Wednesday, March 30
A fascinating post over on BLDGBLOG on the company Airborne Sound's Borgesian library of royalty-free, everyday sound effects "for everyday scenarios like dishwashers, traffic noise, office ambiance, overhead helicopters, vacuum cleaners, elevator shafts, construction sites, and more." Because of the astounding specificity of the catalog ("Small metal military tin, empty, closing concisely," for instance, versus "Small metal military tin, empty, closing quickly and smartly,"), he imagines the possibilities for constructing a synthetic sonic environment á lá cut-and-paste culture. This could act as a spatio-acoustic form of therapy for those suffering from depression or loss, through creating a sensory spectre of the mundane.
Sunday, March 27
Wednesday, March 23
Tuesday, March 22
There is an interesting post on BLDGBLOG about an architectural detail called a truth window, which reveals the construction of the interior of the walls, mostly of straw bale homes. There, the author considers the philosophical implications of the revelation of networked structures á lá the film "The Matrix" and the revelation of the living body in animal research.
I expected a truth window to come from a macabre tradition from the Victorian era, but could not find (in a brief Google search) anything relating to that kind of history. I was, however, reminded of intersections in built space that reveal the space outside the walls and the intermediary materiality of the building itself (like Gordon Matta-Clark's "Conical Intersect" from 1975, pictured above.) There is the use of space when we are in it, and the idea of walls protecting us from the elements but also from the public. I guess if we actually considered how thin or fragile that materiality is, versus the psychological belief of its solidity in creating a demarcation, it would be really surprising. Like thinking about how thin a t-shirt is, but that it prevents a more complicated social interaction.
Matta-Clark's piece revealed a structure and created a conduit between interior and exterior that compressed history and time: the 17th century buildings to the contemporary street scene, and ultimately the Pompidou Centre. This idea of tying together history visually by opening up space can also be seen in the Orange Cube, a structure Jakob + Macfarlane Architects (pictured below.)
The goal of the project was to "reinvest the docks of Lyon on the river side and its industrial patrimony...These docks, initially made of warehouses (la Sucrière, les Douanes, les Salins, la Capitainerie), cranes, functional elements bound to the river and its flow, mutate into a territory of experimentation in order to create a new landscape that is articulated towards the river and the surrounding hills." The void at the center allows, as with "Conical Intersect," a experience of spacial geometry based on the position of the viewer. As with the truth window, what is revealed alters not so much our physical being in the space, but our awareness of that being in relation to its materiality, geography and history. There is the limitations or allowances of what we can physically navigate in a built space for sure; here there is also the implications of how what we see relates to a knowledge of where we are and how we interact with our location.
Sunday, March 13
Friday, March 11
Parody wrests the concepts and problems inherent in language use to ring truest...or, "...frillions of legitimate new ideas, so that I can say the following sentence and be utterly sure that no one has ever said it before in the history of human communication: "Hold the newsreader's nose squarely, waiter, or friendly milk will come to mand to my trousers." Perfectly ordinary words, yet never before put in that precise order...yet we all of us spend all of our days saying to each other the same things time after weary time: "I love you, don't go in there, get out, you have no right to say that, stop it, that hurt, help, marjorie is dead..."
Sunday, March 6
Diedrich Diedrichsen has a great article in the catalog for A Minimal Future?: Art as Object 1958-1968, on the divergent paths minimalist music took through the classical and psychedelic camps in the 1960s. Reading it made me want to revisit this revisit Ben Chasny's more contemporary work in the same vein.
Thursday, March 3
"The expression that there is nothing to express, nothing with which to express, nothing from which to express, no power to express, no desire to express, together with the obligation to express."
~ Sam Beckett on the nature of contemporary art in Three Dialogues
The blog "A Piece of Monologue" has the entire feature length documentary "Waiting for Beckett" posted to their site here.
"Poetry remembers that it was an oral art before it was a written art." ~Jorge-Luis Borges
I've just discovered the work of Arthur Pétronio, an Italian avant-gardist from the early 20th century who strove to find that liminal space where poetry and music, voice and instrument, meet.
"He shared in the World War I era avant-garde fascination with sound poetry, visual poetry and the music of ambient sounds, and under the influence of Wassily Kandinsky and Henri Le Fauconnier developed in 1919 a verbophonic theory for incorporating vowel sounds as elements of a musical score. He also founded several magazines that investigated connections among the arts, including La Revue de Feu, and Créer. Throughout the 1920s, Créer served as an important forum for a diverse group that included Le Corbusier, Jean Cocteau, Pablo Picasso, E.L.T. Mesens, and others interested in the fusion of word, image, and sound into the creation of a total language."
Pétronio drew from a varied set of experts in order to synthesize this utopian intersection of sound/image/text, using a research practice that seems to have investigated the integration of similarities and differences in each practice. Among Petronio's most admired verbophonic works are Tellurgie (1964) and Cosmosmose (1968) (which you can hear on ubuweb's page for him.)
Tuesday, March 1
"...woven entirely with citations, references, echos, cultural languages (what language is not?), antecedent and contemporary, which cut across and through in a vast stereophony..."
~Roland Barthes, Image/Music/Text
I've been revisiting typography (partly out of my own never-realised study of it in grad school and partly out of teaching it to one enthusiastic student) by reading Thinking with Type, a lovely book that examines the history of; critical thinking about; and proper usage of typography and text. I should apologize now to those who are already typophiles; my interest in language has been more in its sonic representation, its cultural use and its linguistic characteristics.
There is an unrecognized poetry in the design of words and the organization of text. Handwriting originally extended from the physical form of the human body, a direct act of the physical form that referenced it. With mechanization, typography earned the freedom to explore visually the relationships of spaces, silences, pauses and breaths in spoken language. Poetry has usually been allowed the freedom to play outside the box of MLA guidelines, and has rightfully considered the relationship between the language we use and the body that utters it. Designers and typographers have, in the meantime, worked to visually represent the richness of representation of words.
Our initial experience with language is as a utility. We speak or write to communicate our needs, to share our thoughts, to express our emotions. All of these communications are necessary for us to survive as a socially interdependent species. Yet over time, we see that this communication is more than utility. The creative or unorthodox arrangement of one (or more) typefaces, styles, sizes, et al, guide the reader (or should I say "user of words") in a way that is subtle yet represents the secondary reading, the connotation of this set of words. This visual is not a primary as, say, an artwork; it nevertheless informs and steers the meaning of the content for the reader. Ultimately, language is never simply utilitarian. To understand the meaning, we often speak of context and intonation. Silence or absence of language leaves a space loaded with as much meaning as an intimate conversation. I recently saw this post on how the Kindle, by default, justifies the type of a book to fit the screen, obliterating any of the visual alignment usually made to make the page appear even (as well as eliminating "typographic agoraphobia" in the reader.)
The experience of the thoughtful arrangement and design of type is ambient and does not demand our attention at first glance. Like other ambient experiences (the soundscape of a city, the movement through a building), this visual presentation of what we say connotes more about beliefs and values than we initially, consciously perceive.
(The vertical ribbons of white space are called "rivers." Image above is from Céline's Death on the Installment Plan, which would not read with any of the same verbal hesitation without this intentional visual cue.)