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Short Reviews: Mount Carmel & the Blood of Parnassus, Anaïs Duplan
“Everything you say about me is bullshit. Blah-blah-blah,/ the story is you are black.” (31) Within the pink cover, Anaïs Duplan’s Mount Carmel & the Blood of Parnassus is split into the opening essay on black pages with white letters and poetry in black letters dwarfed by the surrounding whiteness. Duality laid upon duality is further complicated by the poems that seem to exist in multiple realities, shifting between past/memory and present/future, playful/punning and pensive/pain. Male first names and figures interject and go, sometimes recurring, but never dwelling or insisting they are truly separate entities. The line of thought melts together and extends beyond what is seen on the page, as if it were a spiral viewed in two dimensions. This lack of concern towards being coherent or consistent, this anti-conformity places us at the verge of understanding and the verge of following, echoing the concern of “I’m not being seen for who I am.” (vi). Unlike the cautiously ...
Short Reviews
In this thread, I'd like you to post short reviews (2-5 paragraphs) that you think are good. Please accompany the links with a few sentences on what makes them good. Since I mentioned Zach's short reviews earlier this semester, here's one of Feelings by Lauren Ireland . It does a great job of combining a lot of the kind of close-reading discussions/description we do in class - complete with quotes from teh book - with some larger arguments and contexts. For the same reason, here's Abby Burns' review of Carmen Machado's Her Body and Other Parties . H ere's a slightly longer review (8 paragraphs!) but also a good example, in this case Henk Roussouw reviews Uljana Wolf's Subsisters. I look forward to reading your links - and your reviews! Johannes
Hopefully this is what was in mind for the "Our Readings" week. We can all post our thoughts/writings in response to this entry?
ReplyDeleteI just wanted to synthesize a few thought-needlings from today, which were echoes from out last meetings: the invocation of this magic « lyric shame »
Intrinsic of and inseparable from lyric shame is a hyper privilege: the agency and empowerment of the subject-object (the I is at once both) to abjectify the lyric its capable of conjuring, the lyric it produces/births/is-and-becomes mother to. A say «’hyper’ because it permeates all aspects of the space inhabited by said lyric, and self-presents as omniscient. I say ‘privilege’ (at root: « private » and « law ») because in Addressing/Calling Out the birthing of a lyric which then re-flects back at the agent of its making and results in the perpetual self-abjection of shame, what is enacted is masturbatory, is private law, is the privilege of being-connectedness to the selfsame—all harkening again to Kristeva, and then I’m reading into this dynamic a desire (primal) but for control, this control-desire (spectral) sexualized in abjection as shame: « the abject, mimed through sound and meaning, is repeated [...] one does not get rid of the impure [...] it is a repetition through rhythm and song [...] an attachment on the near and far side of language—it is the inly possible catharsis » (19)...Her sections on the twist of religion & abject plus the rest of this catharsis section feel integral to what "lyric shame" encompasses & ingurgitates.
Thanks for instigating, Trish!
ReplyDeleteIn "Stabat Mater," Kristeva writes a "flash on the unnameable." I feel this "flash" sear through a nothing, through nothing: a murky, muddied, mirrored veil. I feel this "flash" as flesh--both cut open and safe-kept (by who? or what?).
There's a violence to the mysticism I try to embody, not unlike St. Teresa of Ávila’s posthumous wounds, Lispector's "X." Per Weil, I see in poetry a fullness and ever-magnifying breath of spiraling ascent--sometimes at the speed of slow cinema, at times, and sometimes of a human sway, a hand cutting through air. A hand being cut off. There's a movement resistant to choreography, but post-improvisation.
I'd like my poetry to be personal, but violenced/violencing, or quiet-and-charged. An echo on a still lake. Apophatic ideology on the verge of profanity.
Simone Weil says: "Only the mountain does not exist. It is made of air. One cannot go up."
Also, I try to usher other voices/feelings/forces into my poetry, using Kristeva's "herethics." A landscape of intersecting voices, resisting linearity/hierarchy. A mothering. I often write to music/sound--one artifact on repeat for hours. I submit to trance, to something outside of myself, to find myself (thus the playlist). I wonder how to be most fair to them.
Distillation is vital to this mysticism, and some strange clarity to "progression" seems needed in its poetic manifestation(s). I'd like this "progression" to be a movement that one--a reader?--can envision embodying, and feel it natural (which is not to diminish anxiety, potential violence). I'd like to move as much(?) as I've been moved by these selections (see email), and wonder about the phenomenology of psychic and bodily movement.
Gratefully--
AM,
DeleteThis quote speaks to me in such a big way:
In "Stabat Mater," Kristeva writes a "flash on the unnameable." I feel this "flash" sear through a nothing, through nothing: a murky, muddied, mirrored veil. I feel this "flash" as flesh--both cut open and safe-kept (by who? or what?).
In particular, I found it particularly resonant with what I was trying to articulate in terms of the "inaccessibility" to psyches, minds, entities that we may not (and should not) expect to be given a free pass to.
And I know we've discussed Weil's work before--though I have to admit I haven't read "Waiting for God" for the better part of a decade--and with that being said I still find myself returning to how you nuance her thought into something much more explicitly "poetic" as distinct from the deliberately spiritual.
Jake, I love the quote you provide: an "insistence upon the mentality of other entities." And your explication of the "I" is exciting! That dynamic is, of course, pulsing through your newer poems, but I feel I've found a new point of poetic "access" (different from psychic access, I hope/trust!) and look forward to experiencing that with your coming poems.
DeleteSteven Shaviro’s essay, “Consequences of Panpsychism,” will, I hope, contextualize much of the theoretical background for my work.
ReplyDeleteMy Ugly Ground, Swell Moss series is primarily an investigation into a poetry of approximation and speculation—speculating and dramatizing what an inorganic/organic “relationship” might look like by talking around it, approximating what the nonhuman minds might concern themselves with and how we as human actors could relate to what we are not privy to.
This interest in panpsychism first arose from my reading of Jonathan Culler’s Theory of the Lyric back in 2015. In his fifth chapter, Culler theorizes apostrophe and what this device can offer to something outside of a human sensibility (hence my deliberate and consistent addresses to Ugly Ground and Swell Moss as nonhuman characters):
“A specific effect of apostrophic address is to posit a world in which a wider range of entities can be imagined to exercise agency, resisting our usual assumptions about what can act and what cannot, experimenting with the overcoming of ideological barriers that separate human actors from everything else….It posits a third realm, neither human nor natural, that can act and determine our world.” (Culler 242)
This world wherein “a wider range of entities can be imagined to exercise agency” is what I find so liberating and probing about Culler’s theory and where I see it play out more specifically in Steven Shaviro’s essay that I shared with you all.
There’s a number of points that I hope you all find insightful in Shaviro’s essay—and I’d be happy to have long conversations about any of them—but for the space of this blog entry, I’ll limit myself to what I see as the most pressing issue, which Shaviro articulates as the following:
“Panpsychism is not predicated upon the possibility of what Graham Harman calls ‘human access’ to other entities and other minds, whether they be human or nonhuman. To the contrary, panpsychism’s insistence upon the mentality of other entities in the world also implies the autonomy of all those entities from our apprehension—and perhaps even from our concern.” (22).
That extreme autonomy is, in a nutshell, what I’m exploring in the UGSM series. The general trajectory of the work begins with the address to either UG or SM in fairly abstract terms—I refrain from assigning specific human emotions and opt instead for a kind of rhetoric of minimal vocabulary when possible to tease out the nature and relationality of these two figures. (I'm interested, too, in the effect that this style/diction has on the series, because it seems to allegorize the whole work, and I'm unsure whether that is a bonus or a bust). Lately, I’ve been inserting an “I” into the poems (as you have seen) because it seems to allow me to use a “foil”: this “I” is bound up in the “human access” and can relate to UG and SM through that vantage point alone, though the “I” also infringes on the autonomy of the subjects by addressing them, relating to them, labeling them, and taxonomizing them.
Curious to hear your thoughts and looking forward to a great discussion on everything you all share too…
A footnote (that didn't get posted with the introduction above):
DeleteShaviro is writing within “the nonhuman turn” that has really gained traction in the last ten to twenty years, especially with the advent of Object Oriented Ontology (OOO) and Speculative Realism. But what’s most intriguing about this connection between this critical turn and Culler’s own thought is his intuition that poets have already been chasing after the same concepts long before the nonhuman turn came along:
“The poets, though, were here first. They have risked embarrassment in addressing things that could not hear in an attempt to give us a world that is perhaps not more intelligible but more in turn with the passionate feelings, benign, hostile, and ecstatic, that life has inspired. The testing of ideological limits through the multiplication of the figures who are urged to act, to listen, or to respond is part of the work of lyric.” (Culler 242)
In keeping with my interest in apostrophe that I stated above, the poems I sent out as secondary reading come from Maurice Manning's Bucolics (2007). The insistent address throughout Manning's book should, I think, feel familiar to you now that you've read some of my work. The bucolic/pastoral mode of Manning's poems do diverge (I hope at least) from the register and diction of my own--even though he too is thinking on nature.
DeleteWhereas Manning's address to this "Boss" does some of the same work as my addresses to Ugly Ground and/or Swell Moss, his investigation feels more metaphysical than whatever it is I'm doing (rhetorical?). Nonetheless, Johannes's intuition that I'm riffing off the Romantic-Nature-Poem Tradition is a good one, and it seems especially apt given Manning's poems in relation to my own.
Feeling some of Jean's aforementioned reeling, I had a few last thoughts on where we went with Madison's poem's today. I'm thinking of Iraq as an entity, as a Being formed by the naming of it, the calling out of an otherwise-elsewhere, the carving it out through the Other's utterance---arbitrary amalgamation of a site/space--body, the mutant-monster this becomes by force of the outside-and-external (control-driven) agent calling out (addressing, thus bringing into being) this otherwise nonexistent (in this Contextualized iteration) and transient amoeba-space. The agented, external, disconnected-other emits a claim upon what becomes this One Body (inherently mutant, misformed, arbitrary, Not Of Itself). This act of declaring-and-imposing a particular Beingness upon an otherwise-elsewhere ungraspable 'suchness' works to simultaneously manifest the declaration physically. Actual beingness vs. collectivized contrivance. Know what I mean?
ReplyDeleteSince we were speaking geo-politically, I could bring into example Pakistan (instead of Iran, since I cradle at least a little crumb of familiarity with Pakistan's modern history) a.k.a. onetime limb of Mughal Empire a.k.a. onetime limb Hindustan; here was a space (comprised within it of moving bodies, moving landscapes) contiguous with its environs. The British were microbes of the coloniser-infection for this host body/space--enacting in double both invasion and an external conformation. There was no Pakistan until it was labeled Pakistan (even now, in some contexts there is still no Pakistan. There is no 'you' until 'I' say there is, vice versa. And what was Actually 'you' before 'I' labeled you is erased and written-over with my declaration.
Followed down far enough we'll get to Derrida's 'signature', 'marking-over', and 'trace' which i'll get into with the Glas (hiding in the word death-knell, but also resonant bell, and the trace of glass/ice) intro.
from "As if We Didn't Have to Talk" in "Another Language"
ReplyDelete--Rosmarie Waldrop
I want to stay and look at
the mess I've made
spills over
context
I'm always on the verge
of seeing it
there
on the edge
of the horizon
with doubt in the foreground
anything may
hence the troubled
periphery
the curve's lost
incomplete
incompletable
wind over the plains abandoned streets
general amnesia the vacant breath of sky
breath of sky
I might as well claim it's a rag to
wipe my hands
but as long as we're
it doesn't matter
in spite of constant variations
what we say
[...]
The belly of an "a" and
vertigo
throws the words I stand on
into the white
silence charged with
all the
possible rains in the world
go on
fall back on
words always already there
the precise spot
available
as in a fog that
eyes burn
I carry your name away
from our intersection
[...]
Nothing started yet
silence holds
my breath
waits to speak
to be able to
open
the essential detour
This comment has been removed by the author.
ReplyDeleteAll right, hi everyone,
DeleteThe thematic concerns that inform my writing (and being [insofar as they are separate]) touch on and overlap with all of yours, I think. What I have sent as secondary reading marks out a small corner thereof that happens to be most local to me right now. Leading away from this selection going backwards is a trail of texts, images, and theories that pass through short-term obsessions with fragmentation, the epistolary form, Pina Bausch, film theory, and beyond.
One thing that occurs to me I have never outright articulated, though I suppose my work communicates this directly or indirectly, is that I think of what I write as “writing” and only provisionally/occasionally, if at all, as “poems”. Before concerns of art or vocation occur to me, I think of and carry out writing as a kind of metabolism, however crafted/conceptual the form in which it appears. In this sense what I write is always a little bit abject to me.
What I read is mostly not poetry, actually. Or, I probably read as much fiction, correspondence, theory, and experimental/hybrid literature as I do poetry. Sometimes I also skim LARB and The New Yorker while I eat dinner. But generally I don’t feel that I read that much, or enough, and I feel insecure about that sometimes. I mostly meditate, exercise, eat, and text with friends.
And I think that what we all including myself have been identifying as a strain of lyric shame in my work arises from my sense of unhomeliness with the tools and tropes and impulses of the lyric. This uncertainty has a second face, which is suspicion of those same elements. This Janus-faced daemon lives in my writing hand/brain.
So I’m probably always looking for explanations that propose interesting and disconcerting correlates for my uncertainty and suspicion in the field of lived experience. Generally this draws me towards criticism and meditations on mediation and memory and the incessant activity of commensurating oneself with living in the world.
I will add one more source to this wonderful glittering abject mountain of sources we’re sharing with each other: artist Paul Chan on cunning as the essential thrust of art. You don't need to read the whole thing, which gets dilatory and long-winded toward the end, but his ideas on homesickness as a ground for the cunning of the aesthetic act ring profoundly for me.
“By turning elements into echoes of themselves within the matrix of its composition, a work loosens the grip social reality holds over those elements and frees them from their fate, or their pre-existing uses and meanings. They lose, in other words, their place in the order of things, which enables them to relate and belong in ways neither wholly predictable nor predetermined. This is what Adorno believes is one of the most emancipatory aspects of art. It is able to create new relationships out of what already exists to remind us what is still possible with what is given.
“As an artist, it seems to me that echoes also resound in how a work appears to us and how it can alter our perceptions of what seems most natural and fated to be — about a historical situation, or a contemporary moment, or a way of being. If art possesses the capacity to cheat what fate has in store for the elements that enter into it, as Adorno speculated, can it also help cheat what fate has in store for us?
“This is the notion I want to develop here; I’d like to see whether it can hold its weight in reality, and whether it can provide a different story about what art is to us now. It is the notion that art is the cipher for what it means to cheat fate.”
(“Odysseus as Artist” - https://lareviewofbooks.org/article/odysseus-as-artist/)
praising yr "wonderful glittering abject mountain of sources"
DeleteHey Folks,
ReplyDeleteI put an abstract at the beginning of my PDF of sources that has the broad questions I'm currently shimmying through. This coming workshop submission is more heavily influenced by questions of performativity and audience, resisting the inclination to seek a rhythm. Most overtly, it's enacting a fugue state: musically (contrapuntal themes interwoven and repurposed) and psychologically (violent removal of one's identity).
First area is the power dynamic between audience and performer, as a more extreme version of addressee and addresser. There are some notes within the PDF, but I'll reiterate here that one line of that dynamic that I want to disrupt is how the body seeks rhythm (i.e. synchronized clapping phenomenon, resisting "poet voice" which puts cadence into unmetered poetry, etc.). The second article is along the same stream- an excerpt from an interview with the artistic director of an experimental performance group. He goes into how their performances upset the unspoken contract between audience and performer.
The Judith Butler introduction is particularly fun, since she delves into how an injurious address (she's more talking about feeling wounded by language, I'm particularly interested though in the idea that being in the role of receiver/audience/addressee makes audiencing not passive). With her example, someone insulted is also injured by the address forcing them into a state of presence. I'm not interested in using language to injure through insults, but instead using language performance to force a mirror between the audience and taboo subjects. Ideally, painfully.
Bringing it a little closer to home is the excerpt I included from Judith Butler on Julia Kristeva. Things I find important that they both bring up: maternal language, separation of symbolic and semiotic, origin of language being the body (irrevocably wombed at some point), incestuous relationship between semiotic (maternal) and symbolic (paternal). On this last one, a particularly good line from Butler:
"While the symbolic is predicated upon the rejection of the mother - the refusal of the mother as
an object of sexual love - the semiotic, through rhythm, assonance, intonations, sound play, and
repetition, re-presents or recovers the maternal body in poetic speech...The separation of the
mother and infant effected by the (incest) taboo is expressed linguistically as the severing of
sound from sense" (167).
That whole section (and the book as a whole) is fascinating, but for the sake of summarizing, I'll keep it moving.
Next I included a discussion on fourth wave feminism and how it relates femininity to trauma, and how that naturally leads to confession/witness. Chamberlain mentions Everyday Sexism, a project that attempts to offer an alternative form of "traumatic archive" showing how sexism is an epidemic and endemic. (http://everydaysexism.com) It "holds and reproduces the quality of trauma," which I'm interested in how a poem can do that same. A quote included in this book was pulled from Foucault and his definition of archive: "an encounter with historical violence, which includes both physical injury and the violence of obscurity, an annihilation from memory" which goes back to my question of how to recreate trauma (using obscurity?) your mind won't let you remember.
Finally, the poems. I just like the poems.
Kim! We continue to merge in so many ways with our thinking of poetry even as those thoughts manifest in diverse ways (I love it).
DeleteYour musings on audience and performer, addresser and adressee are our most obvious overlap for our shared readings, though I'm really drawn to what you shared regarding the "coupling" and possibility of rhythmic applause. In particular, it made me remember Steve Reich's violin phases, an example of which I share here: https://youtu.be/Su1OvwR3wB4
The falling in and out of rhythm, time, harmony, and cacophony in this piece has long been interesting to me, and I hope it might speak to you--especially in your thinking on some kind of "traumatic archive." (They seem related in my mind, at least.)
I was thinking of you when I included the physics theory! I thought it may intersect well with your UG+SM addresses and their performativity never really settling into a stationary role-voice.
DeleteThat Reich piece was SPOT ON! More peppy than anything I might have otherwise gravitated towards, thanks for sharing it. I have a feeling it'll lead to another wonderful/generative youtube wormhole.
I know it's a bit early, but if anyone already has their copy of Artaud's "Theater and Its Double" and is so inclined, his manifesto on The Theater of Cruelty is a (really not) happy meeting place of these ideas of violence and performance.
Hi poets,
ReplyDeleteI am interested in delving into the darker elements/subversive potential of folk/fairytales (which is familiar to these in last semester’s workshop), and I want to explore how fairytales intersect with the personal narratives (based on some of your feedback to diverge more from original stories).
Maggie Smith’s poems blur the distinction between the fairyland and *real* world, and the two worlds interact via the girl who straddles these two spheres. The three characters, the woman, the girl and the hawk, seem to be cut out from the fairytale. “this place is all tinder and leaves, all paper like a book cracked open on its spine, and these mountains, this intricate forest, cut from its pages.” suggest that the space surrounding the woman and the girl is the fairytale world exposed to and displaced in a real world. Though detached from the book, they are capable of re-generation, and “cut its (the world’s) intricate shapes from nothing, like silhouettes from paper.” Their world-making process involves cutting, the same way in which they are created. Crows “cut leaf shapes from paper, cut their own shadows to throw down, cut down the hawk’s (shadow) so it can follow her and cuts the child’s shape from flesh” via their sharp cries. They not only bring inanimate entity into life, but also establish the dynamic between them. The fairytale world, cut from the book, is not static like stories with a definite beginning and end. Instead, it evolves through time. After the father figure came back, the girl changed both physically and mentally, that her hair color changed from blonde to darker hues, and she nearly outgrew the hawk’s shadow that is linked to her from birth.
My submission for the next week’s workshop, Wolf Girl, attempts to experiment with fairytale elements in a more realistic setting/world (in a way different than Smith), and I’d love to hear what you think about it.
Thanks for this, Lavinia: I really am grateful for the Maggie Smith reading you shared--thanks to your insights over the past year, I sensed your poems were exploring some full-on psychoanalytic theory. I found "Wolf Girl" to be a perfect complement to this reading, perhaps because I'm reminded of Freud's own interpretation of his (in)famous "Wolfman" dream interpretation.
DeleteThe last two stanzas of your poem seem so rich with playing into/inverting/dismissing a source text like Freud's, and--as you say--the more "realistic setting/world" that you depict in "Wolf Girl" is quite striking (largely because you view this as more "realistic" itself! I'm eager to pick your brain about what differentiates this submission of yours from previous ones--especially as it concerns the "realistic" (or what we as a class this semester might call "confessional," "authentic," or somewhere in between).
part 1(ish?)
ReplyDelete"Glas" is peak collage metametametameta.
Reading alongside this Jean Genet's "What Remains of a Rembrandt Torn into Four Equal Pieces and Flushed Down the Toilet"--what feels to me like an auto-narrative (sampling: "The fact is that my gaze butted (not crossed, butted) that of the other passenger, or rather melted into it. The man had just raised his eyes from a newspaper and quite simply turned them, no doubt unintentionally, on mine, which, in the same accidental way, were looking into his. Did he, then and there, experience the same emotion--and confusion--as I? His gaze was not someone else's: it was my own that I was meeting in a mirror, inadvertently and in a state of solitude and self-oblivion"...)
Reading Madison’s offerings has me feelings the cross-pollinations presenting themselves here. I appropriate here the dazzling essay on necropolitics as a means of framing how one might decorticate language, render a site of linguistic necropolitics from an actively/cyclically decaying poem and we who attempt to ‘write’ are not survivors, ‘we’ die/decay with the poem because the self/other are intrinsic to each other, the separation is a fallacy.
This is why I’m drawn to Derrida’s writings in general; this melange, the straddling-at-once of necessarily (inescapably) ’self’-aware performativity, live-action ‘self’-decay, the grappling-with ‘text-as-such’, undercurrent inheritances of trauma which become Seen at the site of language, phallogocentrism…
the ‘problem’ or question of proximity, opacities, agenda,
I was just interrupted in my thoughts by a 72 year old man who proceeded to tell me that he’s had 14 chunks of himself cut off, growths. He then talked to me about how he felt like language was being used as a weapon to demonize the other. I’m including this moment here because it at once wraps this writing into the moment of its conception, here on a sidewalk downtown, while acknowledging the impossibility of separation between the writing and the living.
i’m thinking about semiosis, also brought up in the necropolitics essay. The process, act, live-action moment of meaning-making. What happens when we address this -osis?
« In its desire for eternity, the besieged body passes through two stages. First, it is transformed into a mere thing, malleable matter. Second, the manner in which it is put to death—suicide—affords it its ultimate signification. The matter of the body, or again the matter which is the body, is invested with properties that cannot be deduced from its character as a thing, but from a transcendental nomos outside it. The besieged body becomes a piece of metal whose function is, through sacrifice, to bring eternal life into being. The body duplicates itself and, in death, literally and metaphorically escapes the state of siege and occupation. » Is this the Freakophone body?
this brings me to Barthes’ l’effet du réel (i.e. the utility of signposts..in poem-world we are in a way freed from narrative. But we must still function within language, within a minefield of pre-fabbed signage. It seems many of us in class are concerned with this ‘struggle’) for all sorts of reasons, « the profound, geological dimension of signification, achieved by arresting the linguistic sign in its symbolic function », the fourth wall and implications of its breaking—thinking about how this is linked with the yearning as a writer to make the Eye/I utter, the impossibility of it. The gaze, (Glissant’s ‘Regard’), coiled into oblique passivity. Are we all eyes? Is this inherently feminine? I’m all-over-the-place because that’s the point. I want the writing to resist identity because « i » only stands for the illusive mise-en-abyme of self; break the mirrors and the self/other are intricated. Does any of this matter? I/eye cannot utter, it/they require a decoy. The decoy is ‘you’, sometimes ‘me’. There’s an imagined difference between these.
2
Deleteas i was saying (or only say), the secondary source materials i've sprinkled out to you across the past weeks are really all the same (not to make this obtuse), are working through//are exploratories of what it means to both function and not, to both write and not, utter and not, be whole and not; each take up//interlope within a respective medium with this kind of questioning.
Why do I bring these up? Why should I try to talk about them in relation to ''my writing''? So far, I've been ''using'' workshop as a site for question-making, seeking perpetual non-form because it's the sloppiest, 'rawest', most subverting stew-site I can muster---the parts "I" need outside eyes for in order to better perceive (?)... right?
Would you tell me if I wasn't making sense? Is sense separate from meaning? Are these both constructs we're seeking to dismantle?
Dismantling feels important. Engaged dismantling. Intent (again) feels too linear, but 'engaged' feels right here.
Another apparition coming forth again and again: k'intsugi
Deletebreaking the vase, putting the pieces together again using gold. What 'forms' then is the memory of what the object had once been (a vase or bowl, maybe). Deceptively, you'd think it was now that same form, glued together again as it is. But of course it never will be a vase/bowl again. It's something other.
I think this is why I'm drawn to postcolonial//'deconstructive' theory-thinking.
(because what is between is that which is transformative, transforming, being tranformed, generate)
Deletethe state of [self-] object-confronting-subject = another link across these sources.
ReplyDeleteAnother thread: liminality as a generative site between 'life' and 'death' (significantly, these words could interchange with form and abstract, subject and object, consciousness and oblivion, etcetc) pussyfooting around or straddling the brink of a deathknell (un glas)
ReplyDelete