artists as writers

I don't know what this says about me or my career as a writer, but the writing that most inspires me to write is seldom writing produced by other writers, but more commonly by visual artists who write.

This happened in the fall of 2004, when I was reading Robert Smithson's collected writings (some scavengings and related riffs here), and it happened again just yesterday, in the John Cleary Library at the Houston Center for Photography, when I was looking at Spiritual America, a collection of Richard Prince's photography, painting and writings. The exact writings in Spiritual America don't appear to be online, but this bit, at Prince's website, is perhaps indicative of the sort of aggregation of narrative fragments, factoids, aphorisms, and plagiarized bits found there. I read this stuff for five minutes and for the first time in over a year I wanted to write something that someone might call "fiction" or "poetry." Stay tuned.

Labels: art, personal, writing

Friday, May 30, 2008
3:49 PM
1 comments

artists with cosmologies

CJO and I are thinking about going to see Drawing Restraint No. 9, the Matthew Barney / Bjork collaboration, this Sunday, as a sort of Easter treat.

I've been thinking about Barney a lot lately, as well as Matthew Ritchie, another artist who undergirds his work with an ultra-complex personal cosmology. There's more artists working in this vein, too: in Proposition Player, Matthew Ritchie ticks off a whole series of artists who use "cosmologies and mythologies" as tools, including Liam Gillick, Gregor Schneider, Manfred Pernice, Andrea Zittel, Kara Walker, Katy Schimert, Michael Grey, and Michael Rees.

Ritchie talks about how these artists end up using "complex titling and installation strategies" as decoders or partial decoders of these cosmologies; a tradition that I'd argue begins with Marcel Duchamp's "Bride Stripped Bare By Her Bachelors, Even" (1915-1923) (and its corresponding decoder The Green Box). I think the Drawing Restraint website serves as a kind of extension of this idea, in that it provides a kind of quasi-theoretical underpinning for both the film and the drawings generated using restraints #1-8 (inclusive).

I wonder if these "cosmological" artworks aren't making a bid, a possibly conscious one, to "trump" two of the major art movements of the last fifty years, namely Abstract Expressionism and Conceptual Art. The emphasis on backstory / underlying concept adds a sort of intellectual or conceptual value to an artwork like a Matthew Ritchie painting, which might otherwise appear to be a garden-variety "contentless" Abstract Expressionist piece; yet the emphasis on physical-objectness and its related aesthetic traditons (such as "craft") adds material value to an artwork like a Matthew Barney vitrine, reversing the Conceptual-Art-ish emphasis on works that "lack traditional signs of authenticity or permanence" (as this blurb for Martha Buskirk's Contingent Object of Contemporary Art puts it).

A perhaps more cogent way of thinking about this is to see it as a manifestation of the larger pattern of (material) "property" everywhere being overwritten with a layer of (immaterial) "intellectual property." Barney, Ritchie, etc. create works that function on both levels—the material and the immaterial—simultaneously, which makes them both appealing and interesting as artworks, but also invests them with twice as much capitalist value. Somewhere in here is the reason why Barney won't release the Cremaster films on DVD...

Labels: art, media commentary

Friday, April 14, 2006
1:42 PM
4 comments

mpls

Tomorrow afternoon I'll be headed out to Minneapolis, MN, with CJO, to generally slack around in the cold. (Aside: I really kind of like the Rand McNally Trip Planner.)

We're most excited about visiting the revamped Walker Art Center, which has a lot of nice-looking exhibits right now, including the Minimalism retrospective "Elemental," a Warhol exhibit on "Stars, Deaths, and Disasters," and "Quartet," a set of installations by Matthew Barney, Robert Gober, Sherrie Levine, and Kara Walker.

Raccoon / Sleeping JPB readers who are familiar with the Minneapolis area are invited to suggest additional destinations using the old "comments" link below.

Labels: art, personal

Wednesday, November 16, 2005
11:49 AM
0 comments

strategies of accretion II

I can think of a few literary works that use the aesthetic strategy of subtraction (Radi Os, Ronald Johnson's erased Paradise Lost; Srikanth Reddy's work-in-progress, which allegedly erases Kurt Waldheim's biography) but I'm having trouble thinking of ones that work consciously with the strategy of accretion in a way comparable to the Washburn assemblages I talked about last time.

One could make the argument that all novels work "accretively," in some form or another, being built up from a thousand little data-points and observations as they are. That said, the rules of conventional realism usually require authors to mask whatever accretive practice went into the making of the novel, which means that few novels end up really looking like a vast beaver-dam of accreted material (the Burroughs cut-up trilogy may qualify as a nominal exception here).

I wonder if the reason for this dearth has to do with the fact that a novel is still traditionally designed to be read in a linear format. Most assemblages or installations have the advantage of a certain "all-at-onceness"--a room filled with debris hits you with a certain force the second you see it, in a way that a thick book simply doesn't. To experience the full "weight" of an "accretive book" you'd need to actually plow through pages of accreted material, an experience which I'd imagine many people (although not everyone?) might find to be laborious.

Is the best strategy for producing an accretive work, then, to step out of the domain of the novel and instead into the domain of visual poetry, hijacking the "all-at-onceness" of visual aesthetics? Steve McCaffery's poster-sized "typewriter poem" Carnival is still a masterwork in this regard; a beautifully dense agglomeration of language.

From here it starts to seem easier to find examples from the realm of visual art: can, say, Robert Smithson's Heap of Language be interpreted as a piece of accretive literature? What about some of Glenn Ligon's blackened text-works? What about Tom Friedman's "Everything," which is simply [?] every word in a dictionary written on a single largish piece of paper?

Labels: art, creative_process, language, writing

Friday, October 28, 2005
1:47 PM
0 comments

strategies of accretion I

Sorry about the lack of regular posting over the past week; I've been busy with a guest in town and also finishing up a Number None submission for the Belgian Sloow Tapes cassette-only label. (More on that in a future post.)

In my "spare time" I've been thinking a lot about Phoebe Washburn, a maker of massive assemblages who I learned about in an issue of Frieze that CJO recently picked up. Frieze writer James Trainor describes Washburn's process as being a "calculated accretion" of everyday detritus, interesting in and of itself, but the part that really grabbed me is the way that she recycles previous works into new ones.

In his article, Trainor writes:

"Washburn is not just a salvager but a recycler of her own work: in 2003 the filleted cardboard from Between Sweet and Low was dismantled, packed up and transported to Rice University in Texas and refolded like cake batter into an even more ambitious four-ton work, True, False, and Slightly Better, which in turn was demolished and carted off to Grinnell College and reconfigured as a massive shingled wall of debris titled Heavy Has Debt, where the dead weight of exhausted, screw-riddled cardboard finally gave up the ghost."

I'm not a sculptor, but this sort of process feels familiar to me in terms of my music-making. In Number None, practically everything we improvise gets recorded, and before the archival recordings finally get "retired" I spend a lot of time cutting them up into samples or making loops from them, which then get worked into new pieces, which then might get cut up into new samples or loops, which might then be transferred to audiotape and fed live into a performance (which then, of course, gets recorded and added to the archives to be cut up once again). Any piece that Number None might perform live is represents a certain process of digestion and redigestion: it would be interesting to go through and chart the genealogy of bit of sonic cud that we're mashing together, although at this point some of these genealogies are so tangled and gnarly as to render this process functionally impossible.

Since one thing that's been hugely on my mind this fall is the Big Question of What To Write Next, I've also been musing on whether the strategies of monumental accretion and redigestion couldn't be put to use as a textual strategy: I think I'll save that post, however, for next time. In the meantime, here's a short interview with Washburn for y'all to take a look at, with some nice photos.

Labels: art, creative_process, number_none

Thursday, October 27, 2005
11:09 AM
0 comments

MetaFilter post griping about the the Mayday Mystery texts.

"If I had money I would offer a reward to anyone who can demonstrate that the ads refer to anything other than themselves. Anyone can go to a library and clip passages from books and periodicals to make a collage of disparate meanings. The reader will then bring his own context to the work and will find meanings in it ... I actually think that the ads are shallow and that the whole thing ... is either a somewhat mean-spirited prank or a symptom of insanity."

I'd quibble with the wording here: it's obvious that the ads "refer to [things] other than themselves"—being (at least in part) a collage of images and texts the ads (at the very minimum) refer back to the source texts. But I think what the author here is expressing is doubt that the ads can be "solved" in such a way that yields a coherent statement about the world. This complaint raises a good question: does an amibiguous system of meaning need to have a decodable worldview behind it in order to be worthy of attention?

Frankly, I lean towards "no." Even if the Mayday Mystery system is ultimately undecodable, there are undeniable aesthetic pleasures to be gleaned from it. I enjoy being immersed into the welter of a thickly-referential text, just on the level of the individual reference: even if the references don't "add up" into a statement they still point me towards areas of knowledge that I'm not proficient in; they remind me of the immensity, complexity, and, ultimately, the unknowability of the world as a whole, which, for me, is a pleasing reminder. (I'd rather live in a world that was infinitely, richly unknowable rather than one that could be rather easily "solved.")

It also seems undeniable that the Mayday texts aren't wholly random: on at least some level there is a human consciousness selecting and arranging this material (regardless of whether it is in accord with an internally consistent "plan" or not), and thus it allows me a glimpse into the subjective consciousness of another human being, which is one of the things that art is able to do. As for dismissing the work on the grounds that it might be a "product of insanity," I'd have to admit that whether an artistic subjectivity is generally considered "sane" or "insane" is not particularly important to me: we all know that the line between the two is more akin to a large, diffuse grey area. Furthermore, if we accept that one of the things that makes art valuable is its ability to expose us different points of view, then certainly artworks that help us gain access to "insane" points of view—those most different from our own—are more valuable, not less.

For instance: artist Paul Laffoley, whose diagrammatic artworks are a kind of cousin to the Mayday texts, is rumored to have struggled with mental illness, but this does not make his pieces any less beautiful or compelling, nor does the fact that I can't figure them out, nor does the fact that I'm not even certain that there's anything "there" to "figure out" at all.

(I'd also say, by the way, that just because a piece of art is "a symptom of insanity" doesn't automatically mean that it hasn't also been built according to a discernible plan. Schizophrenics often seem able to maintain worldviews that adhere to a kind of consistent internal logic: the problem comes when they find out that that worldview is incongruent with that of the culture that surrounds them.)

Labels: art, knowledge

Wednesday, September 22, 2004
4:46 PM
0 comments

Robert Smithson is well-known for his earthworks and his other artistic investigations of landscape, entropy, and time. He's remembered less well for his writings, which are also unusual and provocative. The first piece of his that I read was Strata : A Geographic Fiction, a piece which originally appeared in issue #8 of Aspen, the "multimedia magazine in a box."

I'm currently reading Smithson's Collected Writings, and was particulatly interested in an interview in which he describes his approach to his writing process.

He begins by comparing his writing to Virginia Duran's artwork Glass Strata, "very dense and kind of layered up," and goes on to clarify:

"I thought of writing more as material to sort of put together than as a kind of analytic searchlight"

"I was interested in language as a material entity ... just as printed matter—information which has a kind of physical presence for me."

"I was always interested in Borges' writings and the way he would use leftover remnants of philosophy ... kind of taking a discarded system and using it, you know, as a kind of armature ... another construction on the mires of things that have already been constructed"

Labels: art, writing

Sunday, September 19, 2004
11:09 PM
0 comments

I brought Rudy Rucker's Seek!: Selected Nonfiction with me on my Milwaukee trip and, as I said over there in the sidebar, I found it a pretty good "geek vacation book": heady enough to be interesting, breezy enough to be fun.

At times, though, Rucker seems to fail to fully think through his arguments before setting them down on the page. This is most notable in the book's final section, "Art," where he makes a few attempts to talk about literature by viewing it through the lens of information theory or chaos theory. This might be a promising approach, if handled with intellectual rigor, and so it's especially disappointing to find the arguments here particularly flimsy.

For example:

"In [both paintings and novels], the information has a kind of fractal structure. I would define a fractal as something that has this property: when you look twice as hard at a fractal, you see three times as much. Language is fractal with words suggesting words suggesting words, while paintings are fractal with their details within details within details. A basic problem is that in either case only a limited amount of information is really being given. Fractal nature has an essentially infinite precision, but a novel or a painting is radically finite. ... The seeming reality of a novel or a painting is an artful construct that only pops into focus at a certain distance. It is only the cosmic fractal of real life that allows for endless zooming."

I think that the point that Rucker's making here is that the "reality" in a novel isn't truly fractal, that you can't immerse yourself in deeper and deeper layers of that world. You can't "endlessly zoom in" on it. Fair enough—but initially, when he's describing why he thinks of language as fractal in the first place, he says that the key piece are those "words suggesting words suggesting words." By this I take him to mean the chains of association and allusion that language triggers in the head of the reader: if this is in fact what he means then a novel is, essentially, infinite, by the way that it engages symbiotically with (fractal) human consciousness. The depth of the novel's world is almost irrelevant, what matters is the resonance and complexity of the triggered associations. One could argue that Finnegans Wake is the perfect example of a fractal novel and simultaneously argue that the book makes little or no effort to establish the "artful construct" of "seeming reality."

Then there's his re-working of information theory into an aesthetic philosophy:

"What is information? [Claude] Shannon measured information in 'bits.' If someone answers a single yes-or-no question, they are giving you one bit of information. Two yes/no questions are two bits. ... He estimated written English as carrying about seven bits per word, meaning that if a random word is excised from a text, you can usually guess it by asking seven yes-or-no questions. ... In a crap genre books, generated by a low-complexity intelligence with a very short runtime, the information per word is going to be low, maybe as low as three or four bits. In a high-complexity work the information per word will be higher...

"The point of all this is that a pattern's information level is a quantity that is absolute and not relative. The pattern can be a book, a record album, or a person's conversation. If I say something is boring, it's not just my cruelty speaking. It's objective fact. It may be that the book really is stupid and boring, as can be witnessed by the fact that the book has a very low information-theoretic complexity."

Tempting, but I don't agree that boring/interesting is really a question of mathematics (much less stupid/intelligent). Again the piece that seems to be missing is the element of human consciousness and the way that art interfaces with it.

"Boredom + attention = becoming interested" —John Cage

"[W]hat some see as a single moment repeating, others see as a nonrepeating series of similar moments." —Matthew Goulish

"We step and do not step into the same rivers, we are and are not." —Heraclitus

When we hear, say, a piece of music with a repeating motif, the second time we hear it is not the same as the first time we hear it. When dealing with an extremely repetitive form of music, such as a hypnotic drumbeat, a drone, or a raga, you can potentially say that the hundredth time you hear the motif is not the same as the first, or the ninety-ninth. The neat logic of information theory makes no allowance for the shifting perceptions of the receiver, and, by extension, neither does Rucker: this is an error. An information theorist might say that Cage's widely misunderstood "silent piano" piece 4'33 contains no information at all, but actually listening to 4'33 (which you can do right now, sitting right where you are) indicates that the piece is in fact teeming endlessly with information.

Given that Rucker is a mathematician, it makes sense that he would attempt to make this argument, but given that Rucker is also something of a mystic, who argues eloquently elsewhere in Seek! that the universe is suffused with consciousness and intelligence, it's disappointing to see him take an aesthetic stance that is so arid and lifeless. (It's worth noting that in a postscript he gives up on discussing a text's "algorithmic complexity" and instead moves to discussing the fuzzily-presented concept of its "logical depth," but, again, leaves consciousness filtered out of the equation.)

Labels: art, information, language

Monday, July 12, 2004
4:26 PM
0 comments

I've been reading a little more deeply into the history of Conceptual Art lately, as part of a broader investigation into imperative / instructional language. (I'm working on a series of poems written in the form of "instructions.")

The history of Conceptual Art is important to students of instructions because somewhere in that history the emphasis shifts from the production of actual, material, "artistic" objects to instead the production of plans or instructions for artworks. The plans themselves, then, become the artist's work; whether the artwork that they posit is ever realized, or whether it even can be realized, is immaterial.

Ideas alone can be works of art. ... All ideas need not be made physical.
—Sol LeWitt, "Sentences on Conceptual Art," 1969

The main book I'm reading is Conceptual Art : A Critical Anthology, edited by Alexander Alberro and Blake Stimson. It picks 1966 as the starting date for Conceptual Art (the same date Lucy Lippard starts with in her excellent book Six Years: The Dematerialization of the Art Object, 1966-1972). The figure presented as the central figure with reference to instruction pieces, in the Alberro & Stimson anthology, seems to be Lawrence Weiner. In 1968, Weiner begins to present the artwork only in the form of a statement, say for instance his 1969 piece ONE QUART GREEN EXTERIOR INDUSTRIAL ENAMEL THROWN ON A BRICK WALL. (Interestingly, Weiner doesn't use the imperative form, which he describes as "fascistic.")

Weiner receives a lot of praise from various writers contributing to the book for the way that his pieces de-commodify art (since the text is the art, they can be transmitted by any medium, including word of mouth; in addition, anyone who wants to "actualize" the piece described can do so by simply buying the materials and performing the action). All of these things are true, but I'm puzzled as to why he's presented as the vanguard figure here, as his pieces do not seem substantially different from work being produced nearly a decade earlier by artists associated with the Fluxus group, most notably Dick Higgins and Yoko Ono.

In 1962, Yoko Ono exhibits "instructions as paintings" at Sogetsu Art Center in Tokyo, the earliest piece anthologized in the Instruction Paintings anthology dates to 1961.

PAINTING TO SEE THE SKIES

Drill two holes into a canvas.
Hang it where you can see the sky.

(Change the place of the hanging.
Try both the front and the rear windows,
to see if the skies are different.)

Summer 1961

Occuring concurrently is Higgins' Danger Music series, a set of linguistic scores for conceptual "music":

DANGER MUSIC NUMBER ONE

Spontaneously catch hold of a hoist hook and be raised up at least three stories.

April 1961

I find the total omission of Higgins and Ono from Conceptual Art : A Critical Anthology to be peculiar at best and troubling at worst. Why aren't either of them mentioned even in Joseph Kosuth's essay "Art After Philosophy," in which he cites pre-66 forerunners to Conceptual Art such as Robert Morris' Card File (1962) or Rauschenberg's Erased DeKooning Drawing (1953)? (I wonder particularly if Ono's omission can't be chalked up to art-world sexism and racism.)

Labels: art, conceptual art, instructions

Saturday, May 29, 2004
3:02 PM
0 comments

Guests in town, a birthday, and a trip to California, where I stayed with some of my oldest and most beloved friends.

Had the opportunity, while out there, to see the Diane Arbus retrospective at SF MOMA, which I really enjoyed. The best thing about the show was the (expertly selected) excerpts from her letters, journals, and other writings, which really led me to a new assessment of Arbus' body of work.

One particularly interesting piece of supplementary material was a grant proposal she sent to the Guggenheim Museum, to study "American Rites, Manners, and Customs":

"I want to photograph the considerable ceremonies of our present because we tend while living here and now to perceive only what is random and barren and formless about it. While we regret that the present is not like the past and despair of its ever becoming the future, its innumerable inscrutable habits lie in wait for their meaning. I want to gather them, like someone's grandmother putting up preserves, because they will have been so beautiful.

There are the Ceremonies of Celebration (the Pageants, the Festivals, the Feasts, the Conventions) and the Ceremonies of Competition (Contests, Games, Sports), the Ceremonies of Buying and Selling, of Gambling, of the Law and the Show; the Ceremonies of Fame in which the Winners Win and the Lucky are Chosen or Family Ceremonies or Gatherings (the Schools, the Clubs, the Keetings). Then there are the Ceremonial Places (The Beauty Parlor, The Funeral Parlor or, simple The Parlor) and Ceremonial Costumes (what Waitresses wear, or Wrestlers), Ceremonies of the Rich, like the Dog Show and of the Middle Class, like the Bridge Game. Or, for example: the Dancing Lesson, the Graduation, the Testimonial Dinner, the Seance, the Gymnasium and the Picnic. And perhaps the Waiting Room, the Factory, the Masquerade, the Rehersal, the Initiation, the Hotel Lobby, and the Birthday Party. The etcetera.

[...]

These are our symptoms and our monuments. I want simply to save them, for what is ceremonious and curious and commonplace will be legendary."

Labels: art

Sunday, November 30, 2003
12:48 AM
0 comments

An extensive bibliography of writings on photocopier art.

I've been continuing to use Photoshop to manipulate the random noise-patterns generated by photocopier processes, experiments I began last year around this time. A successful recent experiment can be seen on the cover of the new Number None record (to be released this Friday).

Labels: art, xerography

Saturday, April 26, 2003
12:27 PM
0 comments

Tonight Laura and I are going to head over to Quimby's to see Ben Marcus, author of The Age of Wire and String and the new Notable American Women, which I plan on purchasing tonight.

Ben Marcus' website (thanks Geegaw) is set up like the website of a fictional corporation, Marcus Systems Enterprises, with fits in with what I was saying about "intimate bureaucracies" some time ago.

Like Marcus' other work, the website recycles cultural forms and idioms to portray a world which is new, yet somehow oddly familiar. I'm a big fan of Marcus' project, and I find the website entertaining (dig these crazy tests).

But the model of the corporation that Marcus is scavenging from is slightly out-of-date: all stylized silhouettes, space-age geometric forms, and bureaucratic jargon. Not to say that this isn't all well and good. Marcus frequently appropriates forms which have a vaguely archaic feel to them, and this is a part of what gives his work its strange power. But I'd like to see someone (besides Adbusters and ®^TMark) appropriate the forms of the contemporary corporation, the corporation newly focused on friendliness and hipness.

Think phone-company imagery. A contemporary corporation no longer represents itself as an anonymous, stylized body. It represents itself as a young Asian girl, a female boxer, four Caucasian friends having fun on the town, and an old black man hugging his granddaughter. Always putting forth the message "we are you, whoever you are."

Labels: art, capitalism

Thursday, April 11, 2002
6:12 PM
0 comments

The Library of the University of Pennsylvania is currently hosting an exhibit on the "assemblings" created by mail artists and other networking artists and poets.

The catalog is online as a series of PDFs. The part that caught my interest particularly is this section on "intimate bureaucracies." (901 K)

"Assemblings often use advertising images, mass-media images, and bureaucratic norms and procedures. Instead of a dismissal of modernity for some transcendent escape from the society of spectacles and red-tape tangles, the artists involved pushed those quintessential forms of our bureacratized lives to new interpretations of contemporary and future cultures. ... The tone is indicative of what I call 'intimate bureaucracy': a mobilization of modern forms for other ends."

This particularly struck me because for the past ten years or so I have periodically released work under the imprint of "Central Services," a fictional bureaucracy which some readers of this site may dimly recall...

Labels: art, capitalism

Saturday, March 02, 2002
11:49 AM
0 comments

In response to my lament about being unable to locate Edward Weston's out-of-print daybooks, Jeff Ward, of Visible Darkness, posted an Edward Weston daybook entry in his weblog.

The Weston entry is concerned with writing and amateurism:

"[J]ust this one thought—if my technique in writing was as strong as my technique in photography could I not write despite confusion?—for I am usually surrounded by near or distant confusion while photographing. I lack technique in writing, hence weak or incomplete expression. I have to think—and one must not think—have no need to while creating. Yet I go stumbling along, and someday may arrive."

Check out Jeff's blog, it's good.

Labels: amateurism, art, creative_process, writing

Wednesday, January 23, 2002
12:30 AM
0 comments

imagemakers

Here is a Doubletake Magazine interview with filmmaker Wim Wenders, in which he discusses Huckleberry Finn, Michael Snow, Edward Hopper, the Kinks, and comic books.

Also: photos taken by Wenders while location scouting in the West.

Speaking of photographs, I've been looking lately for examples of photographers writing about photography.

This biopage on photographer Edward Weston suggests that Weston was also a prolific writer:

"Weston kept very detailed journals or 'Day Books' of his daily activities, thoughts, ideas and conversations. His first publication of these writings, From My Day Book, appeared in 1928 — others were published after his death.

I would like to read excerpts from some of these day books, but they're out of print (and used copies are prohibitively priced). A perfunctory Google search doesn't turn up much, either.

Labels: art, photography

Thursday, January 17, 2002
9:01 PM
0 comments

various small fires

My computer problems seem momentarily solved, so I can return to posting.

Doing some research on photography recently, I was reminded of how much I like the photographic books of Ed Ruscha: books with titles like Thirty-Four Parking Lots or Various Small Fires. The photos in the books depict exactly what is indicated by the titles, in as artless a fashion as possible: raw documentation.

In a 1965 Artforum interview, Ruscha remarks:

"I think photography is dead as a fine art; its only place is in the commercial world, for technical or information purposes. Thus [Various Small Fires] is not a book to house a collection of art photographs—they are technical data like industrial photography."

Arcana Books has descriptions of some of Ruscha's books (as well as photos of some of the covers) on this page.

Labels: art, information, photography

Monday, January 14, 2002
3:15 PM
0 comments

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