Sounds: Ordinarily Unheard

July 7, 2015 § Leave a comment

 
Ordinarily Unheard: An Evening of Performed Sound

Thursday, July 16, 7-9pm
Calico Gallery, 67 West St. #203, Brooklyn, NY 11222
FB Event Invite

Sal Randolph, David B. Smith, and Audra Wolowiec will each present a performed sound work integral to their broader practices, which include visual, textual, and sculptural projects dealing with themes such as language, imagination, and memory.

Sal Randolph Airport Scores for Drift

These Airport Scores are part of an experimental novel, Drift, being written on Twitter and other social media, with elements distributed in real space and on the web. They are “ambience scores,” transcriptions into language of the ordinarily unheard sounds of place; from this alphabetically rendered sound composition, places may then be performed in voice or imagination.
David B. Smith Forgetting Your Name (extended version)

Smith will lead a participatory ceremony where members of the audience are invited to speak a name of their choice as raw material for an electronic sound composition. The composition will unfold organically and unexpectedly and will waver between found sound and music, and between evolution and deterioration. The words the audience speaks will, like memories, fade in and out of legibility, repeating and building, yet obscuring and changing original meanings and intentions.
Audra Wolowiec  (         )

(         ) is a language based short film with two slide projectors and sound components. Held by punctuation, signals from two lighthouses begin to flash across the screen, communicating through fragments. As the sound of breaths continue to locate each other, waves allude that geometry is of no use to calculate a proximity that is felt. This work was first performed at the Poetry Project at St. Marks Church, Jan 2015.

Text: Su Hui’s matrix poem, Star Gauge

June 26, 2015 § Leave a comment

  

  

4th century poet Su Hui’s embroidered, 29 x 29 character, 5 color grid-matrix poem, Star Gauge. 

Read an interview with artist Jen Bervin about the poem here.

Translator David Hinton on the poem here, and his translation here.

  

Between Language and Form

October 12, 2013 § Leave a comment

Guest artist Audra Wolowiec offers this  image & text.

between language and form (a concrete poem, in two parts)

concrete_images

concrete (adj.) 

late 14c., “actual, solid,” from Latin concretus “condensed, hardened, thick, hard, stiff, curdled, congealed, clotted,” figuratively “thick,” literally “grown together.” past participle of concrescere “to grow together,” from com- “together” (see com-) + crescere “to grow” (see crescent). A logicians’ term until meaning began to expand 1600s. Noun sense of “building material made from cement, etc.” is first recorded 1834.

con·crete [kon-kreet, kong-, kon-kreet, kong- for 1–15, 10, 13, 14; kon-kreet, kong- for 11, 12] 

1.  constituting an actual thing or instance; real: a concrete proof of his sincerity.

2.  pertaining to or concerned with realities or actual instances rather than abstractions; particular (opposed to general ) concrete ideas.

3.  representing or applied to an actual substance or thing, as opposed to an abstract quality: The words “cat,” “water,” and “teacher” are concrete, whereas the words “truth,” “excellence,” and “adulthood” are abstract.

4.  made of concrete: a concrete pavement.

5.  formed by coalescence of separate particles into a mass; united in a coagulated, condensed, or solid mass or state.

More on Burroughs’ Color Walks from Michael Taussig

May 25, 2011 § 1 Comment

Michael Taussig on Burroughs’ color walks:

“That was in 1964. Brion Gysin was his painter pal in those days and when you look over Gysin’s work, playing with color in relation to written words, let alone Burroughs’s own color work, as in the 1960s scrapbooks and the 1980s paintings, it suddenly hits you that there is a tight connection between the mad desire to cut out, on the one hand, and this fascination with color, on the other.

As when, in his homage to Gysin, Burroughs invokes the idea of going on “color walks”—which are a good deal more than color-coded walkways through Tangier or New York or Paris: red on Wednesdays, blue on Fridays, or whatever. A delightful idea, to be sure. But that is only the beginning because the idea here is that the very notion of a code is to be cut out, meaning that color is invoked so as to loosen the restraint of coding and that there is something about color that facilitates this, as if colors love to betray themselves like yellow means gold, awesome and holy, but also treason and cowardice, and it has a long history in the Christian West of marking adulterous women, Jews, Muslims, prostitutes, heretics, witches, and executioners.

Could we not say, therefore, that with the color walk we are alerted to the singular and beautiful fact that color itself walks?

This would make color even more of a flâneur than Burroughs,who liked to call himself el hombre invisible in his walks through the market in Tangier in the late 1950s. What was invisible in Tangier became color in Paris, thanks to Gysin’s paintings painted in Tangier. Maybe people have to lose themselves first and become invisible as long-term residents in a third world country before being readied for the color walk? But then Burroughs was continuously marginal in utterly realistic as well as in utterly romantic ways. He was queer. He was a heroin addict. He loathed America. And he had weird ideas about most everything, especially writing. Being marginal can mean you switch on and you switch off because you are either too conspicuous or invisible. Too invisible, that’s the point, at which point you emerge as color, walking color at that.

And, remember, the original insight for the color walk lay in Gysin’s playing with letters, letters that form words. Here color and the decomposition of written language signs go hand in hand. What also happens when Smoker comes in from the cold is that the old writer in the boxcar by the junkyard is once again able to write. As colors pour from tar, he unblocks. He pours. The cat purrs. And guess what? All his stories are animal stories. (“Of course,” adds Burroughs.) The old writer finds them in an illustrated book. There is the Flying Fox with his long black fingers and sad black face, just like Smoker. There is a Fishing Bat peering from under its shell. There is the Black Lemur with round red eyes and its little red tongue, the beautiful Ring-Tailed Lemur hopping through the forest as if on a pogo stick. “So many creatures, and he loves them all” (WL, p. 248).

The old writer caresses these pictures.

After all, “I have been a cut up for years,” the writer told us. “I think of

words as being alive like animals. They don’t like to be kept in pages. Cut the pages and let the words out.” Now the words and the animals become united in the stories the old writer found welling up inside himself as colors pour from tar.”

Michael Taussig, What Color is the Sacred

See also Taussig’s “Getting High with Burroughs and Benjamin” in Cabinet Magazine.

Image: Bryon Gysin Dream Machine iPhone app created by the New Museum as part of their Brion Gysin Dream Machine show this past spring.

More here: Color: William Burroughs Walking on Color

primiti too taa

May 1, 2011 § Leave a comment

primiti too taa

Hello Word

April 28, 2011 § Leave a comment

Syllabus from Adam Parrish’s course at ITP

Reading and Writing Electronic Text

More resources & info here.

Jeff Thompson: The Poetics of Data

April 23, 2011 § Leave a comment

Jeff Thompson
discusses data sets as poetic texts.

[Image: Printout from Art & Language Index 03]

“Index 03 included 64,000 possible combinations of its own text, represented in a shorthand code created for the project. An example line included in Howard’s essay:

C(EX)AB1(X) & N(EX)BC2(X) & N(EX)CD3(X) & N(EX)EF5(X) & N(EX)FG6(X) & C(EX)GH7(X) & N(EX)HI8(X) & N(EX)IJ9(X) & N(EX)JK10(X) & C(EX)KL11(X) & N(EX)LM12(X) & C(EX)MN13(X) & C(EX)NO14(X) & C(EX)OP15(X) & C(EX)PQ16(X).

This interest in merging logical operations and invented linguistic systems with the formal, visual/verbal, and associative – what we can loosely refer to as “poetic” concerns – presents us another possible Rosetta Stone to begin reading data as text. ”

[see: White Heat Cold Logic: British Computer Art 1960-1980. Ed. Brown, Paul; Gere, Charlie; Lambert, Nicholas; Mason, Catherine. Cambridge: MIT Press, 2008 (pg. 334), from the essay: Conceptual Art, Language, Diagrams, and Indexes by Graham Howard.]

From the wonderful LEMON HOUND

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