roland barthes is a good coffee talker

The Absent One

absence/ absence

Any episode of language which stages the absence of the loved object--whatever its cause and its duration--and which tends to transform this absence into an ordeal of abandonment.

---

I have returned to this text several times, and have not gotten very far into it for many reasons. But this venture, I got stuck in this discussion of absence. Ghosts, absence, shadows, skeletons, fossils--all of these things have been clamoring around and I think I have found a great question for myself.

"Now, absense can exist only as a consequence of the other: it is the other who leaves, it is I who remain. The other is in a condition of perpetual departure, of journeying; the other is, by vocation, migrant, fugitive; I-- I who love, by converse vocation, am sedentary, motionless, at hand, in expectation, nailed to the spot, in suspense--like a package in some forgotten corner of a railway station. Amorous absence functions in a single direction, expressed by the one who stays, never by the one who leaves: an always present I is constituted only by the confrontation with an always absent you," (13)

My main interest in this passage comes purely from the basic understanding that "I" is defined by "other" and how that relationship pans out in human interactions. Putting aside the broken heart's longing, I see this in terms of physical bodies moving through space. One body, the "I", is the point of reference so that the literal "other" body is the one that consistently stays in motion, stays in absence. But stepping away from this for a moment and thinking in terms of my own travels for the days/weeks/months/years, I have to see the point of reference not being the "I" or the "other" but being a location where the two bodies interact.

If it is a space/location/place that becomes the reference point, then what happens to the "I" in relation to the "other". It would seem that I have become just as transient and absent as the other. In fact, if the other has stronger ties to the location than I, it can be said that I am the absence as I continually depart and journey away.

My question in essence then becomes, where is the I and where is the other if both fit the model of the transient? Is there a point where I and the other intersect and both become others? Or would that not happen if I-other must exist as opposites?

---

I am intrigued by this switching of identities because it seems to be less hopeless than barthes suggests. Essentially he sets up the Lover-I to be in constant anxiety and agony over the vanishing Other. Again, setting aside the heart's longing, I feel this back and forth may be changed if the projection of self is changed.

Rather than define I based on a vanishing you, I feel an interesting take is to define I on an intended location for both I and other. One location, with one time and in one space.

But after all of this is said, I'm not sure if I'm far off from what Barthes was getting at in the first place.

I suppose this is just a thought about how I consider myself to be the dynamic, transient entity in this mix and in my pattern of travel and life, it is I who leaves the others. And if I buy Barthes' logic, then I've become other. It's got holes, but I can't get it out of my head.

i like your failure

So. failed projects. started and stopped projects and projects that haven't quite left my head to make it to paper yet.

1. Monsters (it's been an uphill battle, indeed.)

2. Swallowing Quarters. I've gotten some place, i have no idea where it is, but it is a place and i plant to run with it.

Would you please tell me what swallowing quarters means?

---

"swallowing quarters is when you eat those $1 words that you don't want to mean. those words you say to him or her (or him and her) that are nothing but trouble for someone."

"swallowing quarters is like keeping solid syllables from stumbling out like leachy, peach-pit, (little) verbs. (imaginary nouns, too. although some opt for abstract.)"

"swallowing quarters is for vending machines. don't forget that."

what time is it?

For the past few weeks, I been reeling from mourning, illness and laziness. I'm trying to get into the swing of the New Year like all the rest of the people--using it as an excuse for change. Motivation is never a bad thing, yeah?

Today I complete my essay for grad school applications. Tomorrow I will finalize the portfolio. And later on I will post all for the world to see. 1st goal of the new change-- show your wounds.

Next goal? Let my work mock me.

And after that, do the impossible--accept my successes as well as I do my failures.

I have a lot of plans outside of these vague mantras. A whole list that needs to be written down so it's no longer an idea, but a plan of action. Here's to crossing off lists.

Good bye and thank you for everything

I found out this weekend that a dear and important person to me, has left us. He did so by his own hands and I don't think I will ever begin to understand why. But I can speak to how Steve Panella helped me to see things the way I needed to so that I could become to person/artist/maker/person I am.



He was my first painting teacher at the University of Florida. Second semester, freshman year. For the most part, all I did was make a huge mess in his class. The paintings were fine, even great in some moments, but I made a huge mess of paint, leaves, dirt, canvas, wood, glue, etc. I made one (huge to my new painter hands) painting that was essentially all of the above mixed up and covered in black paint. After the critique for this work, Steve brought in an Anselm Kiefer book for me to look at and I've been hooked ever since. I guess I should mention, this was a Black and White painting class--I've obviously not moved too far from that. I don't totally remember every critique, but I remember the feeling I got from coming out of those classes. I was confident. I was sure. I knew I could handle doing this for a really long time. And for the first time in my life, I liked who I was becoming.


Not until after the semester ended did I see his work. It was remarkably similar to things I was getting into and things I would later do. We didn't have too much dialogue about our work, mostly our intentions. The similarities I would continue to find over the years only keyed me into knowing that we had similar intentions, and made me realise that ideas can trump practice, so I really had to pay attention to make sure I'd keep a good balance of the two. (Practice vs. idea is something I know I will always struggle with. It's easy to make the perfect work in a sketch book or on the walk home from the train and then forget all about it.)




He is a beautiful person, and I will miss him. People usually have regrets about not staying in touch, telling them things, etc. etc. but I did get to tell him once how much his support meant and how it really got me from there to here. From a mess to a mess with a purpose.


At the end of the semester I brought the Kiefer book to his office and handed it to him. He looked at me and handed it back saying, An old teacher of mine gave this to me when I was in school. But I think you can use it more than I can now. I guess, in more than one way, I hope to be able to pass something on like that some day. To be a friend and to teach something that sticks even if just long enough to help someone from there to here.

paper keys get you everywhere

So I've figured out how I want my keys to look. I tried paper mache, plaster casting and so on and so forth...even cutting them out of Yupo. But, card board it is.






Obviously, inaccessibility is important. But I'm also looking at replacement. These keys were keys sitting around the garage for the last 20+ years and no one actually knows what they're for, short of the key that came with the lock.

I've come across several wood boxes that are divided into 3 compartments (thank you HRM gift shop). I think those boxes and these keys will be combined.

As for the jewelry box from oh-so-long-ago, it's almost done. a few more layers of wax and we'll call it.

Pictures and pictures to follow.

But, if I may be so bold, what do you think when you see these keys? Rude, polite, fantastic, whatever. I need some words for it.

this is the most romantic i can be at the moment

Paul Celan from: Lightduress (Cycle 6)

Delusionstalker–Eyes: in you
end up the rest of the gazes.

A single
flood
swills up.

Soon you brighten
the rock to death, on which they
have
bet, against
themselves.

Unwieldy Tomorrow,
I bite myself into you, I silence myself at you,

we resound,
alone,

the impastoïd
eternity-chimes drip away
squawked through
by today’s
yesterday,

we drive,

with largesse
the last soundbowl
takes us in:

the accelerated heartstep
outside
in space,
near her, the earth-
axis.

Notepaper-Pain,
besnowed, oversnowed:

in the calendargap
he’s cradled, he’s cradled
by the newborn
nothing.

Strew Ocher into my eyes:
you no longer
live there,

save
on the tomb-
furnishings, save,

pace off the stonerows,
on your hands,

with their dream
paint over the
stamped out
temporal bone’s squama,

at the
great
bifurcation re-
count yourself to the ocher,
three times, nine times.

Swandanger,
grebe-
threat,

the icelashed with
kraken-
arms,

you, clawed
Yakut-
Pushkin:

Hei, Chebeldei, Chebeldei.

Leap Centuries, leap
seconds, leap-
births, novembering, leap-
deaths,

stocked in honeycomb-troughs,
bits
on chips,

the menorah-poem from Berlin,

(Unasylumed, un-
archived, un-
cared for, a
-live?),

reading station in the late-word,

economical ignition points
in the sky,

crests under fire,

feelings, frost-
spindled,

cold start —
with hemoglobin.

Source-Points, at night,
on the expressways,
expectant of the gods,

your foothills, Brainmountain,
in the heart-you,
by them
foamed around.

Trek-Scow-Time,
the half-transformed drag
at one of the worlds,

the dis-elevated one, intimated,
speaks under the foreheads on the bank:

Quits with death, quits with
God.

You be Like You, always.

Stant up Jherosalem inde
erheyff dich

Even he who cut the bond with you,

inde wirt
erluchtet

knots it anew, in the Gehugnis ,

mudclots I swallowed, in the tower,

language, dark pilaster strip,

kumi ori.

Do Not Work Ahead,
do not send out,
stand
inward:

transgrounded by the void,
free of all
prayer,
fine-fugued, according to
the pre-script,
unpassable,

I take you in,
instead of
peace.

— Translated by Pierre Joris

when in doubt, draw a monster

This is the artist's proof for "if i was a monster, i wouldn't even know my name". My answer to my friends' attempt at a theme show: When in doubt, draw a monster.

I've loved the idea since the moment it was shared with me. I'm going to conference with these friends and see if I can turn this into a mail-art project. We all send monsters to each other. Regardless, I'm going to make this a limited edition of 50-60 postcards. I'm keeping 10 for myself, and mailing the rest out to people with one request, they send me their monster in return. (the mail-art permissions would be to later display monsters...if it comes to that).

As for the to-do list, I'm getting closer to finishing it off. Closer, not done, though.

Yesterday I played with plaster and paper mache to make some keys. The paper mache worked a lot better than the plaster, but I'm pretty sure that's because I have no idea what I'm doing with the plaster. If these keys are going to get made, I need to figure something else out. But the box is looking good and is almost done. So, at least the biggest part is completed, even if the biggest is not the most complex.

And! I entered the Bridge Art Fair juried competition for Art Basel Miami. (that was a mouth full). The gallery is not yet up on my myartspace.com page, but it will most likely be a series of drawings I was working on for a good part of the year.

And so it is, I'm attempting to get things done.