Simulating the Unknown Into the Known

There is no edge to language...

There are no truthes or privileged vantage points when it comes to seeking knowledge, just different perspectives. Nietzsches perspectivism may seem contradictory as it is impossible for his view to be true is it is merely a perspective. All metaphysical truthes are illusory or metaphorical.

Anything we can conceptualise or articulate is an approximation, a falsehood that hides itself under a cloak of language. They are illusions that we have convientely forgotton are illusions. We in a sense, trick ourselves because it is practical and convienient given the nature of communication with one another.

We can claim to know about concepts as things in themselves, for example when we talk of a book we claim to possess knowledge that it is a book, however we can only possess concepts that make up a book like 'words' and 'pages' then in turn possess these individual concepts. What makes up words? or pages? letters? and so on. We only have metaphors for everything. Everything is a metaphor for something else.

Metaphors are covered in concepts, for Nietzsche we must realise that we have forgotton that concepts consist of various metaphorical constructs.

By creating new narratives from an existing one as I do within my work, I am intentionally trying to illuminate Nietzschean perspectivism. There is no truth as such, only relative truthes. We utilise 'truthes' in order to convince ourselves that we possess knowledge. Everything is a metaphor! This is also what inspired my Nietzschean poetry. Books and Nietzsche's work are both things which interest me and as such I hold very dear. This forms the basis for the work I am doing. I feel my playfulness is also something which is influenced heavily by Nietzsche's indulgence in wordplay!

Of course my work is also a comment about myself and the value judgements I place upon literature, highlighting my own snobbery and elitism, which I do not and will not make excuses for! So there! (If you could capture me photographically at this moment, you would see me childishly poking out my tongue!)

How Dare She!?!

How dare I indeed. Let us first take a moment to remember the words of Nietzsche:

"How much truth can a spirit bear, how much truth can a spirit dare..."

I realise that some people may drop their jaws, be stunned, outraged even, that I could ever do such terrible things to a poor defenceless book. How could you?! You might exclaim in anger. Well, please dear reader, calm down, get comfortable and let me explain...

Much like the rest of you bibliophiles out there, I am also of the opinion that books are the ONLY material possession worth caring about (I mean, I even received book ends and a book case for christmas which I am eternally grateful for!) and it saddens me that there are more books in existance than I could ever read! Without books I would go slowly insane!

However, as a bookseller I am also of the opinion that there are thousands of books that aren't worth the paper or the ink they're printed in. This is why I can not bring myself to deface or destroy a book that I actually like. I agree that this is very subjective (bow down to my superior value judgements! Mwahahaha!) even still, I don't care...there is no way I could EVER destroy a creation of Oscar Wilde's or Friedrich Nietzsche's for example, I respect their work far too much (however, destroying a Nietzschean text would be something that you can be sure Nietzsche himself would approve of- if he were still alive!).

The three books I have been experimenting on are no Wildes, oh no, they are trashy, mass-market paperbacks, the kind that I abhor...so I feel completely justified in manipulating them.
However, I have to admit that despite being awful books, I felt such a pang of guilt when I began cutting away at the pages, painting on them and changing the narrative. I felt as if I was some kind of criminal, it felt strangely...wrong. Yet, at the same time incredibly liberating!

I'm not saying that people should start cutting up books for the sake of art...please don't! Take them to a charity shop! Donate them to other people, ANYTHING but destroy them...UNLESS, you know that there are a multitude of copies still in print that are easily available...don't go searching out those rare gems or editions, those are priceless! These are the rules that I've been following anyway...

So, there...I've admitted it, yes I DO cut up books, for that crime I am GUILTY!

Progress is a wonderful thing...

Last week, engaging in a group crit with everyone else on my course I discovered that I've made much more progress than I had realised. Something I had done for fun to make myself laugh was to tipex over words from a book to create an erotic story. This was done purely out of amusement yet everyone seemed to like it. It makes me realise that sometimes the things you dislike or dismiss end up being the best ideas.

Still, I now have the necessary fuel I need, I suppose I'd lost my confidence since I've been out of art for a while. I'd forgotten that art doesn't have to mean painting or drawing and I was reminded of my conceptual piece on 'Dreams' when I was back at school. I used my dream diary and painted excerpts and imagery from my dreams onto persplex and hung them, layering them and at different heights. At the time I felt like it wasn't really art and never really liked it but perservered because my tutors encouraged me to continue. I felt like it wasn't art yet it was. Strange that through retrospect I now realise that it was my best piece of art work yet, I mean I was commenting upon the nature of dreams and reality, the transparency or opaqueness of our subconscious but I didn't know enough about psychology at the time. If I had then maybe I would have enjoyed it more. I mean, I enjoyed creating the erotic story by editing and deleting the words in a book because it made me laugh and because it links in with Nietzschean philosophy; the destruction needed to create something new and also the absurdity of language; how everything is a metaphor for something else. I always feel frustrated that every thing I seem to do or say or read becomes Nietzschean but then it makes perfect sense. I would explain further but the whole point of Nietzsche's writing is that it can not be summarised into neat little bullet points, you have to read him to truly understand him and if I tried to explain his ideas, they somehow become changed, their meaning is lost and to an extent even just reading his work it is lost, language is far more complex than we may realise and creates more problems than it solves...reminds me of Depeche Mode! Check out the lyrics of Enjoy the Silence http://www.metrolyrics.com/enjoy-the-silence-lyrics-depeche-mode.html
especially "Words are meaningless and forgettable"...I suppose this fits in with my book art project now, more than ever. Which reminds me, I'm going to have to buy some more corrector fluid (it's Tip-ex but not as we know it!- yeah so, I'm beginning to waffle and should stop now)

I guess I should end this entry by pointing out that all this looking back and reminiscing has made me see that the reflexive research we've been encouraged to do throughout the Core Unit and group crit is a lot more beneficial than I had at first realised!

Progress is wonderful but retrospect is also a wonderful thing...
(As is Nietzsche's writing!)

The Absurdity of Language and Art Therapy

And so it begins...

Currently working on a number of projects for my MA course.Thinking about the absurdity of language and words.Wondering whether I'm hungry or thirsty, or both.Embarking on a highly psychological test of strength.Contemplating the contents of my proposal.
One of my projects is exploring the relationship between the self (individual ego) and society (collective ego) through art therapy- in short, I've decided to document a series of art therapy exercises. This is going well in so far as I'm being more productive- I have something concrete to do- a task, or series of, (I guess I dislike the freedom of my actions sometimes). While I enjoy being productive and I feel as if I'm not just wasting my time I'm also feeling a tad anxious at what my "self-therapy" will dredge up from the depths of my subconscious. Already (that's a week and a half of exercises) I'm starting to realise that there are a number of issues I haven't dealt with, emotional issues. The kind that you push to the back of your mind because you've got shit to do, people to see, places to go and an appointment on tuesday. Little did I know that I have issues with myself sexually, issues with my own femininity and repressed feelings relating to my position within my family unit. Woo! 10 points for emotional fuck-uppery
Let me explain, I'm only documenting this "blog" (I fucking hate that word by the way) because I want to be able to look back at it in some future time and reflect on my therapeutic process and/or/most likely think, "what a fool I was" and smile because I know things now that I didn't then and that makes me feel extremely smug. Future me has kicked past me (or should that be present me?) in the shin. Future will know that it was all necessary of course...she's not a complete arrogant fuck you know.Anyhow, every inch of myself wants to ditch this art therapy idea because it's too personal but what got me interested in this was a musing on autobiography, we had a few sessions about it at uni and some of the readings I had got me thinking about the truth in biography/autobiography. Or more accurately the intense battle between the two for validity and truth.
Biographies have this air of being inaccurate or false in some way, people do not trust ghost writers or unofficial biographies. It's easy to see why, maybe too easy, they haven't been written by the person in question, who knows the fuller, truer account. Yet, often, autobiographies are flawed. Every act, when made external, whether it's writing or conversing is aware of it's own existence in the exterior world; it has a place like everything else and it knows it does. What I mean is we can't escape the influence of our external world, the pressures of society are constantly upon us. Everything we do depends on where we are, who we are around and who might be watching. whether it's some God-like being, an authority figure such as a police officer or the guy down the road who you happen to find extremely attractive and you hope will notice you as you play with your hair and pout seductively as you're bringing the milk in on a sunday morning.
We're too quick to judge and attack biographies for being second hand knowledge despite the fact they are more factual than autobiographies which tend to be fictitious in narrative and style. The author knows and is aware that his or her work/documentation will be read so will often without realising it will edit, elaborate and exaggerate the truth in order to entertain their reader. The 3rd person view is better placed to state the facts whereas the 1st person is too interwined and tangled up in their own life to be able to document it objectively. Although maybe this is where the problem lies? We seek knowledge and truth and assume it will be objective. Perhaps we should see the truth in the subjective 1st person accounts. Quite the Nietzschean perspective I guess; everything is a metaphor for something else, knowledge is relative and all that...interesting to see where this project will take me.
My other project on the other hand is about the absurdity of words and language and also comes from my musings on autobiography. Not sure how I'm going to go about it yet but I want to explore the strengths and weaknesses of visual language versus written or spoken word. This project has to be about the self so I'm thinking about perhaps looking at my favourite works of fiction as reading is a big part of my life and finding ways to explore their meaning visually. My job as a bookseller will hopefully aid me in some way...at least that's the plan batman.

See my next blog entry for an update: