The Wastelands, by T. S. Eliot, is a collection of 5 poems written during a depressive state in the author’s life during the 1920’s. In it, he observes the decay of a once thriving and glorious culture under the weights of industrialism and a mistaken sense of cultural depth. The subject is quite morose, but the poems are instilled with a sense of hope for cultural rejuvenation, though the author knows not how. The piece is elegantly and masterfully written, and it marks a pivotal point in literature of the past century due to its wide array of uncited sources.
One of the defining characteristics of The Wastelands is its dense multitude of references to previous works of literature. From The Aeneid to Heart of Darkness, Eliot takes advantage of the breadth of human knowledge unlike anyone has done before. Similar to contemporary writing, the poems have lines directly or loosely translated from other historic pieces like The Tempest and The Inferno. Because the diverse range of references are so dense, it would be an impossible task to adequately cite them all, but that’s entirely the point. Eliot is trying to overload the reader with an impossible amount of information, drawing from the collective knowledge of humanity. Contemporary writing operates on similar ideas; they recognize the impressive array of human knowledge and hope to capitalize on what has already been created.
Though conceptual writing and FLARF have dramatically different goals compared to The Wastelands, they share a common method. One of the primary advantages contemporary writers has over Eliot is their resources. The internet has nearly every bit of language ever written that can located in less than a second, and this has allowed them to take advantage of language in much more creative ways. Contemporary writing is a more extreme use of preexisting language, and The Wastelands sparked a significant shift in that direction, revolutionizing the way literature is written.
Why use your own words when you can express yourself just as well by using someone else’s? Flarf and Conceptual Writing, each formed over the past five years, are direct investigations to that end. Flarf poetry is an avant guard movement to mine the internet with odd search terms then distill the results into often hilarious and sometimes disturbing poems, plays and other texts. In conceptual poetry, appropriation is often used as a means to create new work, focused more on the initial concept rather than the final product of the poem. What does it mean to be a poet in the Internet age?
Disposability, fluidity, and recycling: there’s a sense that these words aren’t meant for forever. Today they’re glued to a page but tomorrow they could re-emerge as a Facebook meme. This new writing is not bound exclusively between pages of a book; it continually morphs from printed page to web page, from gallery space to science lab, from social spaces of poetry readings to social spaces of blogs. The logic of a piece or series of pieces is a device that is used at times, only to be ruined. Logic may be used to camouflage the real intent of the writer, to lull the reader into the belief that she understands the work, or to infer a paradoxical situation.
Our immersive digital environment demands new responses from writers. I was never 100 percent sure what it meant. Flarf is hilarious. Conceptual Writing is dry. Flarf is quasi-procedural and improvisatory. When an author uses a conceptual form of writing, it is a perfunctory affair. Conceptual Writing is automatic. It operates most efficiently when machines perpetuate it subconsciously.
Why is this blog titled contemporary trash? The simple answer is because the general population views contemporary art as some sort of excuse for doing incomprehensible things. In essence, the classic idea of art
versus the modern
For the most part, the general population does not choose to read into the significance of a piece. With Liberty Leading the People, as pictured above, it is easy to make a loose connection to French revolution just based on the image. Presented with a urinal on the other hand, the common museum-goer is asked to make leaps of understanding into complex concepts of art. Though educated viewers may be able to understand the significance of Duchamp’s readymades, like the urinal, a common viewer might dismiss it as some sort of “contemporary trash”. Much of contemporary art simply asks too much of the general public to bridge the gap between the artist’s intention and the audience’s reception.
Furthermore, contemporary art tends to take much less skill to physically execute, so viewers are inclined to say, “well I could’ve done THAT!” For me, it was this piece by Ellsworth Kelly.
But I was struck by the very important realization: I could have done it, but I didn’t. This was an extremely important step in my appreciation of contemporary art. For the majority of art, its value lies in skillful execution, but some art is more powerful through simplicity and reduction. Kelly hoped to use hard-edge shapes to reinforce the boundaries of the canvas, and he tried to reduce the descriptive quality of painting to achieve a more subjective projection of reality. Knowing Kelly’s artistic goals, it is much easier to understand his methods and appreciate the final piece, but as previously stated, the common viewer does not take the time necessary to fully appreciate the piece at hand. The ease with which an artist can execute a piece only furthers the under-appreciation of any given concept because it creates a barrier of interest. In other words, if I could have done it in my sleep, then why should I care?
This blog tells you why. It isn’t about what the artist or author can get away with, it’s about how the seemingly incomprehensible actually means much more.
Man on the Phone was painted by Gerhard Richter, a prominent European abstract expressionist. It was created in 1965 by taking a newspaper clipping of an anonymous man on the phone, projecting it on a canvas, painting the image with tints and shades of grey, and smearing it with a large brush. This piece is one of many painted in the same style, and it embodies many of the artist’s revolutionary ideas. Man on the Phone demonstrates the objective potential of painting. It also represents the political uncertainty associated with the media of East Germany while simultaneously offering insight on the Socialist perspective.
Richter has a passion specifically for painting, but he is also deeply influenced by the objective power of photography. He once said, “the photograph is the only
picture that can truly convey information.” He had a healthy distrust of his sense of reality and therefore relied upon photographs as a window into objective truth. He thought photographs were the most pure images because they were “free of all the conventional criteria [he] had always associated with art. [They] had no style, no composition, no judgment.” It is important to note that the photographs Richter used as the basis for his paintings were not his own and were typically used because of a certain aspect of lifelessness. Of course there were those who used the camera in an artistic and purposeful way, but Richter was most interested in the mass-produced, stylistically dry images.
In contrast, he recognized painting’s necessary role as “a vehicle for mining abstraction.” He often refers to painting as an entirely different way of thinking. Through it, he aims to “eliminate conscious thinking” by reducing thought to its visual core. This would, in his eyes, make painting pure. Even at the start of his career, he hoped to see painting in its most pure form, to recognize its limits but also to expand beyond previous misconceptions about its boundaries. A recent documentary recorded Richter practicing his unconscious painting method (see notes 1). Using large brushes and squeegees with globs of paint straight from a bucket, he smears the paint onto the canvas, not attempting to paint a descriptive image. He expresses how the visuality of the piece guides his every move, offering less freedom as the painting develops.
Man on the Phone is a combination of these two very different mediums. He used photographs as a means to paint and painting as a means to depict reality. By painting in a photo-mechanical manner, he was able to retain the objective power of the photograph while creating further meaning from the blurring. In Man on the Phone, he takes advantage of a photograph that “has almost no reality but a-hundred percent picture” and paints it to add a layer of reality. He recognizes the limits of painting because, at its core, it cannot accurately portray reality. When one looks at a photo, they cannot touch the objects represented by the picture, but painting is a tangible substance and therefor adds reality. Combining the two mediums, he took the best of both worlds, redefining the boundaries of painting with a new sense of objectivity.
The method he used to add paint to photographs is just as important as the reason why. Nearly all of Richter’s paintings involve some form of blurring as a way of abstracting an image, but in his earliest photo-paintings, he would simply apply globs of paint.
By simply smearing the paint over preexisting photographs, he was able to thoroughly combine a photographic image and painting’s inherent physicality. This photo-painting addresses the concept of painterly thinking, but the recognizable image acts as a limitation to the expressive depth of abstraction. Richter characteristically blurred the entire image as a way of making “everything equally unimportant and equally important.” To paraphrase the artist, painting with exactness forces the viewer to see every detail and to limit his or herself to that exactness, but providing vagueness, created through blurring, offers a kind of freedom that opens possibilities. Blurring in Man on the Phone transforms the potential of an anonymous face to encapsulate a much larger number of similar looking faces. Furthermore, the use of grays is important for maintaining the objectivity of painting. Not only does gray remove painterly influence, but it also expresses a degree of non-commitment and indifference as the photographs he used often did. It represents a theme of his era because photographs were beginning to be used by a much larger number of people. It also corresponds to mass media which would have been, in large part, black and white. The method of blurring emulates a mechanical action as it resembles the wavelengths of an old TV.
By using grey and blurring the entire photograph, he is able to extrapolate the objectivity of a photograph as it shines through his painterly influences. This allows him to heighten the objective potential of painting and evoke a novel sense of reality.
The blurring technique also contains historically significant insight into the uncertainty associated with the manipulated media of East Germany. During the Holocaust, many Germans had little understanding or knowledge of the atrocities being conducted in concentration camps, and that was primarily due to government regulation of media. Even after the war, the East German government continued to filter the information provided to its people. For instance, in 1972, the East German government reported that three government officials committed suicide, but evidence suggested they were murdered. Richter then created a piece clearly attacking the obscurities of government by depicting blurred photo-paintings of the three officials in question. Though Man on the Phone does not operate on the same intensity of subject, it provides an interesting contrast between the truth of the masses and that of the government. Richter built his art on photographs’ naturally objective depiction of reality and its relation to painting, but during the war, Germany began to manipulate images to alter history as they preferred it; this completely undermines a photo’s power.
Perhaps this is why Richter no longer works directly from photographs. In the modern world, it is too easy to doctor the truth. It may seem as though Man on the Phone has lost its luster because the power of photography has been violated, but he actively searched for the most boring and irrelevant photos in order to further his freedom from artistic obligation. Even if the photograph he worked from was falsified, his core concepts about painting and photography would remain because the falsification would only strengthen the obscurities of the painting itself.
Because Man on the Phone resembles a fuzzy television, it points toward mass media, and because Richter was an advocate of socialist realism, it points toward socialist media in particular. Socialist realism is a movement in tandem to capitalist realism that explored the realities of a particular social or economic system. Capitalist realism used varying advertisements to satirize consumerism and the American dream, but socialist realism typically used propaganda or other quotidian images to glorify the triumphs of the middle class. Man on the Phone involves one of those quotidian images as the telephone became more commonplace and marked social advancement. Television was also becoming wildly popular at the time, and government could not resist the opportunity to broadcast propaganda. This provides a very unique opportunity to study the perspective of an individual in relation to mass media. It is interesting to note that once the identity of the man has been thoroughly blurred, it allows the viewer to project an identity onto the piece. Man on the Phone happens to bare a striking resemblance to the king of rock n’ roll, Elvis Presley.
Within capitalism, the average viewer may see a celebrity, but within socialism, the average viewer might see the blurring of the face as some representation of equality. In the pursuit of true equality, one sacrifices individuality, much like the blurring does to the man on the phone. It eliminates the exactness of the photograph to make everything equally important, and it produces this kind of sameness that comes with socialism.
Painting is instinctively labeled as subjective, but that has become an outdated idea. Many modern artists have at least redefined its potential to become more objective. Man on the Phone demonstrates the liberation from previous misconceptions about what painting should be, and it also represents various social influences. It emanates the undermining uncertainty associated with East German government at the time, while the subject reflects a defining characteristic of socialist realism. The blurring creates a bridge between the objective image of a photograph and the reality of painting. The transformed image liberates the viewer from all the equally unimportant parts of the image to create aesthetic purity and to expose the realities of socialism in East Germany.
Notes:
The 2006 German documentary is available on Netflix, titled Gerhard Richter Painting.
Typography emerged along with the movable type because the machine created the need for standardized fonts in written language. These standardized fonts were key to the rapid creation of books, but as printing technology continued to progress, so did the aims of typography. Traditionally typographers aimed for legibility, but with the advent of digital technology and design software, artists and poets alike took advantage of the new plethora of machines. Just as the printing press revolutionized the rapid spread of knowledge, digitization has revolutionized preconceptions about the pliability of words. Though it may seem like words are endlessly-repeated, rigid blocks, contemporary writers progressed with technology to redefine their potential to express as much visually as they do conceptually. In other words, the way one writes a word has as much to do with what it represents.
Words are units of language that serve as the primary conveyor of meaning, and publishers were more concerned with efficiency over depth of artistic translation. When the use of the printing press gained momentum, writers and publishers were not concerned with the expressive depth of words because they were most concerned about the quantity produced. Furthermore, the printing press would almost completely lose its purpose if the publisher was constantly changing all the fonts and arrangement. The whole point of the printing press was to enable faster book-making processes through standardization; beauty and expression was not the goal. Or was it? The illuminated manuscripts that preceded the printing press feature stunningly intricate lettering.
Ornamentation transformed these otherwise ordinary books into historical treasures. They mark a time before humanity became more concerned with the mechanistic translation of ideas through the bare bones of words. The most apparent distinction between illuminated manuscripts like the one above and books made today is the intricacy of the the image and the time it takes to make them. The artistry coming out of scriptoriums was a distinctly beautiful way of expressing the beauty of the Bible, and it put a certain degree of life into a lifeless thing. Now the Bible is produced millions of times in any given year which is only possible through impersonal production rates. It would be great if everyone could have hand-crafted books, but most people would prefer to have a perfectly legible book now than an ornate book in a couple years. With the advent of the printing press, the beauty associated with hand-written books dissolved into a more lifeless form. Expression had succumbed to timeliness.
The printing press was a step backward in terms of expression because it forced a kind of rigidity into the conveyance of words, but writers were able to extract meaning from the machine nonetheless. Some contemporary writers have reinvigorated the concept of getting more than objective meaning out of words by altering the space and arrangement, but they are only playing with the blocks (of letters), not changing them. Typography traditionally involves the technical composition of letters and the spacing between them, but a more modern approach looks at the composition of words and the spacing between them. Some contemporary writing can be reminiscent of illuminated manuscripts because it provides greater insight into the significance of the piece, but it does not do so in the same way. Aesthetically-oriented writing lost way because we began to prefer timeliness, but now we are beginning to appreciate expressive depth. E.E. Cummings uses unusual spacing in this poem to create that expressive depth.
Cummings is able to provide a greater meaning to his poem in the way he arranges the words and the space around and between them. The sharp, even, clear edges on the left side contrast that of the right, and the peculiarity of it is reinforced by unnecessarily broken words like “astonishing”. The varying line lengths give certain line or words more visual weight, and the last word, “hide”, affirms a sense that there is something not explicitly said but felt. It is exemplary of a productive step into greater meaning, but there is still more that can be manipulated to magnify the impact of this poem.
The evolution of contemporary typography is represented best by pushing the boundaries of what a word can become. The only thing that remains constant in the previous example is the font, but even that minor aspect is a missed opportunity. The constancy of the language could be part of the message, but the common reader naturally ignores the significance of font consistency. In order to amplify the impact of a piece, the poet must take advantage of all expressive opportunities by magnifying the flexible nature of language. E. E. Cummings wrote an ordinarily composed poem, and an anonymous typographer late rewrote it with greater expression.
Not only does he continue to use purposeful spacing and orientation, but he also begins to manipulate the individual impact of each word. For instance, the word languid in the sixth line represents the relaxed, faint nature of the star’s rays, and the specific way it is written reinforces the languid nature of the word itself. He also plays with the font sizes which relates a comparative significance between the names mentioned in the first line. This piece also represent progress through technology. This was clearly edited by a computer which demonstrates the potential of digital technology. It is evident that there is more artistic freedom when it comes to manipulating text on a computer, and it shows how the development of typography moves with technology. Though the anonymous typographer continues to make a step toward greater expressive depth by forcing the reader to acknowledge the significance of each word, there still remains a more powerful way to express the pliability of words and their meaning.
Even in the most recent example, the typographer was probably using pre-made fonts and basic editing functions, but the true epitome of experimental typography combines the basic information necessary to convey a letter with as much artistic expression as possible. Within the last couple of decades, editing software has become much easier to access and utilize, and it has torn down the barrier between visual art and poetry. Though some modern typographic poems are notable improvements, the movement is still in the process of reaching its peak. The digital era has allowed writers to visualize their words in novel ways, and it has allowed visual artists to ground abstract concepts into concise words. The following piece by Michal Ocilka demonstrates the fluidity with which poetry and the visual arts can synthesize:
Previously, words were created to express the common idea behind them, but now some contemporary typographers have recognized their ability to influence the emotive impact of any given word. Johannson is a modern composer associated with minimalism in experimental music, and the artist has flawlessly presented just that. The most important thing to note about the piece above is how there is no single line that resembles an ordinary expression of an English letter. By manipulating the very nature of the letters, Ocilka is able to expand upon the beauty and significance of the composer. The message remains legible, but the artist has clearly placed more impact on expressive depth. Before, the majority of typographers thought letters and words are bound to conventional constructs, but now a few have redefined the potential of a string of letters to represent so much more than the ordinary meaning of any given word.
The core principle of language is communication, and communication exists in terms of description and expression. Writing started as a descriptive medium, so words were presented as these unalterable blocks in an effort for consistency. However, words simply serve to express ideas, and a more modern approach has demonstrated how words are capable of even more expression given that a writer manipulates words for any particular purpose. In the grand majority of writing, it still isn’t reasonably expected to manipulate words in complex ways, but the concept of obtaining better expression out of the same content is vital to pushing expressive literature beyond past boundaries.
By its very definition, paratext cannot be the body of the text, but considering how interdependent they are, it forces us to reexamine what constitutes the body of a piece. It is impossible for a body of work to exist without paratext because it must be presented, and thus it must be presented in a particular way. If there was a universal template for the presentation of literature, an author could minimize the use of paratext to expose a “true body”, but there would still be something expressed when using that universal template. If font size and type are accepted as forms of paratext, there is no real way to only have the body of work, so may be the idea of written body is a paradox. May be the body of work only exists on a conceptual level, and if it only exists on the conceptual level, does it exist at all? An idea in an author’s head is just an idea unless it is expressed to others. An author could simply vocalize a piece which could avoid the problem of fonts, but context is another form of paratext. In order for a piece to exist, it must be expressed outside the mind of the author, and it cannot be expressed except through language which is intrinsically connected to paratext. In its most basic form, the content of a body of work could be the idea before it is expressed.
As previously mentioned, paratext is a kind of transaction zone between writer and reader. It engages a potential reader to examine the qualities of a piece without actually needing to read content. The many forms of paratext can become an art in and of itself, and being such I believe it must meet the same requirements as art. Therefor, it must be an intended presentation of experience and be constrained in the same way. With the aforementioned perameters, paratext must be intended by the author for any particular purpose. It wasn’t until recently that paratext was truly inteded, but it existed nonetheless. It’s too easy to misinterpret the message of an author to rely on paratext entirely, but considering it is an unavoidable component of writing, an author should do his or her best to reinforce his intended message in the most clear way. Also like art, it is best when the intention of the author is effectively translated to the audience. Whether or not on a conscious level, paratext influences the decisions and interpretations a reader makes. It is difficult to draw the line when paratext became art, but clearly writers have begun to realize its importance when there are millions of different books all begging for a reader.
The term “paratext” was coined by Frenchman Gerard Genette, a literary theorist involved in the structuralist movement. He believed literature was defined by a series of motifs and patterns where the primary distinctions between texts were based only in the variance of specific content. Therefore in order to create something truly new, one would need to redefine the structure. With this in mind he devised several important terms that defined how certain factors surrounding a piece have greater influence than the content itself. Paratextuality was one of five terms that indicated a deeper significance to the text by relating it to things outside of its main body. Specifically, paratext was the relationship between the body of work and all that immediately surrounded it. This includes things like the title page, the cover page and other illustrations, the dedications, and headings. As conceptual writing has regained momentum, paratext has become increasingly relevant as a way to analyze the significance and impact of a particular work as the artist intended.
Conceptual writers have begun to expand upon the uses of paratext as a means to provide clues so the reader can delve into the context of a piece. There are a vast amount of factors surrounding a piece which influence its reception, so the conscientious writer will pay close attention to all the minute decisions when putting something into production. Paratext is a final effort to entice a reader, engaging their subconscious decisions in the transaction zone between creator and receiver. It is an area of pragmatics and strategy, a threshold into a deeper understanding of the artist’s ideas. In contemporary writing, paratext is more important than the content, is synonymous with context, and is not restricted by time, medium, or the content of a piece.
In many instances of conceptual writing, the content is either unreadable or unintelligible, so the writer depends on the paratext to bridge the gap between their ideas and the reader’s interpretation. For instance, Kenneth Goldsmith wrote a piece titled Soliloquy in which he records all that he says over the course of a week. A tedious read, yes, but only if you don’t know what Goldsmith is trying to accomplish. With the knowledge of his procedure, it becomes quite intriguing, so in a way the piece gets its life from the paratext. The paratext and the body of the work are inseparably linked, and the paratext of conceptual writing is much more important than that of traditional counterpart. Genette described paratext as a temporary zone through which a reader is introduced to the substance of a piece, but now paratext has the potential to be the entire substance. As Sol Lewitt once said, “conceptual art is good only when the idea is good”, and the paratext is the explanation of the idea. There is rarely a black and white piece where it is solely lead by the paratext or by the body, but conceptual art tends to depend less on content.
Genette also said that “every context creates a paratext”, but this is only true in some senses. Paratext in it’s strictest sense must be characterized by the intention of the author, Genette implies that it includes many other factors out of the author’s control. In a literal sense and before paratext was given much attention, he would be correct because the composition of a book was almost entirely up to the editor or publisher, but currently writers have much more control. He recognizes that one never “reads a ‘woman’s novel’ exactly as one reads a ‘man’s novel'”, but with factors such as gender, age, and race the author has no control. Paratext can draw from those factors, but unless the author intentionally emphasizes those aspects, it shouldn’t be the paratext of a piece. 1984 by George Orwell may represent post-WW2 fears, but the culture is only paratext if it is directly relevant by authorial intention. Similar complications arise when outside sources seek to make commentary on the relevance of a piece because others’ interpretations can be mistaken for the work’s actual meaning. Context includes all that is significant as it happens to be when a piece is made while paratext is the the significance the writer makes.
Context is not always paratext because it also changes with time. With Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World Revisited, the extended paratext was significant to appreciating the author’s ideas, and since it was written twenty years after the original text, it also helps reaffirm the the books accuracy as it pertained to a shift in culture. The distinction is that Brace New World Revisited will be the same paratext forever, even though the time it was written is important, but the context of the entire book will change as the book ages. Paratext is not restricted by time though it may be defined by it, and it is also not restricted by the medium through which it exists. Conceptual artists have begun exploring the many modes of language, especially in response to the digital age. Goldsmith is fascinated by the moldable nature of text as an unintelligible string of characters can be transformed into sound, images, or any other form of language. Paratext can be treated in a similar way because it can exist in any form as long as it is part of the writer conveying an intended message. Also, it is impossible for any body of work to exists without paratext, however minimal, because it must always be presented in a particular way, but paratext can exist despite a body of text, because the lack of a body still has a presence with which a paratext can work. As seen in parts of Your Country is Great, there are blank passages, but the paratext remains. The paratext is part of the procedure because the title “Burkina Faso is Great” remains over an otherwise blank page, and the strength of the message carries through despite the lack of content.
Conceptual writers have begun to recognize the power of paratext because it is a way of making the same content more valuable and interesting. As Huebler put it, “the world is full of objects more or less interesting; I do not wish to add any more.” This textual transcendence of writing has opened a vast, new area for exploration. Sparked by an unprecedented plethora of language, modern writers have embraced an utterly novel idea of what it means to create. Paratext is to conceptual writing as the microprocessor is to the computer. It is a revolutionary tool through which writing as a whole is being transformed.
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