Further codex thoughts

Granted, I can’t go to the Codex symposium myself, but what if I could somehow send some questionnaires that could go out on the Impact stand? They could be really well produced and I could tone my questioning to suit the scenario. It might work. I worry that it’d be shuffled off to the back somewhere though- with good enough reason since it’s shoehorned into a different context. Is it worth bothering with?

I wish someone had told me theis symposium was taking place. Enough complaining though. I’m going to try to finish the drawn ‘beta’ version’ of Turndust today, so there’s plenty of work, and really, if I’m going to get anyone interested in sharing information, opportunities and work with me, it’ll be because of my work, whether academic or artistic, and there’s been precious little material for them to go on. I take my share of that disconnection, but it still feels pretty cold out here.

Codex Foundation Bookfair and Symposium

The Codex Foundation is producing the first biennial CODEX Book Fair and a Symposium entitled: The Fate of the Art, The Hand Printed Book in the 21st Century. The Book Fair and Symposium will take place February 12, 13, 14, & 15, 2007 on the campus of the University of California, Berkeley

This looks interesting, and I imagine a lot of crossover between the speakers (which include my PhD advisor, Sarah Bodman) and some of the other participants. The general character of it looks like it will overlap a good range of different approaches and ideas of book art. It’s really something that I should be at, but of course I can’t afford to go and the prospect of helping out/going along with Impact press is nonexistent (I didn’t, in fact, get to know about this from my advisors).  The poetry-heavy listing of speakers leads me to think that this will be a symposium that will open up some meditation on the expressive qualities of book art (how could it not?) – about the continuum between the spoken or intoned intention, the written, printed, made, and the otherwise accessed. Well, that’s what I would’ve spoken about anyway. About intention living in different media, about ‘readership’ in those places. Can authors transfer the situation of the book elsewhere? What’s to transfer? What is the nature of this situation, the book?

Wish I was there.

Turndust 6


Untitled-08, originally uploaded by aesop.

The Be Good Tanyas were good, but the venue made it a little difficult to really get into their music. They’ve never struck me as really a public-event sort of band. (Which is to say their music seems to me more introspective and intimate). However, I enjoyed the playing, which was as good as anyone and makes me feel like learning to play the banjo, which probably just goes to expose my ancient Southern roots. I think I’d be pretty happy sittin and pickin on the porch, occaisionally marking the time with tobacco-flavoured ejecta.

Wagamama’s was great. I had a so-called raw juice (carrot, cucumber, tomato, orange and apple) and edamame (steamed green soya beans), and yasai cha han (fried rice with egg, snow peas, mushrooms, sweetcorn, fried tofu and spring onions. accompanied by a bowl of vegetarian miso soup and pickles), with a cold cold Kirin beer. I love Wagamama’s. I always feel that the food has done me good (that’s probably the juice talking). I think I also respond to the aesthetic of the place, which is efficient without being too mind-bogglingly wipe-clean (like a McDonald’s), and the focus seems to be on the food rather than about how Asian it is (despite being prepared by lanky English guys from Fishponds).

Jasmine tea

L and I visited Ta-Hwa in Amsterdam, which is a Chinese exports emporium (in practice there seems to be stuff in there from all over the far East). It’s crammed with gorgeous things from furniture to ceramics to tea. I bought a couple of gifts for Christmas while I was over there, and L bought a tin of jasmine tea. I just had about a pint of it, which may be less than wise just before bed. It’s delicious stuff, and I had fun drinking it out of one of the little earthenware bowls that I also bought there. Not my morning cuppa, of course, which will remain coffee. I think the sensibility to appreciate the delicate aroma of jasmine tea escapes me in the mornings, when I’m more likely to be stubbing my toe on something or trying to find my key.

Tomorrow we’re off to see the Be Good Tanyas at the Colston hall. Not the most preposessing venue of course. The Tanyas are probably seen to best advantage in some dim and churchy room somewhere rural, rather than the suspiciously municipal Colston Hall. Still, the Seu Jorgé concert we saw there was really great, and I enjoyed Madredeus there a few years back. This could be another eye-opener. It’s strange the way that a musician’s presence can have nothing to do with the physical magnitude of the venue.

I had hoped to start reading Marie-Laure Ryan’s Narrative as Virtual Reality tonight, but unfortunately, I left it in Lindy’s glove compartment and I was still too shaken by the torrent of bargains at Wilkinson (bought a tablet of paper, some bungies for my bike rack, and one of those astonishing devices one clips onto radiatiors to dry clothes with). However, after Elaine Scarry’s book I am looking forward to getting into it. I need some other reading though, on two fronts.

Firstly, something that handles what the aims of art practice are. What sorts of experiments can artists be undertaking in their practice (ie, not as public art, or specifically as a social interaction, but just in making)? Something, that is, towards a theory of artistic practice. How can we talk about what artists are doing while they are making? We always talk about the work and the intentions prefiguring it. What are the experimental paradigms, or grammars of success and failure, that artists use in working. What could an experiment be?

Secondly, something on the phenomenology of reading that attends to the book itself. There are some things I have encountered that treat reading and readers seriously in this regard, but more or less disregard the books themselves (though I confess that I would like to reread The Uncommon Reader for example.)

But tomorrow is another day.

One of these days, one of these nights, as like.


Untitled-06, originally uploaded by aesop.

Turndust 5a

Bought a small Japonica today.

Turn


Untitled-01, originally uploaded by aesop.

The first of a set of drawings for Turndust.

I want the words to stay on the same level as the images, to be read at more-or less the same rate as the images, to have the same ‘range of clarity’ that the images have. Sometimes more obvious than others.

All these images will be reworked for silkscreen. I’ll be reducing the range of tonal values to try to exercise some control over how they posterise in the print process. (I’ll be printing another colour underneath as a sort of duotone as well). I want to use some digital mark-making alongside the hand-made marks. Also, perhaps, put in some photographic material.

Several will need lots of reworking, and in fact I want completely different versions of some things, but this is laying down the material to work from.

I’ve had a lot of fun doing these. It’s a little challenging thinking how they’ll be altered by silkscreen, but it is by far the easiest bulk print setup I have access to. (Litho is just too tricky for me, and there’s little sense of ownership with the setup.)

More Scarry reviewing

Continuing to read Elaine Scarry’s “Dreaming by the Book” is, of course, taking me deep into literary territory, since the novel is Scarry’s laboratory. Most of what I have read over the few hours I’ve spent with the book over the last couple of days has essentially been a series of illustrations from classic literature of Scarry’s theories about how authors instruct us to imagine. Of course, that is what Scarry set out to do, but I am reading for more oblique purposes. I am interested in how the book form (or format, or declaration or whatever) gives the author permission to instruct the reader, and, simultaneously, gives the reader permission to be instructed. This is a step away from ordinary cognition, and places the signifying job of the book under a modified gaze (or, if one prefers, in a modified situation). Whatever is going on, there is something going on when the reader allows him-or-herself to be led. It lies somewhere in the social construction of the book (I think I have written about John R. Searle’s social constructions elsewhere) and in the pyschological and reality-forming powers of narrative (again, I’ve written about Kearney’s exposition of Ricoeur elsewhere, and about Reading for the Plot, by Peter Brooks). Readers have their reasons. This even ties into my early reading from Grau about panoramae and immersive experience: there is a great difference between the ‘willing suspension of disbelief’ with its participatory and creative element for the reader, and the ‘sensual assault’ of the most enthusiastically-pitched cinema. As readers and viewers, we ocillate in our desires to create and to be forcefully led into creation.

Obviously Scarry’s book resonates with me and my previous reading (next up will be another look at Marie-Laure Ryan’s Narrative as Virtual Reality. At the moment though, I’m finding Scarry’s book somewhat too literary for my purposes. I need her to return from her specific phenomenology of how imagination constructs literary narrative, to answer questions about the form of the book as a vehicle for doing this. Scarry early on says that imagination associated with reading is different from daydream. She’s exposing the mechanisms of this in later chapters, but not the threshold event of crossing into that realm of guided imagining. Books are a symbol for this event, as well as their physical mechanism.

It’s something I wrote of before to some extent when I mentioned Ral Veroni’s book Sophie: it’s a vehicle that passes instructions before our eyess in a sequential and translucent way (optically, as well as chronologically-one can see what is to come and what has passed).  It works for visual books as well as for novels (which is why I am interested). What is our (the readers) relationship to the author’s picturing? What is our relationship to books? What kind of reading are we performing?

With that question “What kind of reading?” I may be ready to come back to the Blue Notebook  and look at the notion of reading as prowling.

Blue Notebooks

The Blue Notebook

I had my first read of the first number of the new UWE-based artists’ book publication, The Blue Notebook. First impressions are very good. I’d read the Marshall Weber article in its online form on the Australian site that documents the symposium it was delivered at, but it’s good to see it in this form with the pictures and the typesetting for the initial poem.

First impressions of Mike Nicholson’s piece were very thought provoking. It seems that he’s thought a lot about what he’s doing. I seem to see something I could learn from in his way of valuing people’s natural commitment to their work (I can’t think of another way to put it, but it’s the opposite of a desperately earnest/networky sort of working). I think, given the hard time I’ve had getting into my research, that I must come off a bit ‘desperate’ in that sense. But I’m also thoroughly based in my books in a real and natural way ( I think people give me a bit of slack/tolerance for that). Because the more social side of my research seems a bit daunting to me sometimes, I’m sure I come off a bit more boring and ‘desperate’ in that sense than I really am. There’s a side of me that would really rather be making books. I think I’d be better understood that way at any rate. But I’m trying to balance things out. I felt far more comfortable on my last visit to the ICA, even though I had to push myself through at at trot to get it all done. Partly that was simply because of time, but partly also because I needed the momentum. It makes one look a bit puffed-out and daft, but it’s a hurry to get your bit said before someone starts talking over you. Still, hopefully I can be more relaxed in less strained circs. Nicholson’s essay seemed to describe some of the feelings one has about showing work and assuming a particular identity. (I’m a book artist, eg) He also wrote about the company he’d kept as a result of taking up this way of doing things and the way that had changed his ideas about what he was doing and why. I wonder if I can transform my sense of what it is to be a researcher as I settle into it more?

There was another piece that I’ll need to re read. Can being able to read the intent of artists’  books set us free?

?

As I say, I’ll need to re read it. I’ve just been writing in my previous post about ‘reading’ artists’ books though, so there may well be a point of intersection there.

Also some interesting artists’ pages. The one that stands out for me had a photo of a dead rabbit and a text- a sort of prose poem seemingly detailing a stream-of-rabbit-consciousness fading out to oblivion. I found it effective. It was interesting also from the point of view of my previous writing on Scarry’s text, where she’s writing about the evocative power of language. The association of picture and image (one live, one still?) makes me think about how I’m planning to do the same in a couple of different ways in Turndust.

Dreaming By the Book:Elaine Scarry

Link: Amazon.com: Dreaming By the Book: Books: Elaine Scarry.

I have been reading from Scarry’s "Reading by the Book" about the power of the verbal arts (of narrative direction in particular), having read of the book in Marshal Weber’s Justice is Beautiful. I am still working on Turndust, and it seemed that it would be interesting to use the insight this book offers in conjunction with my artist’s book. The relationship between what I would call the haptic radar of the imaginary that narrrative offers, the staged directorial emphasis of book form, and book art is interesting. Though Scarry is speaking about written narrative exclusively, there is much in the way that books present narratives of imagining that still holds true in artists’ books. They remain directed experiences, directed unveilings.

Scarry’s writng about veils and transparency as being characteristic of the directed ‘perception’ of imaginary narrative is interesting. Books peel off layers of supposition, building solidity by the interface of many visual phenomena, many of which are rendered ‘transparent’ by the poetic echoes and ‘pre-echoes’ of the unfolding story. Page by page, narrative visual art builds the object for its audience. But this is stretching a point. Narrative artists’ books do something very much like this, but perhaps I need to modify the metaphor that gives my explanation its paradigm and hence its explanatory power. But I suspect that there are family resemblances between directed verbal narrative and its visual cousin. The actions of rhetorical construction are common to them both: although visual art offers something up to the senses, is the narrative of that visual artwork contained in the sensory material of its pictures, or in the narrative instructions they convey? But this is to risk confusing ideas and objects.

So far in my reading of Scarry’s work, she deals with objects, not the ideas of story. The ideas behind verbal narrative and visual narrative can be identical. The objects depicted are not. Except… I know that one of the things I want to do in books is to establish places and objects by looking at them again and again, changing their relationships one to another to set them up in an imaginary space very solidly, because here is a place where something will happen. (My model here is Sophie by Ral Veroni which does exactly this with some classical ruins. (Coincidentally, or not-so-coincidentally, it is printed on semi-translucent paper, which emphasises the continuation and relation of the seperate images. I have never recovered from seeing this book, whose impact I have been trying to recapture ever since.) But it seems to me that exactly this examination, this overlaying of one image atop another as we see it in artists’ book narrative, serves to create properly imagined objects in much the same way as the verbal arts.

Scarry’s book has motivated me to include a verbal prelude to my images in Turndust. One of the things I want to do with this is to carry the seed of the verbal into the visual. My images include writing in my handwriting, which is germane to the other autographic marks conveying the image. To me, I can see my hand in both. I want to open the vista verbally, using the metaphor of the wind, to carry the reader’s intention across the landscape’s solidity and texture. This experiment will, I hope, engage the reader’s intention in the text, then suddenly open this text visually. However, becuse both text and image are hand-drawn, Ihope to sustain ‘the realm of reading’ across the other surfaces of the book. I think that the comparison of images conjured to the minds eye by the verbal introduction, and those deposited and overlayed by my visual artwork will be instructive. I think that they both will serve to construct the narrative. But what is the phenomenology of this depositing and overlaying. I am insisting here on the persistence of the image in the book form. That they go beyond being optical surfaces to becoming narrative information that takes it’s place in the (artificially-constructed, imagined, and not perceptual) linear track of story. To this add the notion (again, I get this from Weber’s citations, this time of Anton Würth quoting Derrida ) that languages’ linear character is a displacement of the cognitive tumbling act that is really going on. [“Linearity is the displacement of multi-dimensional symbolic thinking.”] That multidimensional tumbling act is always the background to reading, and the poetics of the artists’ book are no less susceptible to it than any other narrative.

"Imagine the face of the world. Patches of warmth and coolness stir the air into currents, build columns and rivers of air and vapour that stroke and bathe the surface of the sea and the land. Air pushes through, an invisible phalanx that moves across the world from horizon to horizon. Sometimes violently, as when bark will split and trees crash down under its insistence. Sometimes tenderly, as when the petal of a flower is disturbed, or the head-feathers of a sparrow are perturbed. Stroking, pushing, tearing, You cannot see it. But you can see the clouds move. The crops move, stroked by the side of a hand, springing back from their bending in waves. the dust moves, the leaves are stirred, the stillness is gone. Now,/…"