Steve’s Stuff

The central idea at work is the mixture of “high” art and “low” art. Where a traditional modernist position focuses exclusively on high art, a postmodern position is open to the use of so-called low art techniques. The term “disco” is being used to refer to a dance club environment and should not be confused with 70s disco music such as “YMCA” and other classics. A dance club is certainly out of place in an art gallery as it is a form of popular entertainment. By contrast, experimental sound design is right at home in a gallery setting. What happens when we combine them?

The dialectical tension between high and low art often achieves explosive results as is the case with the music of John Zorn or the cinema of Tarantino. While the issue is not unique to the postmodern era [William Grant Still’s “Afro-American Symphony” (1930) predates postmodernism by at least 30 years], postmodern philosophy takes a keen interest in the topic. The elitist high art community is a hegemony in need of examination with a very critical eye. Although Still used “blue notes” borrowed from the low art of jazz to great effect more than seventy years ago, this remains a highly controversial technique.

Deconstruction comes into play as we question the binary opposition of high art and low art. The institution of high art obviously defines itself in opposition to low art, while keeping it in a subordinate, inferior position. We are questioning this hierarchical value system as it doesn’t necessarily represent the authoritative position that it would have us believe it represents. Prior to the postmodern era, the ancient standard of quality, as determined by a select group of individuals, maintained a separation that, while effective in filtering commercial and other non-artistic products, also kept certain legitimate art forms from receiving recognition.

Electronic music is one such art form. Though it has roots in the popular dance club traditions of the late 20th century, this says nothing about the artistic validity of contemporary electronic composers working today. With this project, we are showing that although there may be superficial differences between what is commonly accepted as electronic art music and what is widely considered commercial electronic music, they are, in essence, very similar and thus both deserving of artistic recognition and criticism.

The plan for our project breaks down into three sections: music, lighting and sensing.

Music

Steve is composing original music. Some will be in a definite electronic dance music style similar to Techno, IDM (Intelligent Dance Music), and Drum ‘n Bass; some will be of an experimental sound design nature consistent with what is typically considered electronic art music; and finally, some will be a synthesis of these two styles freely combining elements from each.

Steve is using a variety of software tools for this composition including commercial software (Native Instruments Reaktor, Pro-53, and Absynth 4), and Pd. Most of the sound generation will come from Reaktor. Pd will be used to create a custom sampler and effects processor for both the live performance and the automated performance. The Pd patch will tie all the musical elements together and will translate sensor input to control various parameters.

Lighting

Since lighting and music is already an established tradition, we will not explain it further at this time. The lighting design will follow concepts explored by the music with the lighting consisting of a conventional dance club light show; a more experimental, artistic use of light; and an synthesis of the two techniques.

The lighting, as with the music, will be controlled by sensors placed around the performance space.

Sensing

We are exploring the use of light, infrared, and ultrasound sensors. The performance space will be divided into a number of segments and as spectators walk through the space, changes in audio and light will follow. The spectator will not be aware of the effect their presence has on the installation other than the fact that it is changing as their position changes. Sensors will not be continually receiving input and will thus be unpredictable to spectators. For instance, walking to the rear left corner will not always have the same effect.

Spatial sensing is difficult with a high volume of people present and will be more effective with a limited number of spectators present at any given time. Because of this, and because we are interested in live performance, the Final Friday show will be a live performance rather than an automated experience and thus will not use the sensor input. This doesn’t change our message and concept in any way. It is simply a different delivery method. Live performance only might even be preferable, but since the exhibit will remain up for some time, it isn’t practical to have an artist doing constant performances.

Gever continues Bovenschen’s search for a feminine aesthetic in The Feminism Factor with a survey of feminist video works. After pages of lengthy description of video works by Chenzira, Millner, Mendieta, Rosler, and Braderman, Gever concludes that there is, in fact, no discernable feminist aesthetic. I believe this is for the best. In my admittedly limited exposure to feminist discourse, I have seen two themes that frequently seem to be in opposition: feminists vying for equality with men, and feminists attempting to distinguish themselves from men, to present themselves as fundamentally different beings. Within the limited scope of a single article, I would like to explore the implications of a feminist aesthetic myself.

A feminist aesthetic would seem to indicate something disparate from the masculine aesthetic, unless I am interpreting the idea of a feminist aesthetic too literally. What is the “masculine aesthetic” if not all aesthetics throughout history? Gever’s search, like Bovenschen before her, implies that there is currently no feminist aesthetic, which further implies that all other aesthetics must be masculine. With the infrequency of female artists until the mid-to-late twentieth century, this seems reasonable, save for the fact that no one ever attempted to define aesthetics as inherently masculine.

What is to be gained from a feminist aesthetic? A separate feminist aesthetic is an invitation to the very marginalization of which feminism seeks to free itself. It seems counterproductive to try to invent something new rather than joining something existing. Don’t feminists want to participate in the same artistic movements as men? If they invent their own aesthetic theory, they will remain fundamentally different from the rest of art and will be easily restricted to an independent position of negligible importance and visibility.

This brings me back to the question of feminist goals. It appears that if women want equality, they shouldn’t attempt to drastically differentiate themselves from men. Their work should hang side-by-side with that of men, but if their works are described as “feminist”, critics will be able to apply a standard critique without truly seeing the work itself. If feminist art is easily classifiable, one can critique it with a one-size-fits-all formula. If, on the other hand, feminist art doesn’t differentiate itself with a pointless label, critics will be forced to judge each work on its own terms without gender providing an already available critical methodology. To be fair, this isn’t a criticism of a hypothetical feminist aesthetic per se, but of any artistic movement, that accepts any sort of label.

From the examples that Gever provides, it seems that the feminist video works aren’t necessarily feminine, but are simply excellent video art. Maybe a feminist aesthetic isn’t necessary—maybe women of the twenty-first century are free to create works, display them, and receive critiques based on the work alone. If they desire to isolate themselves from the rest of the artistic community, they have the opportunity. However, I feel that it is much more interesting if they are seamlessly integrated without rigid gender distinctions.

Generative art refers to art generated, composed, constructed, or somehow produced with an algorithm in a computer, mathematical, or other autonomous process. Prime examples include certain works by John Cage and, most currently, Brian Eno’s “77 Million Paintings”. During a recent visit to the Center for Research in Electronic Art Technology (CREATE), I saw first-hand many different generative art projects. I noticed an interesting thread throughout - each description included a phrase to the effect of “we’re ______ and then looking at all the possible outcomes to find the best results.”

The key is the “all possible outcomes”. Imagine if Stamitz had mathematically calculated every possible symphony in the 1700s. There would be nothing left to explore and the most respected of all forms would have disappeared almost as quickly as it began. Mozart and Beethoven surely wouldn’t bother composing symphonies because Stamitz had, in a sense, written them all. Sure, one could make a case for composers creatively breaking the rules of the algorithm to produce original results, but this is a hollow shell of an argument because no composer wants to use a form that has been played out, so to speak.

One could also argue that we would still have seminal works such as Haydn’s “London” symphony or Beethoven’s 9th, but they would be credited to Stamitz who would have discovered them while sifting through the results of his compositional algorithm. However, I counter this with two claims: first, generative “composers” are overwhelmed with a multitude of possibilities making them unable to examine every possibilities, thus ensuring that many of the results will go unnoticed; second, it’s likely that many symphonies that we now regard as classic would be discarded because they didn’t fit into the current style of the period. Bernstein’s “Kaddish”, for example, certainly wouldn’t make the cut, to say nothing of Schoenberg! If Stamitz had generated every possible symphony, and even if he lived long enough to examine each one, he would most certainly discard anything beyond what the 1700s regarded as musically beautiful and we would never get to hear Beethoven’s “Eroica” with its lopsided development or and of Mahler’s monster creations.

From this point of view, I pose the question: how many masterpieces did Brian Eno kill when he synthesized 77 million paintings? How many great works are we deprived of by generative artists everyday? Are these artists exploring a radical new creative methodology, or are they ruining art for everyone?

My final thought is that the human mind is creative beyond all understanding and if the symphony didn’t go on to become the preeminent art music form that it did, Haydn would have written equally great works using a different form. However, if all artists began composing algorithmically, finding original forms would quickly become difficult. As Umberto Eco points out, once we have the blank canvas, the ripped canvas, and the charred canvas, where can we go from there but backwards?

The Technology: Art and Sound by Design class (and many like it) pose a novel dilemma for the idea of a “work” (i.e. the expressive product of an artist or artists). The goal of the class at hand is a unification of two seemingly unrelated disciplines: science with its positivist empiricism and art in its current state of postmodern incredulity toward the meta-narrative of empirical thought. The dialectical energy of science (hereafter technology) and art has the power to produce an explosion of creativity, if we can find a true synthesis.

We must ultimately classify the course itself as an “art” class because, after all, the end result (or goal) is to produce a work of art that utilizes technology. This is not, however, to suggest that the artist is dominating force, as the engineer, in this unique situation, is called upon to engage in the process of artistic production. Ideally, the artist and engineer contribute equally working together as two artists: one familiar with aesthetics, the other familiar with technology.

The goal is a gestalt—a unified whole, irreducible into an aesthetic portion and a technological portion. The technological component must not intrude on the aesthetic component and the aesthetic component must not resist the introduction of the technological component. The spectator must be unaware of the synthesis and experience the work as a gestalt.

This is well and good in theory, but very difficult in praxis. That is why the two artists with their respective backgrounds must develop a means of communication—a common ground. This will be, I suspect, one of the more difficult aspects of the class, but also one of the more useful. The common ground must be the creative act itself. Both artists and engineers engage in creativity on a daily basis, but for different means where the former creates objects of art while the latter uses the creativity for more practical purposes. These two approaches to creativity can only benefit each other and they are the key to successful interdisciplinary communication.

It will be up to the artist and engineer to find this common ground and to exploit their complimentary skill sets. The potential is nearly limitless.

In From Work to Text, Barthes provides a very compact summary of the topics explored in S/Z (1970): namely, the idea of an open text with, not simply multiple possible meanings, but a simultaneous multiplicity of meanings. What Barthes referred to in S/Z as the “readerly text” becomes the Work and what was referred to as the “writerly text” now becomes the Text. Where the Work is a physical object that one can hold in three dimensional space, the Text is a living, changing, flow of signs that defy hermeneutic treatment. If in 2007

One interesting aspect of Barthes writing is the requirement of a meta-language to describe his ideas. He writes about the slippage and play of signification in the Text, but when he describes it in his flowing prose, he cannot afford to engage this play without sacrificing the clarity and direction of his thesis. The same is true of Derrida who is sharply critical of the Western supposition of logocentricity—he must resort to a meta-language in order to communicate concepts that he wishes to be interpreted in a very specific, “correct” manner. I can appreciate the difficulty of the situation and I forgive Barthes for being somewhat hypocritical in this way, but I wonder what a self-descriptive writerly text would look like. This relates back to the criticism of postmodern thinking in that if one calls for the resistance of absolute meaning, shouldn’t the reader also resist the meaning of the call to resist absolute meaning?

This is why Deleuze is so remarkable. His writing reflects his rhizomatous network of philosophical concepts. He encourages the reader to enter A Thousand Plateaus from any chapter, laughing in the face of the West’s obsession with teleological reasoning. Deleuze goes as far as to avoid absolute definitions of his many concepts (e.g. becoming, deterritorialization, the refrain) thereby sacrificing accessibility for a dedication to his ideas. This is a major sacrifice for any philosopher for, despite what some may claim, they surely wish to be understood (Lacan notwithstanding). Deleuze leaves the reader no choice but to jump right in and start because a definition of one concept always involves at least one of his other concepts.

Returning to Barthes, his reliance on meta-language is entirely forgivable because his ideas are so wonderfully stated. Even if the abjuration of logocentricity seems, in 2007, axiomatic, his statements of the ideas are clear, succinct, accessible, and useful. From Work to Text is nearly perfect as an introduction to the writerly and readerly text. If one wishes to understand this concept in greater detail and see it in practice, S/Z is waiting.

Pelzer examines technical reproduction, its rapid expansion in the twentieth century, and its ramifications through the philosophical writings by media critics, Benjamin, McLuhan, Debord, Baudrillard, and even a little Adorno. Because each of these thinkers did most of their work before the 1980s, and therefore missed the advent of personal computers and the explosion of easily accessible information via the internet, Pelzer provides some commentary and analysis of how history progressed in relation to each thinker’s forecast.

Both Benjamin and McLuhan saw great potential for the global dissemination of ideas, and Benjamin in particular, sees mass media as a means for distributing political ideology although his positivist perspectives failed to account for the inevitable subversion by the culture industry. Pelzer points out the failure of his overly hopeful prospects for mass media in relation to Adorno’s fundamental distrust of mass-anything. I personally find Benjamin’s idea of the “aura” to be his most interesting contribution as it predates Barthes semiotics. In S/Z, Barthes describes the complex and unpredictable nature a text where the signifier/signified relationship is called into question. Barthes’ idea of signifiers always leaving traces of other signifiers seems very similar to Benjamin’s idea of the aura giving a sense of something not entirely present.

Baudrillard provides an interesting idea of “hyperreality”, where simulations provide a level of reality beyond what one would normally experience in the same situation. The all-seeing camera allows the spectator to view every important detail of a situation in a super-human manner while providing and interpreting a wealth of information thus transforming the viewer into a Sherlock Holmes of sorts. Baudrillard is wary of the accessibility and increasing presence of simulations and fears that eventually society will begin to confuse simulated reality with true reality.

Pelzer makes the interesting point that most people will experience a situation vicariously through a TV show or film before actually experiencing it in real life. This is an interesting idea because this doesn’t seem entirely bad. There are many situations best avoided in real life. A simulated car accident serves to warn young drivers of the danger they will be facing once on the road, while protecting them from injury. Along the same lines, many people wish to travel and see the world, but are unable for a variety of reasons. An Imax feature on mountain climbing provides them a simulated journey that they themselves would never be able to take. It is once these simulations venture into the territory of the mundane that they become problematic. Virtual relationships are no substitute for the real thing and in this sense, Baudrillard is correct to be skeptical. Therefore, I conclude that we must approach these simulated experiences with a degree of caution and in doing so, we can enjoy the benefits they provide.

My main issue with the article is that Adorno is only mentioned in passing, while Pelzer would do well to read some of his work such as The Curves of the Needle (1927/65) or Opera and the Long Playing Record (1969). Adorno’s death in 1969 halted his long-standing project Towards a Theory of Musical Reproduction (2006), a book on the transcription and interpretive performance of music. Where the reproduction of a painting is simply a matter of taking a photograph and generating as many prints as desired, music exists as graphic notation (which may or may not be the most effective method of communicating the composer’s intentions) and must be realized, often with a variable degree of interpretation by each musician.

Although Adorno is primarily concerned with music, his essay, Opera and the Long Playing Record, is equally applicable to visual art. Adorno was strongly opposed to the 78 acetate records that could scarcely contain a single movement of a Schoenberg string quartet, but when the LP allowed fifteen minutes per side, Adorno offered praise. Furthermore, he argues that the LP is the ideal medium for certain genres such as opera for many reasons including the senseless attempts at modernization of sets and staging. Similarly, he states that “it is obvious that Mozart’s operas cannot be performed in oratorio fashion with an unintentionally comic effect” (248).

Changing the medium drastically effects the consumer’s engagement with the work itself, and not necessarily for the worse. Perhaps a work of monumental proportions, such as Barney’s Cremaster cycle is best experienced through a medium that permits multiple viewings over a period of time. How can one expect to comprehend ten hours worth of highly metaphoric film art without revisiting the work a number of times? Along the same lines, a work such as Michael Snow’s Wavelength, renown for its soporific nature, may be more effective viewed alone, free from the distractions of bored and restless spectators. A DVD would also allow the viewer to watch at multiple speeds, thereby possibly uncovering structural features that would be difficult to detect if sufficiently spaced during the performance.

Overall, Pelzer provides a concise overview of important media theorists showing the benefits and hazards of the burgeoning media industry. Just as Benjamin and McLuhan saw great potential, I too see potential, but as a disingenuous disciple of Adorno, I doubt it will work out that way.

Emerging from Jameson’s dense prose, I find the message: video art provides a “total flow” of meaning (meaning in a very qualified, postmodern sense) where signifiers are constantly in flux, constantly redefined, constantly re-contextualized, and where the only referent possible is that of indisputable historical fact, or in other words, the Lacanian Real. Thus, video is, as Jameson concludes, the ideal medium of transmission of postmodern thought. Over the course of the article, Jameson uses a particular video work, AlienNATION , to demonstrate his points. Jameson refrains from offering any sort of aesthetic judgment, preferring to describe video as a medium, to analyze interesting features, and to explore a variety of interpretive methodologies.

Jameson makes an important phenomenological distinction between video and film because where film (even art film) has a lengthy history of concept and technique, video is (at the time of his essay) slightly over twenty years old and thus doesn’t have the same foundations or expectations.

Although Jameson seems as neutral as possible, he has what appears to be a pessimistic view of the possibilities of postmodern textual manipulation. When he writes, “we are left with that pure and random play of signifiers . . . which no longer produces monumental works of the modernist type but ceaselessly reshuffles the fragments of preexistent texts, the building blocks of older cultural and social production”, he is presenting the situation as if postmodern works are doomed to randomly repeat segments of the past without any sort of intelligent design. While it’s true that, as Derrida shows us, we cannot reasonably assume any sort of logocentricity, if there was no possibility of, say, ironic juxtaposition, there would be no point in making postmodern works—they would just be meaningless jumbles of infinitely meaningful (and thus meaningless) signifiers.

In Intertextual Irony and Levels of Reading, Eco shows how he uses this freedom of signification to generate a surplus of meaning within his literature. Similarly, Tarantino’s cinema is filled with intertextual elements such as the briefcase scene in Pulp Fiction, where the viewer is reminded of the myth of Pandora’s box, the final scene in Repo Man, as well as Raiders of the Lost Arc. The briefcase scene generates at least three specific and purposeful meanings, hardly the random jumble that Jameson describes.

While Jameson may have a dim view of postmodernity in art, he does an excellent job explaining why other forms of interpretation fail to say anything useful about postmodern works. He writes that if the “ephemeral” and “disposable” text is the building block of postmodern art, then there can be little gleaned from an analysis of any one fragment. Similarly, no video work can be viewed in isolation from the whole of the video art world. He goes on to contend that though one may attempt to “sort the material out into thematic blocks and rhythms and repunctuate it with beginnings and endings, with graphs of rising and falling emotivity, climaxes, dead passages, transitions, recapitulations, and the like”, the result will be different upon every viewing.

Insofar as that is a true statement, is it necessarily a positive or negative characteristic of postmodern art? There must be a certain value to a work that allows one to return over and over again for a completely new experience. Again, Jameson language is telling: phrases such as “____ is reduced to” indicate that he doesn’t see this potential for varied readings as a positive characteristic because if the author cannot control the message, there must be no message and therefore no art in creation. I see the potential for multiple and diverse readings as an intriguing characteristic of postmodern art. Furthermore, this whole notion of interpretive impossibility is specious. Again referring to Eco, the author creatively engages multiple levels of signification and though there are always already infinite readings, certain readings make a lot more sense. Even if one cannot definitively state the “correct” reading of a text, one can find a range of readings that generate the most coherent and meaningful interpretation. Jameson is correct to poke fun at the standard interpretive question—“what does it mean?”—because this assumes a single “correct” reading, but just because there is no definitive reading, it doesn’t necessarily mean that there are no readings that are better than others.

The scope of Jameson’s article is, perhaps, its best feature. It’s fascinating how he manages to describe such a wide range of postmodernity in art while talking only about video art. If I take issue with certain points, it doesn’t mean that the article on the whole is flawed. Simply, everyone will approach the concepts of postmodernism from a different perspective and now I’ve presented mine.

I like music (and most art) from the 20th century from the modernist’s exploration of the ontological boundaries to the postmodernist’s reminder not to take ourselves too seriously. What’s not to like?

At the moment, I’m very interested in mass art and it’s connection to Plato’s fundamental distrust of art (more specifically, it’s proclivity to mimesis). Finally, we have a large body of work that both uses the tools of mass communication and can effectively reach a wide audience. Basically, it’s connecting with a lot of people through the means that they can understand - the possibility of subversion has never been greater. Was Plato correct in thinking that mimetic art would fool and corrupt society? Should it be banned from our “republic”?

Previously in history, fine art was really for the cultured, the learned, and the elite. Sure, the masses may have gone to a few operas, but did they have any real, deep understanding of what they were looking at? No way - it was a social event - they usually weren’t even paying attention to the stage. Thus, fine art never even had the chance to sway the “delicate” minds of society. The connoisseurs wouldn’t be influenced by subsersive content because if they were smart enough to grasp the concepts of art, they were smart enough to think critically, smart enough to avoid being duped by the clever artist with his nefarious plot to poison their minds.

That was then. “Now” is a different story. Mass art is made for a mass audience. It uses communication techniques that they easily understand (and enjoy), it uses mediums that they’re comfortable with (e.g. TV, movies, pop culture), and it’s readily available for a nominal cost (i.e. once you buy the TV, you can begin consuming mass art for free). The state of the world clearly shows that many individuals are still unable to think critically and therefore unable to filter out the “junk”. If their entertainment is subverted, they will be easily swayed from any of their beliefs. How many people thought the Da Vinci Code was real? If an artist (or, conversely, a Dan Brown) throws in a few little touches in the way of footnotes (and the like), the legitimacy appears to increase drastically. Many people will still believe *anything*.

So, the question stands: should we ban art because it would be good for society? My instinct as an artist is to say, “hahahaha - of course not! Lets get in there and mess with people’s heads!” You can’t ignore your artistic instinct, so lets have some fun.

This is another review I wrote for Amazon.com

– — – –

Perhaps the only things more polemical than Adorno’s critique of Schoenberg and Stravinsky are the reactions that followed. Unfortunately, many people still assume that they understand Adorno’s views and arguments concerning these two composers. The reductionist tendency to simplify Adorno’s view to “Schoenberg good, Stravinsky bad” shows just who has and who hasn’t actually read this book. It is never so simple. Adorno is frequently critical of Schoenberg in very perceptive ways. Of course there’s no mistaking who Adorno favors, but to consider this book as a good-vs-evil study is far too limiting. Not only is this a great study of the then current state of musical thought, it is also an interesting overview of twelve tone music, how it works, what it seeks to do, and why it’s important.

The format of the book is especially nice. Adorno’s favored paratactical prose style can be incredibly difficult when multi-page paragraphs begin to accumulate. For the most part in Philosophy of New Music, each new paragraph is marked by a heading. This keeps the ideas organized and focused. Adorno’s paragraphs seem to function as a spinning out of an idea in a very fluid manner and the length of his sections are just the right length to allow the reader to comfortably follow him without getting bogged down. His theses is developed piece by piece, but clearly dividing up the ideas helps the reader see the logical progression. Having read other Adorno writings, I found this to be unusually clear and concise. I wonder how much more useful Aesthetic Theory would be if he had used this structure.

The remarkable clarity is probably due, to a large extent, to Robert Hullot-Kentor’s translation. I’ve read many other translators with varying degrees of success (Ashton’s attempt at Negative Dialectics being one of the worst), but Hullot-Kentor is by far the best. Adorno’s writing is riddled with allusions and references that are frequently vague or obscure. Hullot-Kentor does a great service to readers by including additional references and background information. His detailed understanding of Adorno’s complicated thought is evident in every sentence. Reading Adorno has, to me at least, never been so straightforward.

In addition to the translation, Hullot-Kentor provides an excellent foreword providing both a context and an overview of what is inside. His description of the translation process is, as always, interesting. Hullot-Kentor has found a way to provide very readable English translations while maintaining Adorno’s linguistic artistry.