Drinking gin and tonics
Seeing black and red
Your day off was a mess, my dear
And mine was no better....
Because bathrooms must be cleaned
And dishes must be washed
And one must stay in shape
Though I've no idea why
And what are we doing here?
Not in the metaphysical
But in the ugly, physical sense
In this den of finance and corruption
(At least... I feel corrupt)
In a feverish daze
Four left turns to move forward
Our black and red day mutated
By waves of green, turns...
...To a coma of burnt orange and oxford grey
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Thursday, December 3, 2009
Peacock on the Loose
Month of November, month of reflection. Or, at the least, month without physical writing - the writing that takes place outside of the skull. No blogging, to be sure. Looking at these last few entries, I see an emphasis on the negative, on adversity and the problems in life, especially when contrasted with the bubbling radiance and cheerful serenity of earlier posts. Of course, life consists of both positive and negative elements, and all degrees in between and beyond. And after making these observations, I wonder if it's a sham to even attribute positive and negative qualities to writing. Such are the trappings of this modern era of "blogdom," the form being short, contained bursts of staccato; the death of the novel, short story, literature in general....
So, since literature is simply words on a page or monitor, shall we continue with a discussion of the positive/negative dichotomy in life? In the month of November, I took a new job. At a retail store, selling the doggoned-est mish-mash of random and absurd commodities, all emblazoned with the logo of a particular local organization. Luggage, guitar picks, truck hitch covers, propane tank wraps - you name it! - all decorated with the symbolic creature we know and love in this fine city. (The hitch covers, by the way, sell like hot cakes.) And it's a "not-for-profit" store, meaning all the profit goes back to the organization. Of course, I'm aware of the insanity and paradox in all of this... but I will say, at the moment, I'm relatively content here. Content, mostly because of the people - co-workers, shoppers, and even managers (heresy! blasphemy! disgusting treachery! I know... but I'm a sucker for genuine compassion in a hierarchical world) - and that's a big thing. "Relatively" - and the range of relativity here is far-reaching - because of the aforementioned paradox. Because at this point in my life, it's impossible to be completely content performing an absolutely useless and absurd task - whether it be entering data, serving breakfast to focus groups, or selling shit to people that really don't need it - for eight hours a day, five days a week. But some times, we must compromise....
On a Saturday, after planning some bus routes, and scarfing down leftover Northern Italian polenta (I've started to cook as well, which is a sign of something, though I've yet to figure out what), I headed east. Way east, far east... further than ever before. Almost to the border of Kamchatka. Through cozy neighborhoods, seas of green, ancient waterways, and gingerbread houses... of course, distances and environments tend to get exaggerated when one relies on the bus for transportation. And at some point, I got off, for the second weekend of the East Austin Studio Tour (EAST). With little time for orientation, I headed into the thick of it: the Big Medium studio village. Walking in and out of rooms, eyes perpetually in dart mode, overwhelmed by the sheer amount of beautiful art and ingeniously fused mediums. And that's it: overwhelmed. Too much quantity to get lost in the world of an individual piece, and an ingrained disgust at paying the price listed below any given piece to afford the time to get lost. (Not to mention a lack of resources.)
On to the next. Walk through a vegetally-enhanced village that, only one hour prior, has been traversed by a human-powered viking ship on wheels. (This is not fancy on my part; it actually happened.) To another studio village: Cobra, with the viking ship at the front gate. An inviting open courtyard surrounded by 12 or 15 pre-fab artist studios. And it is a party here, with a DJ posted outside of one studio, disco lights bouncing off the dusk of night, free drinks and not-free food in the courtyard, and the occasional firework display in sky above. Grab a beer and make my rounds, from studio to studio. More beautiful art and clever arrangements, though it seems to have a more commercial feel than Big Medium. This notion, however, could be the influence of the 21st century identical-aluminum-condo settings in which I find myself. In any case, I'm enjoying myself. At some point even, I am lost in the ether. Gone completely. Wonderfully absorbed in vibrant swirls of color... until I see the price tag. Then I notice the frame. Then I notice the snazzily-dressed "art-lovers" on either side of me, drinks in hand, nodding enthusiastically to meaningless descriptions of the artistic process. "This piece has been sold." They all have....
As a coda to this night, I tried to go to another studio - actually to see a documentary, of all things - but couldn't find the street. So I ended up going out to a friend's house for an Ultimate Fighting Championship viewing party. Seeing commercials for UFC, I always thought I would despise it as purely senseless violence. Not the case. Without going fully in the opposite direction, I will say that I appreciated both the technical and artistic aspects of fighting as a sport. From art to sport. Things we watch and things we look at. And things we pay for.
A muse on the positive/negative dichotomy in life has become a polemic against capitalism, especially in the form of commodities created specifically for sale - whether it be merchandise sold to fund an organization or art sold to fund more art. I find this happening often. And just as often, I find myself sounding bitter and cynical, when on the inside, I am not. Some times, I am as cheery and propelled as the peacocks when they escape the yard of the fancy restaurant down my street. But it can be difficult to convey this cheer to others. So, this time, some words from Andy Merrifield's book on Guy Debord:
"...his legacy is surely that he taught us how to follow Hegel's wonderful proclamation: 'to look the negative in the face and live with it'. Living with the negative, Hegel said, is 'the magical power' that gives people Being, that brings meaning and definition to their lives, underwrites life as a voyage, as a quest. It is a weirdly positive force, entering through the back door, or flowing as an undertow. Debord spent a lifetime living with the negative, knowing its magical power. The power he leaves us today is the power to say No: to look the negative in the face and live with it forever. Of course, it may mean living with this negative in vain, never actually winning, never overcoming, never finding positive transcendence. Still, that doesn't prejudice the value of the work, which may indeed be very good. Nor does it preclude that in striving, in battling against the negative, we can discover for ourselves a truly authentic life.”
So, since literature is simply words on a page or monitor, shall we continue with a discussion of the positive/negative dichotomy in life? In the month of November, I took a new job. At a retail store, selling the doggoned-est mish-mash of random and absurd commodities, all emblazoned with the logo of a particular local organization. Luggage, guitar picks, truck hitch covers, propane tank wraps - you name it! - all decorated with the symbolic creature we know and love in this fine city. (The hitch covers, by the way, sell like hot cakes.) And it's a "not-for-profit" store, meaning all the profit goes back to the organization. Of course, I'm aware of the insanity and paradox in all of this... but I will say, at the moment, I'm relatively content here. Content, mostly because of the people - co-workers, shoppers, and even managers (heresy! blasphemy! disgusting treachery! I know... but I'm a sucker for genuine compassion in a hierarchical world) - and that's a big thing. "Relatively" - and the range of relativity here is far-reaching - because of the aforementioned paradox. Because at this point in my life, it's impossible to be completely content performing an absolutely useless and absurd task - whether it be entering data, serving breakfast to focus groups, or selling shit to people that really don't need it - for eight hours a day, five days a week. But some times, we must compromise....
On a Saturday, after planning some bus routes, and scarfing down leftover Northern Italian polenta (I've started to cook as well, which is a sign of something, though I've yet to figure out what), I headed east. Way east, far east... further than ever before. Almost to the border of Kamchatka. Through cozy neighborhoods, seas of green, ancient waterways, and gingerbread houses... of course, distances and environments tend to get exaggerated when one relies on the bus for transportation. And at some point, I got off, for the second weekend of the East Austin Studio Tour (EAST). With little time for orientation, I headed into the thick of it: the Big Medium studio village. Walking in and out of rooms, eyes perpetually in dart mode, overwhelmed by the sheer amount of beautiful art and ingeniously fused mediums. And that's it: overwhelmed. Too much quantity to get lost in the world of an individual piece, and an ingrained disgust at paying the price listed below any given piece to afford the time to get lost. (Not to mention a lack of resources.)
On to the next. Walk through a vegetally-enhanced village that, only one hour prior, has been traversed by a human-powered viking ship on wheels. (This is not fancy on my part; it actually happened.) To another studio village: Cobra, with the viking ship at the front gate. An inviting open courtyard surrounded by 12 or 15 pre-fab artist studios. And it is a party here, with a DJ posted outside of one studio, disco lights bouncing off the dusk of night, free drinks and not-free food in the courtyard, and the occasional firework display in sky above. Grab a beer and make my rounds, from studio to studio. More beautiful art and clever arrangements, though it seems to have a more commercial feel than Big Medium. This notion, however, could be the influence of the 21st century identical-aluminum-condo settings in which I find myself. In any case, I'm enjoying myself. At some point even, I am lost in the ether. Gone completely. Wonderfully absorbed in vibrant swirls of color... until I see the price tag. Then I notice the frame. Then I notice the snazzily-dressed "art-lovers" on either side of me, drinks in hand, nodding enthusiastically to meaningless descriptions of the artistic process. "This piece has been sold." They all have....
As a coda to this night, I tried to go to another studio - actually to see a documentary, of all things - but couldn't find the street. So I ended up going out to a friend's house for an Ultimate Fighting Championship viewing party. Seeing commercials for UFC, I always thought I would despise it as purely senseless violence. Not the case. Without going fully in the opposite direction, I will say that I appreciated both the technical and artistic aspects of fighting as a sport. From art to sport. Things we watch and things we look at. And things we pay for.
A muse on the positive/negative dichotomy in life has become a polemic against capitalism, especially in the form of commodities created specifically for sale - whether it be merchandise sold to fund an organization or art sold to fund more art. I find this happening often. And just as often, I find myself sounding bitter and cynical, when on the inside, I am not. Some times, I am as cheery and propelled as the peacocks when they escape the yard of the fancy restaurant down my street. But it can be difficult to convey this cheer to others. So, this time, some words from Andy Merrifield's book on Guy Debord:
"...his legacy is surely that he taught us how to follow Hegel's wonderful proclamation: 'to look the negative in the face and live with it'. Living with the negative, Hegel said, is 'the magical power' that gives people Being, that brings meaning and definition to their lives, underwrites life as a voyage, as a quest. It is a weirdly positive force, entering through the back door, or flowing as an undertow. Debord spent a lifetime living with the negative, knowing its magical power. The power he leaves us today is the power to say No: to look the negative in the face and live with it forever. Of course, it may mean living with this negative in vain, never actually winning, never overcoming, never finding positive transcendence. Still, that doesn't prejudice the value of the work, which may indeed be very good. Nor does it preclude that in striving, in battling against the negative, we can discover for ourselves a truly authentic life.”
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