donderdag 8 december 2016

the violence of reality/ clichés

When talking about the violence of paint it's nothing to do with the violence of war. It's to do with an attempt to remakte the violence of reality itself . . . and the violence also of the suggestions within the image itself which can only be conveyed through paint. When I look at you across the table I don't only see you, I see a whole emanation which also has to do with personality and everything else . . . the living quality . . . all the pulsations of a person . . . the energy within the appearance. . . . And to put that over in a painting means that it would appear violent in print. We nearly always live through screens—a screened existence. And I sometimes think when people say my work is violent that from time to time I have been able to clear away one or two of the screens. [Francis Bacon in gesprek met David Sylvester]
Bacon says we live through screens. What are these screens? They are part of our normal way of looking at the world, or rather our normal way of seeing the world without looking at it, for Bacon's claim is that a real seer who looked at the world would notice it to be fairly violent—not violent as narrative surface but somehow violently composed underneath the surface, having violence as its essense. No one has ever seen a black hole yet scientists feel confident they can locate its essense in the gravitational collapse of a star—this massive violence, this something which is also, spectacularly, nothing.

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Uit ‘Variations on the Right to Remain Silent’, Float; Anne Carson.

dinsdag 29 november 2016

people who stand alone + burn


‘There’s an image system at work in the world. To behave in accordance with these images bored me, to deviate from them filled me with anxiety. We wait for an experience large or brutal enough to break it open completely. I had to break it.’ 
NW (2016; film naar het boek van Zadie Smith)

‘I had two longings and one was fighting the other. I wanted to be loved and I wanted to be always alone.’
 Wide Sargasso Sea, Jean Rhys

‘There was something wrong with her. She did not know what it was but there was something wrong with her. A hunger, a restlessness. An incomplete knowledge of herself. The sense of something further away, beyond her reach.’ 
⤷ Americanah, Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

‘Dear Antigone,
I take it as the task of the translator to forbid that you should ever lose your screams.’
 ⤷ The task of the Translator of Antigone, Anne Carson

‘You remember too much,
my mother said to me recently.

Why hold onto all that? And I said,
Where can I put it down?’
⤷ The Glass Essay, Anne Carson

‘Mad people = people who stand alone + burn. I’m attracted to them because they give me permission to do the same.’
⤷ As Consciousness is Harnessed to Flesh, Susan Sontag

‘Most everything I do seems to have as much to do with intuition as with reason. . . . The kind of thinking that makes a distinction between thought and feeling is just one of those forms of demagogy that causes lots of trouble for people by making them suspicious of things that they shouldn’t be suspicious or complacent of.

For people to understand themselves in this way seems to be very destructive, and also very culpabilizing. These stereotypes of thought versus feeling, heart versus head, male versus female were invented at a time when people were convinced that the world was going in a certain direction — that is, toward technocracy, rationalization, science, and so on — but they were all invented as a defense against Romantic values.’
⤷ Susan Sontag: the complete Rolling Stone interview

donderdag 24 november 2016

candor/ anne carson

Could 1

If you are not the free person you want to be, you must find a place to tell the truth about that. To tell how things go for you. Candor is like a skein being produced inside the belly day after day, it has to get itself woven out somewhere. You could whisper down a well. You could write a letter and keep it in a drawer. You could inscribe a curse on a ribbon of lead and bury it in the ground to lie unread for thousands of years. The point is not to find a reader, the point is the telling itself. Consider a person standing alone in a room. The house is silent. She is looking down at a piece of paper. Nothing else exists. All her veins go down into this paper. She takes her pen and writes on it some marks no one else will ever see, she bestows on it a kind of surplus, she tops it off with a gesture as private and accurate as her own name.

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Uit ‘Candor’, Float; Anne Carson.