1.0: Screenwriter John August, in an aside in an interview for Cecil Vortex:
“(By the way, this — answering questions for an email interview — isn’t writing. This is talking with a keyboard, which is damn near effortless. I think one of the dangerous things that’s come with the rise of the Internet is that people are confusing typing with writing. Just because your words are captured in a UTF-8 character set doesn’t mean that you’re actually writing. Writing involves carefully shaping a thought for its desired impact. Writing means anticipating the reader’s reaction, and honoring (or defeating) that expectation. Writing requires logic. Blogging just requires an account.)”
1.1: April 1, 2007. I have recently blogged a post entitled “electronic music that doesn’t suck, volume 1“, that provokes more response than anything else that I’ve written, largely for my narrow-minded and intemperate dismissal of most electronic music, which is largely incidental to the point of the post, which is to talk up Amon Tobin. Interestingly, most of the people who respond that are into electronic music aren’t really into Amon Tobin.
I am living on Great Barrier Island, and I sit in a hammock one day, trying fruitlessly to capture some sleep before my night shift, and in the light of mid-afternoon, I play Fennesz’s album VENICE, and decide that volume 2 will be about Fennesz.
1.2: A couple weeks later, I decide to join Heidi and Justin in their trip to the Primavera Sound Festival in Barcelona. Realizing that I can choose to leave Europe from another city than that I’ve entered from, I decide to select the city that’s least likely to exist the next time I return. I may have lived next to New Orleans for 7 years without visiting it once, I may have skipped visiting the World Trade Center on a visit to NYC on the grounds that “oh, it’ll be there next time”, but I am not going to end my life without seeing Venice.
And, of course, what could be more appropriate than listening to an album called VENICE in Venice? Especially when it’s something so abstract that it seems like ideal soundtrack for wandering around. And so the idea takes root that, no matter what else I do, I will spend a good chunk of time wandering around VENICE listening to Venice. Wait, make that the other way around.
1.3: How do you create an image of a place? I had an image of Venice in my head, a strong one, one from experience. The experience was not from going to Venice, however, but going to the Venetian casino in Las Vegas, a remarkable and horrifying experience.
What is most horrifying about the Venetian to me, and perhaps also the most remarkable, is not that the perpetual blue skies and blue rivers, or the simulation of Venice, or the fact that they put a big honking body of water into a building. What’s remarkably horrifying is that this canal is on the second floor of the building. This means that it was more profitable to support however many tons of water – and take insurance out that it wouldn’t collapse and destroy people, etc. – than it was to take that real estate out of the gambling area.
1.3.1: Being in Vegas is, I think, an amazing rorschach test for a human being, because you see exactly what you want to see. You can see stupid fucking lemmings crawling up a pile of shit desperately reaching for the next dollar. You can see a testament to the folly of mankind, building myriad water features in the middle of the desert.
You can also see a playground, not just for the rich billionaires, but for artists who dream in a scope that has both a certain reach and certain acceptability. Glass artist Dale Chihuly’s work, for instance, forms the ceiling of the Bellagio’s lobby. It’s stunning. Some people probably never even notice it.
So, what do you see when you look at the Rorschach blob? I see everything. It can be anything you want it to be. How can I choose?
1.3.2: 1993 or so, in my philosophy professor’s office. I’m trying to decide whether I’m going to pursue philosophy graduate school. I ask whether you ever really get to the answers. He says, “No, but you learn to appreciate the questions better.”
I never went to grad school, in philosophy or anything else. But I continue to get better at appreciating the questions, in lieu of, perhaps, selecting a final answer.
2.0: Martin Scorsese, discussing working with film students: “What I usually found to be the most problematic with these films was their intent, what the filmmaker wanted to communicate to the audience. … Of course, you may find that the biggest problem of young filmmakers is that they have nothing to say. And invariably their films will be either very unclear or very conventional and geared toward a rather commercial marketplace. So I think the first thing you need to ask yourself if you want to make a film is ‘Do I have anything to say?’ And it doesn’t necessarily have to be something literal that can be expressed through words. Sometimes you just want to communicate a feeling, an emotion. That’s sufficient. And believe me, it’s hard enough.”
2.1: Why does Fennesz appeal to me when a lot of electronic music doesn’t? I don’t have an answer. See 1.3.2 for why.
2.1.1: Of course, that’s a copout. I can identify formal elements in electronic music that I dislike, and generally, their absence corresponds with my preferences: insistent and repetitive rhythms, recognizably “synth-y” textures, blatant tugs towards emotional signifying. Fennesz definitely lacks all of these things.
2.1.1.1: But why do I have a preference for the lack of these formal elements, is the deeper question?
2.1.1.2: The above is an illustration of how you never get answers in philosophy, but learn to appreciate the question more.
2.2: Mid-June. I stay at the Villa Saint-Exupery when I’m in Nice, which if you’re a 21 year old looking to be drunk and meet people who are different and just like you and speak English may be your idea of paradise. I don’t mean to be snarky, as the people who run it are lovely and helpful, but it makes me feel old and out of touch. On my last night, I speak to a fellow backpacker, and attempt to strike a bond over music. I discuss some of the bands I saw at the Primavera Festival, and he mentions his like for electronic music. I mention Fennesz, and he’s unfamiliar. He mostly likes things that are fastidiously produced. What’s Fennesz like, he asks? I hand him the headphones. He listens, patiently, for a minute or two, perhaps waiting for a beat that will never arrive. He eventually hands it back. “Really abstract stuff, huh.”
This is not a value judgment, but I sort of take it as one.
2.2.1: (As an aside, while I generally didn’t take much away from my time in Nice, one thing that will remain with me is a new appreciation for the paintings of Marc Chagall, a man for whom, until now, I didn’t have much time for. What’s astonishing about seeing his works in their full glory is the sense of just how much is lost in the small reproductions one sees in books. Below is one of his paintings followed by two detail shots, showing just a hint of the variety of textures and details you can pick up when looking at his work closely.
2.3: The thing is, by this time, I’ve seen Fennesz at the Primavera Festival, albeit with the assistance of Mike Patton. (I thought I blogged about it here, but can’t find it.) I liken the experience to stately architecture (the spacy textures of Fennesz) with spray paint all over it (the rather uninteresting vocal sprayings of Mike Patton). But the truth is that I think it bored the hell out of most of the people who saw it, and was my interest only out of a desperation to listen past the elements of Patton to try to elevate Fennesz, who by now I have invested a great deal emotionally in liking? Or am I just squinting at the details that nobody else is bothering to look at?
And the truth is, by the end of the festival, I’ve basically forgotten Fennesz even played. My pictures of the bands playing are shit, but this reaction shot of bbodag was taken at Pelican, who as has been noted repeatedly rocked our worlds. But are Fennesz and Pelican even comparable in any meaningful way, other than being sound?
2.4: Another element of my exploration of Barcelona, completely unrelated to music and therefore of course totally related, is architecture. Barcelona is famous as the home of many of the buildings of Antonio Gaudi, which BBODAG has graced this blog with in the past. Gaudi’s buildings are flowing, organic, with nary a right angle in sight, and a wonder to behold.
An architect with whom I was less familiar and vaguely biased against was Mies Van Der Rohe. (The bias would be long and boring to explain, but basically blame in on Christopher Alexander, whose writings decry Le Corbusier and modernism, with whom I’ve lumped Mies Van Der Rohe, fairly or otherwise.) But bbodag convinced me it was unacceptable to miss seeing his Barcelona Pavilion, as it’s architectural history of great importance.
I wasn’t really expecting to react to the Barcelona Pavilion the way I did; it’s stunning. The structure emanated a feeling of tranquility, despite being meters away from a motorcycle competition blaring dance music. And its apparent, much applauded simplicity belied a deep complexity embedded in the stunning marble used in the building.
To me, these two visions seem both incredibly awe-inspiring and highly disparate. So: which is better? Should we make a world in the vision of Gaudi or van der Rohe?
2.4.1: With music, we have the luxury of saying that this music is appropriate at this time, and that music is appropriate for another time. With architecture we do not have that luxury. We may fall asleep to Fennesz and wake up to Pelican, but our building remains, stubbornly, identical, changing only by shallow degrees over long periods of time, barring jarring and cataclysmic adjustments, manmade or otherwise. That we might benefit more from being in a Gaudi building on some days and a Van Der Rohe on others is not a useful consideration, any more than that we might benefit from growing extra body parts.
2.4.2: I feel that this informs my evaluation of architecture at a certain moral level that doesn’t affect my appreciation of music. A song may be able to save your life, but a building affects people’s lives every moment it’s in use, in ways both grand and imperceptible.
2.5: All of which is a tangent from the central question that I keep asking myself, as I think of the films I have written but not made, the films I have thought of but not written, the possible advantages and disadvantages of pursuing each route, from the ethics of portraying violence on screen to the comparative advantages and disadvantages on shooting film, miniDV, or HD formats, and all points in between. I find myself surrounded by artists who have clear visions, clear contrasting visions, and I find myself drawn to works that are essentially incompatible, and if I appreciate something about everything, what is it that I have to say that I can honestly say is important enough to say to justify the effort that is filmmaking?
3.0: Werner Herzog, from Esquire’s “What I’ve Learned” column: “Tourism is a sin. Traveling on foot is a virtue. The moment people understand that you have come on foot and are trying to engage and understand them, there is an immediate change in attitude. On foot, no one chases you away or does not allow you to use their resources. They tell you stories they have not told anyone else.”
3.0.1: (As an aside: I love you, Werner, but trying walking from New Zealand to Europe.)
3.1: On the plane to Europe, before most of the events described above, I discovered that the Biennale is occurring in Venice. I’ve been casually describing it as “The World’s Fair of Art”, which is sort of true enough. This immediately becomes a part – the integral part – of my trip to Venice, which as the last city I’m in in Europe sort of assumes a special resonance as the capstone to the trip.
3.1.1: And of course it winds up I see all this art along the way as well. A few of the places I haven’t mentioned, the Foundation Jean Miro in Barcelona, the Foundation Victor Vasarely in Aix-Ex-Provence, and the Fondation Maeght in St. Paul are three museums that also made huge impressions on me, and I could write lengthy commentaries on each. Then there’s the whole issue of Florence and classical art, which I don’t even want to get into other than to mention the astonishing glassworks of Roberto Fallani, housed anonymously and uncomfortably in the Porcelain Museum, but I will share this picture of the Arno River in Florence, that’s probably the best picture I took on the trip.
3.1.2: The point is, I hadn’t really planned on this trip being a sort of survey of contemporary art and architecture and my feelings towards it, but somehow I sort of turned into one.
3.2: And so, finally, I arrive in Venice, which as you’ve probably guessed is the unidealized version of its glossy Las Vegas rendition, and I make my plan for the next day: wake up early, throw on the headphones, listen to Fennesz, walk through Venice to the Giardini (one of the two major Biennale sites; the other is the Arsenale), look at modern art.
There is, however, a snag in this plan. Once again, I am staying in a hostel with the youth of today. They convince me it is a good idea to go out drinking. We wind up at a pub, and meet some young women, two sisters, traveling from Alabama together. They tell us stories of randomly hooking up with people, and about the point I’m ready to bail, somehow I discover that one of them is the music director at her college radio station, and it turns out we like Modest Mouse and Gillian Welch and I curse myself for being so shallow in dismissing this person so quickly, and we drink for hours, eventually sharing a bottle of wine between five with us at the edge of a canal while telling each other the things we’ve never done in some drinking game.
There’s probably a post to be made here about what musical tastes have to do with personal compatibility (short answer: everything and nothing). It will not be expanded upon here, however.
3.3: And so, the next morning, I have nothing to regret in terms of my behavior towards these younger women, as I left rather than get involved in some pathetic and embarrassing situation I probably wouldn’t know how to navigate successfully, anyway. I do, however, regret the amount of alcohol I drank, and it takes quite a while to get moving.
Finally, I do so, and as I leave my hotel, I make the strategic decision to take a water taxi rather than walking. I figure it’s still okay to hear Fennesz on a boat, though, so I turn on VENICE.
And? About 45 seconds in, I realize that it’s reminding me of nothing so much as the synth intro to Dire Straits’ “Money For Nothing”. And it’s not really designed to interact with a hangover. I bail and put on Superchunk, which is the musical equivalent of comfort food for me.
3.4: The Giardini component of the Biennale works, rather confusingly, like this. It’s a big permanent outdoors space dotted with various pavilions for many countries. (The countries that don’t rate the Giardini, by and large, wind up getting exhibition spaces around Venice to show their contributions, but most visitors don’t venture beyond the Giardini and Arsenale.) However, the Italian pavilion at the Giardini is not for the Italian country at all, but rather for the curator to present an international collection of works. (The actual Italian Pavilion, in the sense of “the place that houses Italian artworks”, is at the Arsenale, if you’re one of the two people still reading this and are curious.)
It’s here that I got my first chance to see paintings by Gerhard Richter. For indie rock fans, Richter is most famous for the painting on the cover of DAYDREAM NATION, but this barely scratches the surface of the work the man’s done. I am completely incapable of providing a coherent overview of his work, but it ranges from the photorealistic to the completely abstract and many shades of variation within. It’s his abstract work that appeals to me most, and it turns out that there’s six paintings here by him that are quite large that are in this vein.
3.4.1: The paintings are titled CAGE I-VI. They’re quite large, and within them there are dozens and dozens of details. Part of the method of Richter, as I understand it, is to paint, remove paint, add more paint, and so on. I imagine there are small sections of masterpieces that are obliterated in this process, but it also creates a density and depth and arrangement of color that’s almost like a chance operation, in my impression. Certainly the detail pictures that I spend fifteen minutes taking reveal countless different colors and shapings. I could look at them all day. They’re extraordinary.
3.4.2: And in fact, after wandering through the rest of the Italian pavilion, I decide that I need to take another look at Richter’s paintings. As I approach them, I think about Fennesz, and decide to give VENICE another try. And lo: surrounded in a room by Richter’s paintings, looking at details, I find that Fennesz fits perfectly, that two pieces of abstraction fit together to create an immersive environment that not only in no way reminds me of fucking Dire Straits, but is actually quite brilliant.
I verify later, on my way back to the hostel, walking the streets of Venice, that Fennesz isn’t reliant on the paintings of Richter for being interesting. And walking around with headphones on, with the sun coming down and the shadows of buildings floating across the canals, VENICE makes just as much sense here, and I don’t know what I’ve gained to actually talk about in regards to Fennesz but I’m quite pleased with the experience anyway.
“The first question I ask myself when something doesn’t seem to be beautiful is why do I think it’s not beautiful. And very shortly you discover that there is no reason.” –John Cage.
3.4.3: It’s only much later, reading a brochure, that I realize that the paintings are dedicated to, of course, John Cage. I’ve been a fan of John Cage since I heard “Third Construction” in high school, and bought numerous books about him, and even told a music theory teacher at Rice I wouldn’t be taking any more of his classes because John Cage proves it’s irrelevant. (The arrogance of 19-year olds is charming but pathetic. Or vice versa.)
3.4.4: “One has to believe in what one is doing, one has to commit oneself inwardly, in order to do painting. Once obsessed, one ultimately carries it to the point of believing that one might change human beings through painting. But if one lacks this passionate commitment, there is nothing left to do. Then it is best to leave it alone. For basically painting is idiocy.” – Gerhard Richter.
3.5: When Werner Herzog says that tourism is a sin, what I think he really means is this: you are doing a disservice with things, and to people, to treat them shallowly. The disservice is not to them but to yourself, for by approaching places and people as something to be consumed, digested, photographed, and parceled away as anecdotes, you don’t avail yourself to the riches that are there. Perhaps I speak out of turn for Werner at this point – perhaps a terser and better way of saying it is that tourism is a substitute for engagement.
And I suppose what I feel, at the end of all of this, apart from absolute astonishment at having been privileged enough not just to take this trip but to be able to see such a great array of important artworks from the last 100 years, is a sense that I have been guilty of being an artistic tourist and letting myself get distracted by other creations, instead of delving into full engagement.
But to fully engage, I need to decide what I, ultimately, have a burning urge to say. And I have yet to find the answer. And the value of appreciating the question may have well surpassed its limits at this point.
I hope you like Fennesz. But I won’t be surprised if you don’t.
CODA 1: Woody Allen: “I’ve never been asked to teach filmmaking, and, frankly, I’ve never been tempted, either. … The problem is, I feel there’s so little you can teach, really … the truth of the matter is, you either have it or your don’t. If you don’t have it, you can study all your life and it won’t mean anything. You won’t become a better filmmaker for it. And if you do have it, then you will quickly learn to use the few tools you need. Most of what you need, as a director, is psychological help, anyhow. Balance, discipline, things like that. The technical aspect comes second. Many talented artists are destroyed by their neuroses, their doubts, and their angst, or they let too many exterior things distract them. That’s where the danger lies, and these are the elements that a writer or filmmaker should try to master first.”
CODA 2: R.I.P., Edward Yang. The director of the great YI YI and A BRIGHTER SUMMER DAY has died of bowel cancer after a seven year fight.
Very nice. I read this with my first cup of Sunday morning coffee. Though Sunday means nothing to me these days. The imagery was nice too.
Gaudi vs Van Der Rohe reminds me of Guillermo Del Toro’s commentary track for El laberinto del fauno. He talks about deliberately making the real world a world of straight lines while the girl’s world, the fantasy, is circles and more organic. I didn’t get that in the first viewing because the setting is in the countryside so the straight line/inorganic business is not so obvious.
I love your photos but I’m frustrated by them because now I want to see this art up front.
I hear what you’re saying about tourism and for the most part I agree. I’m at the point where I don’t really like to travel unless there is a real purpose to it. On the other hand, when you travel for travel’s sake you are liberated to look at art, eat out, sit in a park and not worry about your real life. That may be tourism but it’s a wonderful thing.
I really enjoyed this post, DD. More later when I have more time.
And that’s a very nice photo of the bluebird.
This was like a years worth of posts. I don’t have time to read it all now, but will likely return through the week. I will say, I have always loved Chagall, and the only way I have ever been able to describe the Venetian to people is to say, “The sky is fabricated effectively, and they have made it so it is Miller Time all the time.” More later. Thanks for all the thought you put into this one.
Yeah, it’s probably a little indulgent to put all that in one post but I had to empty my brain. If I was smarter I would have parcelled it out over three, since I’ll be crazy busy at the film fest soon, but oh well.
Kilian, I never noticed that about PAN’S LABYRINTH either. And the main fantasy sequence I remember – the hallway with the table at the end with the guy with eyes in his hands – wasn’t that, like, a long straight lined hallway? One of those director ideas that doesn’t really come through. It’s pretty great anyway.
I think I was perhaps a bit vague on tourism. I think tourism has to do with how you relate to what you see and whether your relationship is contributory or parasitic. Certainly, given a day’s space, I obviously have to accede to the fact that art dies in a culture if it is not viewed, and so going to see it is something I can’t denigrate at all. But at the same time, there’s a certain tourist checklist “oh, I’ve done the top three things in Lonely Planet, time to move to the next city” attitude that I can’t abide. Some of my favorite experiences were things I accidentally stumbled into that no guidebook would ever have, that people would never have noticed if they were glued to said book.
1.0 – great quote, i think about that often, when i try to write my posts cuase i really dont like reading diaries, but then i wonder what Kerouac would’ve thought of that quote and blogs and such, and try to get over my trying so hard to ‘write’.
1.3.2 – I think i dropped out of one of Temkin’s philosophy classes at some point… my logic wasnt logical enough apparently, I think i told him my logic was in spanish.
2.5 – When i think about it too much, i freeze up, there always seems to be something more important that anything I have to say. The answer to me is to not think about it. What media to use? The one you have easiest access to. What story to tell? the story that you are thinking about right now (such as the one where you don’t know what movie to make and which equipment to use). What’s the vision? Whatever you can see in front of you right now.
You might also be watching too many movies. I’m generally of the mind that you can’t be a critic and and creator at the same time. One has to be a little blind and stupid to make anything as monumental as art.
3.0.1 you know, Herzog walked from Munich to Paris in the middle of winter. And he also pulled a steam boat over a mountain. And ate his shoe. So dont be surprised if he ends up walking to New Zeland.
3.2 that drinking game is fun, i hope you got to do some of those things you had never done before. Like maybe swimming in a Venetian canal (i know, they are filthy, but still).
3.3 but maybe you didnt. i hope you brought back at least a few regrets from elsewhere in your trip. Regrets make very nice souveniers.
3.4.4. funny, basically what i was saying above.
3.5 again, forget about the burning desire to say something. When it comes it will come and you’ll better be already doing what you’re going to be doing cause otherwise its gonna pass you right by, or its going to be wasted on dealing with technical issues you should’ve dealt with by working on less important stuff.
Good post and good luck with the movie.
Oh, and yeah, that should’ve been at least 3 separate weeks’ posts. There’s a regret you can be proud off later.
Good point about the ogre scene in P Labrynth. That scene comes as the two worlds are beginning to emulate one another. There’s a scene in the real world with the captain at the head of a long table. Still I agree, I don’t think that directoral idea came across or actually if it did it’s almost subconscious which is better. There’s some camera movement GDT talks about which is subtle but does get registered by the viewer without looking too tricky.
Anyway yeah I’ve been a sucker for the Let’s Go form of tourism. It’s no good. But maybe Herzog was referring to an even worse form, the package tour or the tour bus. Those are the tourists that have virtually no contact with the natives and treat them the most like a commodity as if they themselves are space aliens in life suspension watching this strange world completely unaware that they are in it if they choose to be. There was an article recently listing the worst tourist types as described by the tourist-ed (made up word). It used to be the Ugly American but the American has wisened up a bit. Now it’s the Chinese but the explanation there is that they are the most likely to travel in huge numbers, in buses and thus they behave like brats protected in numbers and bored with butt rash.
I like that you start off your post with a John August criticism of blogging and then seem determined to single handedly obliterate it.
I think it was a lousy off-handed remark on August’s part. For starters blogging is too easy a target for ridicule.
I might have pointed this out before but it’s worth remembering around here, that blogging is a form of communication in its infancy. It has yet to reach the apex of creativity for what can be done with this format. Yes it’s not like writing, it’s not writing it’s blogging. It’s a whole new world.
This is beautiful, Doug. Right now I’m noodling on what you said about tourism. I’m headed to New Orleans tomorrow and it’s hard to know how to be. Embracing the city “on foot” seems voyeuristic somehow. Like after all they’ve been through, the N.O. folks would be happier if I just spent a bunch of cash in the Quarter and went home instead of staring out the window at the ruined houses and hoping my cab driver tells me his Katrina story.
What’s the name of the theory that says that the very act of observing something changes it? I think that’s my only real problem with tourism – I just want to be left alone so much that I assume everybody else does too.
-brannon
What’s the name of the theory that says that the very act of observing something changes it?
That would be the Observer Effect.
Damn the first quote is brilliant. I think I need to tack that by my computer. Too bad I’m busy at work and can’t read the rest of blog until later.
BTW- it just has to be said that’s a super cute Heidi picture! Just sayin’.
love the Gerhard Richter… more in the morning when i wake up.
Brannon – I think what Herzog is referring to is not just walking around – plenty of tourists walk around – but travel with a defined purpose. I think he would be, rightly, appalled at the idea of treating post-Katrina housing as a tourist attraction, whether you take a cab or walk on foot. The walking across Europe Carlos references was a trip Herzog took to see his mentor, Lotte Eisner, who was on her deathbed. He swore she would not die until he got there and started walking. She was still alive when he arrived, several months later.
HS – The Miller Time comment is brilliant. It’s really fucking freaky to be in a space that’s completely lit by indirect light with no visible light source.
Carlos – you went to Rice? Had no idea. I think you might be right about watching too many movies, although I’ve watched less movies in the last six months than any six month period in the last ten years.
Well my employer will be thrilled that I just wasted god knows how long reading this over a few cups of coffee.
But That’s probably one of the best things (if not the best thing) you’ve posted: a personal thought provoking long-ass travelogue. Super Kudos.
By the way maybe it was just me but Florence came off as the bitchiest city in Italy. Everyone just seemed cold and unfriendly compared to everywhere else. I have a friend from Milan who said “Yeah, Florence thinks of itself as the cultural center of the world. And sure that’s true… during the Renaissance.” Sound like an Austin joke (except I like Austin even when I make fun of it)
As for Vegas. I’ve gone once (business thing) and, while everyone was excited to go to the strip at night, all I could think about was that here was all this great hiking to be done just outside the city. I’m always stunned that nobody ever comes back and said “man, we hit those mountains first thing!” but then I’m a sucker for the American Desert.
On John Cage. I just sold a bunch of John Cage books to Half Price Books. C’est la vie, eh?
Your philosophy professor’s comment reminded me why we spent so many credit hours taking philosophy classes. God what a gorgeous waste of time those were. : )
Christopher Alexander’s books are really good stuff because even though they are about architecture they present an aesthetic theory at their root that can inform other disciplines. Good stuff.
very well then carry on…
Good show old boy
not only did i go to rice, and dropped out of one of Temkins class, but i also started as an architecture student and dropped out of that altogether after one year with Casbarian (i cant belive i remember all these names). Then I finally figured out how to get through college without having to actually do any work – art classes (lots of classes with Bas Puolous), this lead to photography (lot of classes with Winningham) which eventually lead to film and Brian ‘Madman’ Hubberman. Then i graduated, and decided i had to choose between film and music. I chose music. But i did make two movies before that. Both narrative fiction, one 10 min in color, one 30 min, b/w. shot on 16mm, edited the old way – all analog. Here’s a link to the 10 min one.
I should add that Hubberman is probably my all time favorite person at Rice. Anyone who has his 3 times married and divorced wife or ex-wife (not sure where they stand now) come looking for him at work, when you work at Rice, to shoot him, is ok by me.
Carlos- Casbarian was really tough on second years. Very tough, just because he was always aiming to be purely objective in his criticism and the students never took it that way, including me. Until later. Looking back on it, he turned out to be one of the best teachers because he so thoroughly rooted out any sense of complacency that I’m still unsatisfied with everything I do today. Some people would not agree that this is a good thing.
Bluebird, i liked Casbarian. He made me realize that i was looking as architecture as a compromise and that’s why i dropped out, not because of his teaching methods. When i was gearing for college my choices for majors were philosophy or art. Needless to say everyone i spoke with adviced against it. And since i was 16 and impressionable, i decided to give archi a try. So thank you Casbarian for for showing me the way to my balls.
3.0 In his chapter on Environmental Planning of Society of the Spectacle Guy Debord writes: Human circulation considered as something to be consumed – tourism – is a by-product of the circulation of commodities; basically, tourism is the chance to go and see what has been made trite. The economic management of travel to different places suffices in itself to ensure those places’ interchangeability. The same modernization that has deprived travel of its temporal aspect has likewise deprived it of the reality of space.” Harsh, but true. It also won’t stop me from traveling.
I don’t really think that’s true. Sure, tourism could be confined to the trite, but it’s always possible to veer from the beaten path. And even on that path, experiences are not interchangeable.
Moreover, anybody who has spent any length of time in Texas is acutely aware the reality of space. The car will get you there faster, but there is no doubt there is a lot of ground to cover. This reality is probably less obvious if you live in a place where your daily life is confined to a five mile radius.
So stick that in your situation, Guy.
for anyone who’s curious, I posted a bunch more pictures at my flickr page.
oooh justin! you think the spaces all along the freeways and suburbs of Houston, Dallas, and Austin haven’t been commodified in the most banal way? C’mon, all of the gas stations, strip malls, and fast food joints are more or less interchangeable.
also, i think Mnsr. Debord might have been talking about the way people can consume Europe (or America) on a two-week vacation tour, and not really experience what Europe (or America) is at all.
yes, the goal is to get off the beaten path. but it’s damned difficult to do in two weeks if you don’t have your own agenda.
Sure, the strip malls all look interchangeable, but it’s your experiences that matter and those are never the same, nor are they interchangeable with somebody else’s experiences. For example, what I take away from seeing something completely touristy like La Rambla is not what somebody else might take away. Did anybody else see the tomato journalism “protest” and think, “wow, they’ve co-opted the idea of a protest and turned it into an advertisement. That’s more American than America.” (granted, Debord might have thought something similar)? Everybody sees what they want to see, based on their previous experiences, which are all different. There’s no way that viewing even cliches can be interchangeable.
Wonderful post. I’ll happily disagree with you about Amon Tobin, and even more happily I’ll agree with you about Fennesz. Here’s my guess: Fennesz has guts and a narrative continuity that most people seem to be afraid of these days… the idea to just go for it and enjoy each atom of the music.
On tourism: read “In a Small Place” or something like that. Great little book about someone rather famous growing up in Antigua. Makes a very good point.
I really enjoyed your pictures. I have always loved beautiful architecture; it’s a shame that here in the U.S. it’s largely the domain of the super-privileged. There is nothing like a natural space.