion of the “book.”" Not only is this "dematerialization" process changing ideas about what is or isn't a book, it is affecting conceptions of art across all media. Mainstream publishing and distribution is not the only avenue in which we may note changing ideas regarding intellectual property.
An examination of the terms "intellectual property" and "copyright" may now become appropriate. Intellectual property rights consist of laws in which "owners are granted certain exclusive rights to a variety of intangible assets, such as musical, literary, and artistic works; discoveries and inventions; and words, phrases, symbols, and designs." Intellectual property is slightly different from notions of copyright in that copyright protects not the ideas, but their expression. While we have each had the idea I've begun this discussion with, "I love you!," it seems absurd to claim an ownership of the idea or its expression.
It is curious that authorship shares much of an etymological basis with the word "authority." In the same sense in which we use the word "authority" to mean a certain degree of power over something, authorship as it relates to copyright and intellectual property grants an individual a certain power over an idea or expression. It is obvious how tenuous these distinctions become when we begin to consider some of the details of copyright law. Copyright grants an author rights over an "original work." While for some it may not be difficult to determine what is "original" and what isn't, considering the never-ending dynamism of language and thought may give us insight into what I consider the absurdity of "originality."
Jraissati's article states that "tweets are not copyrightable because they are too short." From this we may extrapolate that the components of a work, be they words, sounds, phrases, graphemes, lines, colors, etc., are not what is protected under law, but the composition of them all in tandem, a certain unity in their arrangement, is what is protected. Many artists in the past 100 years have toyed with ideas of replicas and reworkings. For example, Kenneth Goldsmith has completed tasks that include transcribing daily the New York Times newspaper, as well as writing out in excruciating detail the weather reports over a certain period of time.
Yet another, and perhaps more interesting, study was done by writer J. L. Borges regarding Don Quixote. Borges' "Pierre Menard, Author of the Quixote," explores issues of authorship, authority and property by positing a writer who goes beyond just translating the classic work of Cervantes and eventually recreates the document word for word through a sort of immersion in the original author's atmosphere. I myself have created curious "poetry" regarding Borges, ideas of literary forgery and the accompanying concern with authorship and property.
Issues of identity, likeness and similitude have been explored extensively by philosophers since time immemorial. One of the best studies as regards works of art and their ontological replications may be found in Arthur Danto's "Transfiguration of the Commonplace." Danto begins his study, which presents his institutional theory of art, by positing a set of blue ties that are empirically nondifferentiable, but have different causal histories. One tie was painted blue by a child, one was used as a rag by an illustrious artist, etc. His study of artist/author intent and the concomitant acceptance or nonacceptance by an art community gives a different insight into issues of authorship.
Finally, I'll consider the concept of authority and authorship in a religious context. It is widely known that the prophets in Semitic religions did not make claim to what they preached. From Abraham to Muhammad, each of these figures explained that the knowledge and language they were disseminating was not their own but that of a Supreme Being. Maimonides has written extensively on these issues, influencing Spinoza and thus most of modernism. These people make no claim that what they were saying was theirs and had no concern for their "right" to keep their expression free from copying, distribution, or adaptation. We find an applicable term in the tradition of Hinduism with the word "avatar." This term means a "deliberate descent of a deity from heaven to earth." In traditional symbolism we may interpret this as a manifestation of Source in our terrestrial realm.
It is also interesting that in the digital age we use the word "avatar" as "a computer user's representation of himself/herself." In a sense we are participating in an analogous relationship to the traditional description of a descent of a deity. We as users become the Source of our identity and authorship while our avatars are our re-presentations in a different realm, that of the Internet-work. It seems we have come full circle. Our "avatars" are talismans or placeholders for ourselves as authors or seats of authority (power) over our content. We see across all social media platforms a connection between our online self-image and our content. Online content in social networks typically consists of a user's name or image directly next to their content. As mentioned previously, however, it is easy using appropriation techniques such as copy-and-paste to separate content from user.
We find yet another striking example of this separation of content from author, work from authority, with rap music and DJing. Bourriaud has done a great study of the use of appropriation in contemporary arts with his Post-Production. All across mainstream radio we hear popular musics that are not only built from the samples of prior musics, but relentlessly reference and borrow from each other. It is possible to hear not only the recurrence of a typical voice (Lil Wayne might appear in a series of songs on popular radio at any moment), but we hear the same phrasings borrowed. While a hit like "Fancy" may have its own "original" content, another song will shortly thereafter reappropriate the phrasing for its own ends.
Because of the technology and automatons we've constructed in our Enlightened modern society, we have access to a plethora of information with an ease never before seen in history. It is possible for me to appropriate information from millions of sources within minutes where in years past I would have had to travel distances to sources of collected information and then perform the menial task of copying by hand. Freedom of media and access to information are changing the world around us rapidly. We see this in the recent political developments in North Africa and the Middle East. Ideas of intellectual property and copyright are being challenged and blurred by such technologies as Twitter and others. What one considers as "mine" is changing. I yearn, like Rousseau, for the moment when none of us "claims" a thought or expression as original and we each realize the debt we owe to the silence, the nothing, the Source that allows us. Until then I demonstrate only love, and insist that I didn't write this!
Friday, March 11, 2011
Why Tao isn't a Minimalist and Poncho is kind of a Dadaist...
Here's a polemic on some of my poetic contemporaries and some younger fellow Millennials who use the Internet as a new vehicle for art and expression. I keep reading everywhere people talking about a "literary minimalism" that Tao Lin is a proponent of. Is this the same minimalism that Pound and Williams expounded? I just don't understand it, I don't think people understand what minimalism is? Is a minimalism "Less is more"?
Some of the discussions I've briefly perused on the subject of contemporary literary minimalism make a reference to the "most fundamental features" of a form. Other definitions I've quickly rounded up term a minimalism a use of the "fewest and barest essentials or elements" or a "style or technique that is characterized by extreme spareness and simplicity." Spare and sparse mean thin or meager, mean there is not a lot to it. While we may argue that Lin and others of this "school" embody sparse themes and employ a simple diction, I think the style is far from a return to the fundamentals of a form.
Lets examine this more closely. We may consider Lin, with most-illustrious Wikipedia, a "writer." A writer works with language, there are many forms which "writing" may take. Lin is known as a writer of poetry and prose, perhaps an occasional essay, etc. I'm feeling the crux of my argument shift. Now we may have to delve into what "form" means. What is the form of writing? What is writing? "Writing is the representation of language in a textual medium through the use of a set of signs or symbols" We can use these ASCII characters as our textual symbols, we can appropriate a differing script, perhaps an abjad, etc. A writer works with the form of text and text is merely a set of symbols.
Now we'll return to minimalism. Were we a writer with a minimalist tendency, what would the "fewest and barest essentials" be? As we've established, a writer merely works with signs and symbols, arranges them in a formation conjuring a meaning (or non-meaning). We may debate at this point whether the "bare" essentials of the writing form are the characters, the words, the sentences, etc. or if they are the themes, emotive contents, evoked meanings. A keen reader may not see the slippery-ness of our essentials assertion. Could we not just as easily find a photographer, a sculptor, an architect, etc working with "themes, emotive contents, evoked meanings"? These are basic elements of art beyond merely writing or literary formalisms.
It would seem at this point, on basis of this argument, that the "most fundamental features," true minimalist formal elements, could not be related to semantics or anything involving meaning, as these elements are not exclusive to the writerly form. Therefore, a true minimalist writer would strip his or her language of superfluous characters and graphemes, of extraneous lines of text, etc. in order to draw attention to the fundamental components of the writing form. Many modernist writers have done this in a very formal way. Pound's "In a Station of the Metro" is a truly formal minimalist composition. Inspired by orientalism and the haiku form, he very literally reduced his form, text, to its most simple and fundamental elements.
Now we may approach the other side of our argument supposing some may retort Lin and others are not "minimalist writers" but "minimalist artists." If we qualify these individuals as artists instead of writers we may avoid the pitfalls of characterizing them as minimalists based on their thematics and semantics alone. An academically noted portion of minimalist music (a kin in art of writing) is repetition and iteration of figures. Early minimalist composers such as Steve Reich focused on the repetition of a single phrase and the changes perceived by a subject over the course of extreme reiteration. Lin and others of this supposed school may be classified loosely as minimalist artists under this criterion.
An insistence on over-erudition, the repetition of simple sentence patterns and excessive over-detailing may be viewed as an extension of the minimalist aesthetic of repetition and the consequent monotony. While this may support themes of "spareness and simplicity," as we've noted in previous definition of minimalism, these are not the "barest elements" of the form. Themes continually explored in Lin and his mimes' works are those of alienation and separation from others in a real, physical and personal way via superfluous technology. These themes are easily noted by preponderance of "low" diction, gChat conversations turned into literary "material," and insistence in the narrative of mentioning the technological apparatus in various ways. The style reminds me of machine language, it's dry and unfeeling in it's feeling and journalistic in its totality.
There is much art of all epoch and era that falls into this category. Some have noted the oriental tendencies of some of these so-called neo-Dadaists, but touching on themes of alienation via technology, the emptiness of life and its concomitant suffering are no hallmarks of a "new" style. These are themes touched on by great artists of all epochs, from those depicting the Buddha through the centuries, to Eliot's "Wasteland," to the Futurist's fascist celebration of the violence of machinery. In other words, classifying a writer as a "minimalist" because of the themes he or she purports would be yet another slippery slope.
I'll end this with a few words on the gross mischaracterization of writers like Poncho Peligroso and Steve Roggenbuck as "neo-Dadaists." More a scourge on and polemic against nearly-a-century-old Dadaism than a criticism of said poets, Dixon's complaint unfairly characterizes Dada as merely a revived "primitivism." While Dada certainly embraces low culture, everyday language, simple dialect and nonsense sound, the gist of the movement was a destruction of the status-quo of institutions. Be they social, political, academic or artistic, Dada challenged and attempted to destroy the standards and accepted notions of these institutions.
The anti-art experiments proposed by Duchamp, Ball, Tzara and other Dadaists were not merely grasps at low culture for a grasp's sake. Dixon's base criticism of the mundane, monotonous and repetitive works of these "neo-Dadaists" is that the "self comes in the way." These writers most certainly fill their works with seemingly endless lists of detailed and superfluous information. The true paragons of Dada, however, were producers of artifacts that challenged the accepted notions of the art institution. Whether it be Duchamp's "Fountain" or Rauschenberg's "Portrait of Iris Clert", these works' main impetus was the questioning of the standards of the artworld.
Additionally, terming these writers neo-Dadaist is a fallacy because, in fact, Rauschenberg and others were already deemed neo-Dada half a century ago. Many artists have followed in the footsteps of early modernists in the field of Dada. While many Dadaists proclaimed their "art" was no art at all, this does not mean their dialogue and work doesn't interact with the institution. Dixon's claim that Dadaism "isn't art" is outrageous in its audacity and falsity. The thinkers and doers who participated in the movement and its offshoots quite obviously recognized their products and projects as art. This is evidenced in their intentional polemic with recognized art personalities and ideas. The artists themselves, Hugo Ball in particular, recognized their work as "an opportunity for the true perception and criticism of the times we live in." In this way, Roggenbuck and Peligroso's works are in the spirit of Dada, and this polemic against them demonstrates their Dadaism.
Criticism of this "neo-Dadaist" Internet poetry as full of "self" is also a bit ludicrous. Dixon herself is the author of appetitive, self-concerned poems. Concern with the minutiae of "me," "I" and "my" is not just a tendency of "neo-Dadaists," but a tendency of nearly all poets and artists. We speak about our bodies, our thoughts, our desires, our needs, our feelings, our emotions, our perceptions, etc. Much of the greatest Dada arts, as I've said, spoke not of a person but of the art institution. Many of the techniques used to promote Peligroso and Roggenbuck's works are exactly that, critiques of the established poetic institution. Criticism and dismissal by editors, writers, academics and other players in the institutional game are exactly the purview of Dadaism and the reasoning for Peligroso's call for a freeing of language.
I think I've meandered enough in this one, wandered helplessly from theme to theme without a hope of backbone. But essentially my point is this: Lin isn't a "minimalist," he's a writer; Peligroso and Roggenbuck don't write "neo-Dadaist" poetry, they just write regular old appetitive poetry about being emotive and having desires. What is Dada about their endeavors isn't their content, its their insistence on challenging traditional poetic norms, including vernaculars of now in their works, and refusing to bend their creative output to what is accepted by editors, academes or otherwise. In the end, however, I won't shirk from the argument like Peligroso has in saying he "did not mean that all language everywhere was poetry." When you can tell me once and for all what "poetry" is, better yet "art," and without exclusion of a myriad of counter-examples, get back to me. Until then, I float amum a none with an infinitely tolerant aesthetic attitude.
Some of the discussions I've briefly perused on the subject of contemporary literary minimalism make a reference to the "most fundamental features" of a form. Other definitions I've quickly rounded up term a minimalism a use of the "fewest and barest essentials or elements" or a "style or technique that is characterized by extreme spareness and simplicity." Spare and sparse mean thin or meager, mean there is not a lot to it. While we may argue that Lin and others of this "school" embody sparse themes and employ a simple diction, I think the style is far from a return to the fundamentals of a form.
Lets examine this more closely. We may consider Lin, with most-illustrious Wikipedia, a "writer." A writer works with language, there are many forms which "writing" may take. Lin is known as a writer of poetry and prose, perhaps an occasional essay, etc. I'm feeling the crux of my argument shift. Now we may have to delve into what "form" means. What is the form of writing? What is writing? "Writing is the representation of language in a textual medium through the use of a set of signs or symbols" We can use these ASCII characters as our textual symbols, we can appropriate a differing script, perhaps an abjad, etc. A writer works with the form of text and text is merely a set of symbols.
Now we'll return to minimalism. Were we a writer with a minimalist tendency, what would the "fewest and barest essentials" be? As we've established, a writer merely works with signs and symbols, arranges them in a formation conjuring a meaning (or non-meaning). We may debate at this point whether the "bare" essentials of the writing form are the characters, the words, the sentences, etc. or if they are the themes, emotive contents, evoked meanings. A keen reader may not see the slippery-ness of our essentials assertion. Could we not just as easily find a photographer, a sculptor, an architect, etc working with "themes, emotive contents, evoked meanings"? These are basic elements of art beyond merely writing or literary formalisms.
It would seem at this point, on basis of this argument, that the "most fundamental features," true minimalist formal elements, could not be related to semantics or anything involving meaning, as these elements are not exclusive to the writerly form. Therefore, a true minimalist writer would strip his or her language of superfluous characters and graphemes, of extraneous lines of text, etc. in order to draw attention to the fundamental components of the writing form. Many modernist writers have done this in a very formal way. Pound's "In a Station of the Metro" is a truly formal minimalist composition. Inspired by orientalism and the haiku form, he very literally reduced his form, text, to its most simple and fundamental elements.
Now we may approach the other side of our argument supposing some may retort Lin and others are not "minimalist writers" but "minimalist artists." If we qualify these individuals as artists instead of writers we may avoid the pitfalls of characterizing them as minimalists based on their thematics and semantics alone. An academically noted portion of minimalist music (a kin in art of writing) is repetition and iteration of figures. Early minimalist composers such as Steve Reich focused on the repetition of a single phrase and the changes perceived by a subject over the course of extreme reiteration. Lin and others of this supposed school may be classified loosely as minimalist artists under this criterion.
An insistence on over-erudition, the repetition of simple sentence patterns and excessive over-detailing may be viewed as an extension of the minimalist aesthetic of repetition and the consequent monotony. While this may support themes of "spareness and simplicity," as we've noted in previous definition of minimalism, these are not the "barest elements" of the form. Themes continually explored in Lin and his mimes' works are those of alienation and separation from others in a real, physical and personal way via superfluous technology. These themes are easily noted by preponderance of "low" diction, gChat conversations turned into literary "material," and insistence in the narrative of mentioning the technological apparatus in various ways. The style reminds me of machine language, it's dry and unfeeling in it's feeling and journalistic in its totality.
There is much art of all epoch and era that falls into this category. Some have noted the oriental tendencies of some of these so-called neo-Dadaists, but touching on themes of alienation via technology, the emptiness of life and its concomitant suffering are no hallmarks of a "new" style. These are themes touched on by great artists of all epochs, from those depicting the Buddha through the centuries, to Eliot's "Wasteland," to the Futurist's fascist celebration of the violence of machinery. In other words, classifying a writer as a "minimalist" because of the themes he or she purports would be yet another slippery slope.
I'll end this with a few words on the gross mischaracterization of writers like Poncho Peligroso and Steve Roggenbuck as "neo-Dadaists." More a scourge on and polemic against nearly-a-century-old Dadaism than a criticism of said poets, Dixon's complaint unfairly characterizes Dada as merely a revived "primitivism." While Dada certainly embraces low culture, everyday language, simple dialect and nonsense sound, the gist of the movement was a destruction of the status-quo of institutions. Be they social, political, academic or artistic, Dada challenged and attempted to destroy the standards and accepted notions of these institutions.
The anti-art experiments proposed by Duchamp, Ball, Tzara and other Dadaists were not merely grasps at low culture for a grasp's sake. Dixon's base criticism of the mundane, monotonous and repetitive works of these "neo-Dadaists" is that the "self comes in the way." These writers most certainly fill their works with seemingly endless lists of detailed and superfluous information. The true paragons of Dada, however, were producers of artifacts that challenged the accepted notions of the art institution. Whether it be Duchamp's "Fountain" or Rauschenberg's "Portrait of Iris Clert", these works' main impetus was the questioning of the standards of the artworld.
Additionally, terming these writers neo-Dadaist is a fallacy because, in fact, Rauschenberg and others were already deemed neo-Dada half a century ago. Many artists have followed in the footsteps of early modernists in the field of Dada. While many Dadaists proclaimed their "art" was no art at all, this does not mean their dialogue and work doesn't interact with the institution. Dixon's claim that Dadaism "isn't art" is outrageous in its audacity and falsity. The thinkers and doers who participated in the movement and its offshoots quite obviously recognized their products and projects as art. This is evidenced in their intentional polemic with recognized art personalities and ideas. The artists themselves, Hugo Ball in particular, recognized their work as "an opportunity for the true perception and criticism of the times we live in." In this way, Roggenbuck and Peligroso's works are in the spirit of Dada, and this polemic against them demonstrates their Dadaism.
Criticism of this "neo-Dadaist" Internet poetry as full of "self" is also a bit ludicrous. Dixon herself is the author of appetitive, self-concerned poems. Concern with the minutiae of "me," "I" and "my" is not just a tendency of "neo-Dadaists," but a tendency of nearly all poets and artists. We speak about our bodies, our thoughts, our desires, our needs, our feelings, our emotions, our perceptions, etc. Much of the greatest Dada arts, as I've said, spoke not of a person but of the art institution. Many of the techniques used to promote Peligroso and Roggenbuck's works are exactly that, critiques of the established poetic institution. Criticism and dismissal by editors, writers, academics and other players in the institutional game are exactly the purview of Dadaism and the reasoning for Peligroso's call for a freeing of language.
I think I've meandered enough in this one, wandered helplessly from theme to theme without a hope of backbone. But essentially my point is this: Lin isn't a "minimalist," he's a writer; Peligroso and Roggenbuck don't write "neo-Dadaist" poetry, they just write regular old appetitive poetry about being emotive and having desires. What is Dada about their endeavors isn't their content, its their insistence on challenging traditional poetic norms, including vernaculars of now in their works, and refusing to bend their creative output to what is accepted by editors, academes or otherwise. In the end, however, I won't shirk from the argument like Peligroso has in saying he "did not mean that all language everywhere was poetry." When you can tell me once and for all what "poetry" is, better yet "art," and without exclusion of a myriad of counter-examples, get back to me. Until then, I float amum a none with an infinitely tolerant aesthetic attitude.
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