the 2008 list.
(not in chronological order or order of importance but first thought and then some. subject to undocumented expansion)
-write thesis proposal. write it well. write it soon. it's overdue. afterall.
-email patrick (beforehand aforementioned) to let him know the proposal is admittedly late but on its way.
-ummmm third reader. joseph? yes please
-email n.s. like now. but not now, tomorrow.
-upload video.
-(pay bills)
-(make money)
-ballin.
-keep in touch
-read and write and read and write and read and write.
-(do laundry) (clean room) (clean studio)
-(paint)
-all that other stuff.
-new york flights planning soon (birthday)
-nashville, she said?
-meetings and recordings.
-networkin and connectivity activities
-push push push it on and up and
-buckle down
-(swim) (stretch) (move)
Showing posts with label sequence. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sequence. Show all posts
Friday, January 4, 2008
Thursday, October 4, 2007
dis/integration
over coffee / tea at the bleeding heart bakery this morning with N - amongst other things:
suicide texts - not suicide letters per se but what is written in the space before or in the buildUP/breakDOWN towards suicide (premeditated, accumulated, deliberate - liberate?) - and the breakDOWN therein - the clenching of the text, the spacelessness. the limit and the looming... wreaking / knelling --
and i was thinking -- for THESE ARE NOT SUICIDE TEXTS, but are of a nearness and companionship with ... yet also, essentially (for this too shall pass) ever a moving away from (the schismrupture gaping echo chamber of) the Otherdeath --
--about reversal: in one, a text builds towards, or through, its breakdown. in the other, it breaks down as it progresses (into the past - towards what has already passed on).
and i can't help it. i miss it: the nearness of the implosion and wax-working of him and/or her was also, of course, a proximity to her and/or him.
meaning... if i can articulate it, i can't articulate IT at all.
suicide texts - not suicide letters per se but what is written in the space before or in the buildUP/breakDOWN towards suicide (premeditated, accumulated, deliberate - liberate?) - and the breakDOWN therein - the clenching of the text, the spacelessness. the limit and the looming... wreaking / knelling --
and i was thinking -- for THESE ARE NOT SUICIDE TEXTS, but are of a nearness and companionship with ... yet also, essentially (for this too shall pass) ever a moving away from (the schismrupture gaping echo chamber of) the Otherdeath --
--about reversal: in one, a text builds towards, or through, its breakdown. in the other, it breaks down as it progresses (into the past - towards what has already passed on).
and i can't help it. i miss it: the nearness of the implosion and wax-working of him and/or her was also, of course, a proximity to her and/or him.
meaning... if i can articulate it, i can't articulate IT at all.
Tuesday, October 2, 2007
intention tension (rough)
This particular virtual space is intended as a drafting place to map out / put up (host) / put down (insult?) ideas / notes / research / links / writtens towards the thesis for my someday-MA in Visual and Critical Studies at the School of the Art Institute of Chicago...
a thesis which contains multitudes, while containing nothing but lack and space...
a rhizomatic exploration of mourning, loss, and desire - masquerade, play, and the trickster - personal narrative, affect and theory - authorship, memory, and text...
a work in progress
that wants to work backwards
muse'd by the Angel of History...
for epoetica this summer i wrote:
the first video work i made, i made from footage of kelsey’s funeral set to a soundtrack of billy idol.
My mom comes and brings a vhs recorded with Kelsey’s memorial service. Why do we call it hers? Ours, about Kels (’over my dead body’). None of us have ever watched it. I take it to school, turn off the monitor and dub it to DVD. Then watch it one night in my basement studio, lights off, lying on the futon, blanket on.
i didn’t know - and couldn’t be bothered to learn - how to rip right from the DVD. so i filmed it again on my (cracked) computer screen, mini dv camera balanced on a beer bottle and a stack of books - as am, often, i. an aesthetic was born: lo-fi, rascuache and hand-made-for-youtube style.
Editing. The more I clip and playback the further the distance between the white-faced 23 year old with the hollow eyes and skeletal shadows and the me that’s like, ‘hey Chris can you do me a favor? Film me dancing around and singing to billy idol? It’s kinda weird but it’s to edit over the film from the funeral… you know, ‘hey little sister, what have you done?’
i'm into all the the youtube tropes - the music videos, the narcissistic (self-conscious) metubes, the i.movie edits, the bedroom girls - and i can claim my interest’s academic (it is - somewhat - so i do) but the youtube context (which is a separate theatre from the one i set to screen these works in) also works to disable any academic reading (comments & responses).
one of the most intriguing aspects of contexts such as youtube - such as livejournal, myspace, blogspot and so on - is the publicizing of ‘the private.’
death is a private affair. aren’t most affairs private? don’t they often start and end in public, though? i upload the evidence of my romance with death to explore the connections between ‘our’ fascination with voyeurism (personal, pornographic, violent or vitriolic), ‘our’ exhibitionist, group-therapy think-out, ‘our’ cathartic acts of record and replay.
to revisit death by video, to edit loss, reflects my process of memory and memorial, and speaks to and about the process itself. it repeats and it distances. reminds and cuts out. i work with little intention (just make something, anything, from this) - rely on chance encounters with timing, tuning, imagery. there are moments when two tracks (or more) align just-so, seemingly at random, and sense is made, momentarily. that sense-making, meaning-making moment, motivates the next motion taken.
how to describe a process? to play it, and/or play it out.
To refer to death as a creative process does not imply that it is attractive or even ‘artistic.’ We humans have an instinctual aversion to the sweet, sickly effusions that decomposition produces. Yet this stage is necessary before the cleansed, aesthetically comfortable ‘bare bones’ state can be attained…
Mary Bradbury writes that the split between what is real and what is theatre is patricularly hazy in the social organization of death, as certain aspects of this organization are highly ritualistic in character: the funeral, the burial, even the embalming of the body are all performative traditions…
Academic attachment became elusive - instead, we reverberated, echoing the emotions of loss and reclamation that we purported to investigate impassively, and performing exuberant grieving as playfulness infiltrated the pathos and sadness that had marked our individual mourning practices…
a thesis which contains multitudes, while containing nothing but lack and space...
a rhizomatic exploration of mourning, loss, and desire - masquerade, play, and the trickster - personal narrative, affect and theory - authorship, memory, and text...
a work in progress
that wants to work backwards
muse'd by the Angel of History...
for epoetica this summer i wrote:
the first video work i made, i made from footage of kelsey’s funeral set to a soundtrack of billy idol.
My mom comes and brings a vhs recorded with Kelsey’s memorial service. Why do we call it hers? Ours, about Kels (’over my dead body’). None of us have ever watched it. I take it to school, turn off the monitor and dub it to DVD. Then watch it one night in my basement studio, lights off, lying on the futon, blanket on.
i didn’t know - and couldn’t be bothered to learn - how to rip right from the DVD. so i filmed it again on my (cracked) computer screen, mini dv camera balanced on a beer bottle and a stack of books - as am, often, i. an aesthetic was born: lo-fi, rascuache and hand-made-for-youtube style.
Editing. The more I clip and playback the further the distance between the white-faced 23 year old with the hollow eyes and skeletal shadows and the me that’s like, ‘hey Chris can you do me a favor? Film me dancing around and singing to billy idol? It’s kinda weird but it’s to edit over the film from the funeral… you know, ‘hey little sister, what have you done?’
i'm into all the the youtube tropes - the music videos, the narcissistic (self-conscious) metubes, the i.movie edits, the bedroom girls - and i can claim my interest’s academic (it is - somewhat - so i do) but the youtube context (which is a separate theatre from the one i set to screen these works in) also works to disable any academic reading (comments & responses).
one of the most intriguing aspects of contexts such as youtube - such as livejournal, myspace, blogspot and so on - is the publicizing of ‘the private.’
death is a private affair. aren’t most affairs private? don’t they often start and end in public, though? i upload the evidence of my romance with death to explore the connections between ‘our’ fascination with voyeurism (personal, pornographic, violent or vitriolic), ‘our’ exhibitionist, group-therapy think-out, ‘our’ cathartic acts of record and replay.
to revisit death by video, to edit loss, reflects my process of memory and memorial, and speaks to and about the process itself. it repeats and it distances. reminds and cuts out. i work with little intention (just make something, anything, from this) - rely on chance encounters with timing, tuning, imagery. there are moments when two tracks (or more) align just-so, seemingly at random, and sense is made, momentarily. that sense-making, meaning-making moment, motivates the next motion taken.
how to describe a process? to play it, and/or play it out.
To refer to death as a creative process does not imply that it is attractive or even ‘artistic.’ We humans have an instinctual aversion to the sweet, sickly effusions that decomposition produces. Yet this stage is necessary before the cleansed, aesthetically comfortable ‘bare bones’ state can be attained…
Mary Bradbury writes that the split between what is real and what is theatre is patricularly hazy in the social organization of death, as certain aspects of this organization are highly ritualistic in character: the funeral, the burial, even the embalming of the body are all performative traditions…
Academic attachment became elusive - instead, we reverberated, echoing the emotions of loss and reclamation that we purported to investigate impassively, and performing exuberant grieving as playfulness infiltrated the pathos and sadness that had marked our individual mourning practices…
All we may expect of time is its reversbility. Speed and acceleration are merely the dream of making time reversible. You hope that by speeding up time, it will start to whirl like a fluid...
The imagination is scarcely any better equipped to appreciate reversibility than the person who has never slept would be to appreciate dreaming. And yet we experience in it that electrocution of time we call predestination. The signs exchanged in the process are instant conductors unaffected by the resistance of time. Certain linguistic fragments run back along the path of language and collide with others in the witticism, dazzling reversibility of the terms of language. In this they fulfil an unexpected destiny, their specific destiny as words, conforming to the predestination of language.
-- Jean Baudrillard, Cool Memories
regarding the fragmentation compulsion
the attempt or urge to disrupt sequencing and linearity
BECAUSE IT IS COUNTER TO THE EXPERIENCE OF MEMORY AND the narration of history
is itself OPPOSED to the experience of loss
WHAT is more linear then loss?
wait.
fractured and fragmented narratives as methods of memory recall
of traumas or griefs and PIECING togethers that
concurrently and are ever always
rebreaking apart
but
still STILL still STILL seem to function reparatively? a nearly unconscious function of the mind?
to reclaim through fragmentation and pieces
to disguise the full gaping never-more-
the goddamnit nothing
the 'good and' gone of it.
because
if i were (you we were) to tell it 'truth'fully'
just the facts, man
(attempt to induce the experience
in the reader: the lack)
there'd be no going back
and not even pieces - just
a shot in the dark and then -
*
*
*
BECAUSE IT IS COUNTER TO THE EXPERIENCE OF MEMORY AND the narration of history
is itself OPPOSED to the experience of loss
WHAT is more linear then loss?
wait.
fractured and fragmented narratives as methods of memory recall
of traumas or griefs and PIECING togethers that
concurrently and are ever always
rebreaking apart
but
still STILL still STILL seem to function reparatively? a nearly unconscious function of the mind?
to reclaim through fragmentation and pieces
to disguise the full gaping never-more-
the goddamnit nothing
the 'good and' gone of it.
because
if i were (you we were) to tell it 'truth'fully'
just the facts, man
(attempt to induce the experience
in the reader: the lack)
there'd be no going back
and not even pieces - just
a shot in the dark and then -
*
*
*
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