conversational drift, informatic license, exquisite enclaves
nqpaofu.com by jouke kleerebezem
notes, quotes, provocations and other fair use
[30 April 2003 ] que tient
Cioran by Bresson
Cioran in Cahiers 1957-1972:
"Exposition surréaliste. Tout ce qui est 'choc', tout ce qui est provocation s'annule de soi au bout de quelques années. Ne tient, en art comme en tout, que ce qui a été fait dans la solitude, face à Dieu, que l'on soit croyant ou non."
Impossible de s'entendre avec quelqu'un qui n'a pas quelque blessure secrète.
The secret wound as a key to understanding supposes it to be secret as to what and how it hurts, yet revealing its presence, between wounded. The wound as a bond I know very well. Yet to live after the wound, grateful to whatever hurts, even if it doesn't communicate understanding, requires real talent. The talent to be wounded is a talent to pay attention. Blessé blessed.
late last night past and future uncertainties
- what my sons will read here
- the price of a litre of pasteurized milk in March 2026, in France
- my skirt length preference
- boy or girl
- whether or not I reincarnated from Margaret Wise Brown, my conception possibly synchronizing with her death, on 13 November 1952
- pH value(s)
- acoustic environment pitch support pitch
- if I had murdered my sister at the time
- why nature's detail keeps me on track of a benevolent God
- est-ce que vous avez l'heure?
- voice for the sake of voici!
- Gombrowicz or Virilio?
(wadda you know G. for ever)
you find yourself gazing over software slowly performing
[29 April 2003 ] écriture
alone again or study
Roland Barthes in Critique et vérité (1966):
"Il est stérile de ramener l'œuvre à de l'explicite pur, puisque alors il n'y a tout de suite plus rien à en dire et que la fonction de l'œuvre ne peut être de fermer les lèvres de ceux qui la lisent; mais il est à peine moins vain de chercher dans l'œuvre ce qu'elle dirait sans le dire et de lui supposer un secret ultime, lequel découvert, il n'y aurait également plus rien à y ajouter: quoi qu'on dise de l'œuvre, il y reste toujours, comme à son premier moment, du langage, du sujet, de l'absence."
uit: recreant, maar nu even niet
(dreamscapes beelden op de berg 2003 catalogusbijdrage)
Zowel de klassieke mythe van de 'natuurlijke' ontwikkeling van traditionele normen en waarden als de nieuwe mythe van 'unieke' individuele behoeften en expressiemogelijkheden, aan de hand van een wereldaanbod aan goed geïnformeerde mediabeelden, valt te relativeren. In de Vroege Informatietijd zien we een groeiend informatieaanbod leiden tot een toenemende complexiteit, omdat zich net zo min bij de consument als bij de producent al kritische in de letterlijke betekenis van 'onderscheidende' functies ontwikkelden.
[26-27 April 2003 ] quoi préférer
This week-end I find myself in Paris to attend Andrea Blum's vernissage and dinner. It's been a long time since we've talked work, and stuff. A flash but quality visit I anticipated it to be. Notwithstanding the quality of it, its logistics are very un-flashy marked by delay upon delay and insult added to injury when early Sunday morning I find at sncf.fr (don't ever go there) that only two trains run back down into la France profonde on Sundays, of which one I missed at 9am., the other taking me short of 8 hours travel time with two transfers at 50 kms. distance, Laroche and Auxerre, that each will take me 2 hours. A nous de vous faire préférer le train being sncf's slogan from pr hell I go down to GaredL to assure there's no other train. Of course there is with the normal 3-minus hours travel time. I wait in line for 45' to obtain a ticket, give up when it doesn't move in any direction, step out upon glancing from the corner of my eye a machine which accepts Visa, or so its sticker claims, but not its screen information after having gone through the hassle of handing it all the information on the trip I desire. I spend 20' in another line to obtain a ticket.
In an attempt at resetting last Palais de Tokyo experience its restaurant's comfort soothes me when I'm typing this between courses. The 'Hardcore' exhibition then again to me is no convincing 'art meets activism' statement (d'ailleurs the two have nothing in common), with no distinguishing artists. As with 'Exorcisme; Esthetisch Terrorisme' (sic) it proves unreflected, sloganizing, one dimensional fight-the-power dumberie.
On my way out I scan the PdT bookshop. Embarras du choix. Where is my book? Where is my magazine? Beyond competition, l'écriture definitely needs a different format to be able to access
usyou andor me.
But I remember to buy more Barthes. Critique et vérité and Le Grain de la voix; Entretiens 1962-1980 at the FNAC. And printer toner. Andrea tells me about ink4art later. She'll bring me some on her next trip. We have a good time anyway with Lily and A.'s producer, who worked at Le Magasin at the time when Paul and myself set up TAZoo. His former colleague now at PdTokyo remembers the place smelling of dog food camouflage pattern carpet for months after. Patrick Ferragne from the Lyon workshop which produces from Daniel Buren's show at the Centre Beaubourg to Rodney Graham's upcoming installation in Marseille to Andrea's 'Nomadic House' at Fabienne Leclerc's In Situ gallery, is a pleasure to meet: a kind spirit and skillsman. Arts' decisive processes depend so much upon people of such character, devotion and insight. Or, in Andrea's words: "you saved my life..."
[22 April 2003 ] testing the waters
i+w have a first swimming lesson. They dive, too! Other floats include a couple of boats Rob and I build with R+r and Aldo, Rob's 6 year old son. One has a water wheel which makes it climb up a rope... Rob had seen it somewhere and re-engineers it. The catamaran prototype needs longer (and lighter) floats, it tends to pull itself under water, but in calmer water it does work and elegantly peddles its way back to you if you just hold the rope. Cute!
[20 April 2003 ] iwi and wiwi: i+w
We have new Iwi and Wiwi. Iwi II and Wiwi II. The previous couple disappeared after having spent only a few days with us. They swam off a year ago down the Beuvron never to be seen or heard of again. New i+w are housed in the old dog shed and are restricted to a fenced plot of grass for the first couple of weeks of their hopefully long stay with us. We want too see them grow up. R+r with the help of Aldo clean the shed and paint name shields to make them feel at home.
iwi and wiwi take a bath after their arrival from the Toucy Saturday market in a card board box
[April 2003 ] biography
"Es hat Mich immer gestöhrt das Man die Lebensdauer vom Menschen objektiv mist in Jahrzehnten, Jahren, Monaten. Ich glaube das ist ein Massstab der für das Erleben und Erleiden völlig ungeeignet ist."
I listen to Vilém Flusser's Die Eigene Biografie. He proposes to write a biography in terms of intensity of experience but against biologically prescribed attention curves, in which learning intensity in the first two years could be as high as in the last 20 of one's life. He poses the question admittedly he has no suggestion as on how to 'write' such a biography, because to measure experience remains an impossible task. He concludes, logically, to give up the ideology of the self, of identity, of an 'I' as if that would rid one of the immeasurability of experience, dumping historical presence?: "Ich bin überzeugt davon, das der Begriff des Ich's, des Selbst, der Identität, ideologisch ist und auf zu geben ist." Two days later he dies in a car accident. My self runs on me. We take many turns.
I don't like his voice as much as I would have expected to, or hoped for? I was hypnotized by Paul Valéry's. Flusser sounds different from the voice that I read from his books. Maybe to appreciate his sound, the way he sounds the way his physique shaped the airwaves around him as a complementary to the ideas it mouthes, needs yet another investment from the reader/listener. Or can his voice simply be forgotten as just a natural anomalie of an 'I' which is born with no other than a particular vocal cord that will neither change or can't be shaped as much as we change and build our ideas. As Bruce once wrote, you will even after a long absence best of someone's features recognize the voice. Laaaaa! Loud! Whispers. So I change and built my ideas and my self, but the voice remains the same. Who to test this on?
Who's life do you participate in? Which life of your own do you most intimately embrace? What will you include in such 'life'?
At the end of my observations and reflections there's either someone, or nature. Nothing else is recognized by my simple curiosity. Sociopath and mysanthropist at times, I often hide in the hills, until I remember my friends and hurry back home.
[April 2003 ] are you receiving me?
What's a book? What is reading? It doesn't hurt to ask such questions over and over again and give them as much thought as possible. Among the thousands of related smaller and larger questions many will be more profound, but less fundamental to each writing person who asks: "what is my <book>?" "What is my <reading>?" "What is my <writing>?" These are the writing and any other art's timeless questions: the very questions that constitute writing outside history. Yesterday's blurb of course isn't today's, but we have no problem to appreciate a universe of enchanting text, any combination of words to remain outside time, staying as topical as was at the time of its actual writing, when putting down these and no other words in this particular and no other order. To never move again.
Unlike computer code, literary also descriptive text does not have to functionally (make something) perform (unless maybe in a 'manual', but any reader of technical writing becomes well aware that s/he has only limited functionality), but to evoke, to engage a reader in an experience in which s/he actively learns to read. If its technology survives, code can run for ever, but not so literary text. While code's proper function will outdate while running, becoming obsolete with the technology it hosts not so literary text. While code runs on commands and machines, literary text runs on generosity and on readers.
When literary text (and biography) run on a reader, readers run on it ("what do you run on, Rocket Morton?"), like music runs on listeners and visual arts or cinema run on their viewers, all independent of its technology of reproduction or distribution, disseminating itself in every new reader's mind while being consumed by... the amateurs running on arts. Not the vehicle is the message, but reader experience is. Imagine. Build literacy. Computer code will be changed for improved functionality in new vehicles. Literary text will not be improved, only re-read. The text doesn't change the book on the shelf. It doesn't free itself from it in search for its reader. It sits there patiently in history, contained, self evident, self sufficient and self content.
Which suddenly reminds me of the single one idea (a persisting answer among too many ready ones, to reasonable doubt) that I gained from artist Arnulf Rainer (I even remember his name for this alone reason, while only after remembering his name I remember his images) who said that any doubt about the arts is doubt about one's own art. Too painfully true! I will dedicate the essay that I am writing for publication with the FBKVB to this insight. Its general direction is against the 'kunst in crisis' ('art in crisis', if you didn't already guess) phantom which in recent years troubles Dutch art criticism, and apart from Rainer's canon it will postulate that Art Is Crisis or art=crisis no matter which way you or the artist turns it. 'Art in crisis' is a pleonasm.
Booking. Vilém Flusser's Writings. Finally a translation of some of his dazzling thought in the other language. You might want to read this book. Lend it at the Jan van Eyck. Bernhard Siegert's Relays; Literature as an Epoch of the Postal System is a peculiar find in the same research library's recent acquisitions, brought there upon recommendation by John Murphy and relevant to the upcoming PPPandemonium in that it relates writerly production and content to the technologies of communication and distribution, which in the case of this book is the postal system.
Sounding. Two Flusser audio CD's published by Supposé in Cologne. Recorded just before his death in 1991, entitled Die Informationsgesellshaft; Phantom oder Realität and the 1985 Heimat und Heimatlosigkeit. With on the latter the Die Eigene Biografie, a short 3'34" soundbite from 1991 as well.
Launching. Max Bruinsma's and Willem van Weelden's and Sjoukje Vermeulen's Deep Sites, with Thames and Hudson, on web publishing, authoring and design. I'm on my way while putting this down on the train from Maastricht to Amsterdam, to the Waag's Theatrum anatomicum for the party. I postponed my return to the Moulin with a day and invited Gil and R+r to share one double bed with me tonight in Maastricht, in apartment 3906 at the Jan van Eyck. Tomorrow early we'll leave. Deep Sites features my here waters and idie.net, don't know about lemoulindumerle.com. Also Alamut and latenightpool and we'll see which other. They're linked anyway from Max's own pool of knowledge.
Questioning what is a book? Also Johnny Golding's eternal question is under preparation as yet another round table at the Jan van Eyck, just a week after PPPandemonium on the 17th of May. I am invited to give my two cents at the occasion. If I still have any change left after PPP. Or maybe some gained interest to share? If I manage to stay away from home that long.
"Droogkloot!" Ramses Shaffy met een bloederige dronken kop tegen een cameraman, ergens in nachtelijk Amsterdam, in de jaren 1960. "Wat moet jij hier nog op dit uur?" De stad bij nacht, Amsterdam bij nacht behoorde Shaffy, dronken van ontroering, zich lavend aan het leven, geholpen door wat alcohol. En dan zingen. En hard zingen en onverstaanbaar zingen. In de documentaire zie ik 'mijn' avondwinkel Holland-België. Ramses keek erop uit vanuit zijn kamer in het rusthuis aan de Roeterstraat. Monnie's avondwinkel Holland-België, maar Monnie is net als Ramses allang opgeslokt door een Amsterdamse nacht.
[15 April 2003 ] publish or pulverize
On the sidewalk opposite the Boymans Museum I run into Jaap Guldemond and Rein Wolfs who are in full preparation of the opening of the new museum next month. Both I know from an artistic past. Rein when he was an art history student editor of the University of Amsterdam Beeld magazine, Jaap when he just came to join the van Abbe Museum in the early 1990s. I won't be able to attend their opening, since I'll have the PPP vernissage at JvE.
In Maastricht I burn a candle in the Maria Sterre der Zee chapel. Ave Maria. It's always flooded with light.
just last week, razor sharp (photo Aya van Caspel)
[ 14 April 2003 ] excuse my freedom politics of mass destruction
PMD has been the strategy and success of the allied forces bringing Baghdad on its knees, crying over its dead children. Of course there is celebration too, a barbarous dictator on the run, but no way to bring him and his loyal deck of cards to trial as if the civilized world would try to.
The coalition's aggression is in its mass ignorance of cultural and political life in non-Western societies, in its mass opportunism of 'super-power' alliance building and support for those regimes that serve Western needs and its mass destruction against an enemy not even half as forceful and evil it wants the world to acknowledge. Read my lips: Syria has weapons of mass destruction, and so on and so forth.
Of course the surviving Iraqi people can breath freely until the next oppressor jumps the fence. I can be happy for their relief, I see true joy on some faces. I can much better imagine what it is like to suffer under a Bush than I can imagine to suffer under a Saddam. You can't compare the oppression, but you could compare the struggle against it. Fight the power.
[ 11 April 2003 ] zen and the art of chainsaw maintenance
Last week's secret word is affouage: a piece of the village's woods to be emptied out, which is called a canton, or affouage. Gaining a couple of cubic meters of firewood for a future winter. We bear all the marks of intense manual labor. On top of those scratches and small holes add a dog bite in the left arm when I was first out of the car to be brave and stroke Tobi who I'd met before. But he forgot all about who I am and stroke twice before I could pull my arm back and get into the car. Le Mazot's Philip locked him up. He has two less than one week old horse in the shady prairie behind the farm.
When we are up in the wood François passes by, curious, to find me doing it 'all wrong', sharpening the chain. Of course. He's got 50 years of experience behind him and carries a walking stick exactly 100cms long to measure his logs when he cuts a tree all up starting at the base, log by log finally disappearing into the crown, very calm and on a very sharp chain. He shows me the right moves on my brand new Stihl. Tells me I only have to do this one time for the afternoon. Then takes it away on a 20m birch and a couple of other already downed trees. I want a walking stick and hope to get my machine back from him. Tomorrow we go up here one more day.
With affouage comes affûtage. All is in the sharpening of the teeth.
On my drive up to NL Delphine phones in to inquire after my canine injury. She tells me I sound like I'm talking from the moon. I'm touched by her concern.
Ogdens' Nut Gone Flake
Lazy Sunday Afternoon?
[ 5 April 2003 ] burning energy on that garden
Elke keer gooi je je leven weer voor het leven in de waagschaal.
The time of year obliges major investment in all that's green: to repress, to afford, to repress, to afford. Plenty flowering all around. The garden bench's wooden beams are sanded, its metal support dismantled and sanded and both beams and support are covered in respectively white and medium grey primer.
In preparation we do tool maintenance. Note a new broom suspended on the right and the Moulin à vendre poster on the back wall.
nqpaofu.com 1998-2003 jouke kleerebezem Notes Quotes Provocations and Other Fair Use