solo performance... free... thursday night...

this coming thursday night, october 28, i'll be performing a solo improvised sound work in the main exhibition space at the armory center for the arts in pasadena. the performance will start at 7:30, will be relatively quiet, and admission is FREE...

more info here

when a bat seems like sculpture...

"If you look at the handle on the end of that bat, there's an 'x' because it was a reject... The cleat marks at the head of the bat where I hit my shoes, there's indentations at the beginning of the bat. At the end of the bat, it was so deep, there's really deep indentations, the red ink from the foul balls I hit is on it. You can actually see the spot where I made contact with the ball..."

kirk gibson's poetically detailed description of the bat he used to hit one of the greatest home runs in dodger history. the bat has been in storage since around the time he hit the home run back in 1988. while most people are up in arms that he is selling the bat and not giving it to the hall of fame, well, its his bat, and he should certainly be able to do as he pleases with it...

nonetheless, i found his description of the bat's condition to be beautiful, suggesting that some enterprising print-maker should do a rubbing of it.

gibson's articulation of all of the flaws, including color, sort of suggests an object in line with artists like david nash or david ireland... hand tooled responses to patina... i hope the auction that is selling the bat will produce a document with some nice clear photos of all its flaws...

planetary hand map...

found this image stepped on and creased within an enormous scattering of clipped words and images from old magazines beneath my work desk. i tend to use the mess mostly like eno's oblique strategy cards, reaching down and picking some scrap of paper up in the hopes it will serve as a trigger or suggestion. i know this hand is from a 1964 scientific american magazine... but unfortunately i cut it out so long ago that i have no idea if it was from an ad or an article, nor what in the world it might be illustrating...

when sandy made sketches for his checklist...

tiny brochure for a 1945 alexander calder exhibition in ny, with a series of tiny notational sketches of each of the sculpture. the checklist also includes some paintings (wish they were pictured...) and drawings. i've always liked the way sculptors notate their finished works in drawing form, somehow feeling like moving backwards. of course, the titles are wonderful... especially something from 1945 called "scarlet digitals"...

some recent finds...

i've been overwhelmed with life in general the last few months, not to mention all of the exhibition activity... but of course, the obsessive collector gene does not exactly have a shut-off switch... here are a few of my favorite finds of the past month or so...


a cabinet photograph of an east indian violin player. the seller thought she might not actually know how to play the violin based on her hand and finger positions... personally, i like the relationship between the fabric of her clothing and the couch and faux background - not to mention the piece of jewelry on her cheek, and the fear and/or longing in her face... taken in india, circa 1890


a 1920's snapshot of two convicts playing their butts off in stripes in a rural florida prison. all i can say is i'm stunned i managed to snag it...


RPPC circa 1915 featuring musical saws. even though they are clearly posing, the fact that they are "in the act" makes this one stellar. i've seen images of saw players, but never actually playing or even pretending to, and the fact that it is a real photo postcard makes it even better.


nice snapshot of a victrola on the back of a boat, probably 1920 or a little earlier, hopefully there is a record or two hiding somewhere in this mess.


stellar 8" x 10" promotional photo for a hawaiian guitar player and a guy with a harp guitar - and quite a strange one at that, circa 1912 or so. i love when old prints like this get all silvery and clouded...


possibly an american indian posing with his instrument collection, also possibly i have absolutely no idea what is going on here, but it was taken in a studio in philly, and is gosh darned wonderful.

a four-light window...

1.
the first is a park.
a garden path between bare boughs
path at one side, mass of a yew tree
flecked with winter fruit
the glass beads of art nouveau
and more
more - to what end?

the mark of the square picture
in the garden path, bird's neck path
as it turns, impossible in words
only in the hand's gesture,
and cranes its unwritable bird's head
into dull bushes.



2.
the second is clouded.



3.
the third is of concrete.
i mean a garage roof
(the window sill cuts in two, and below
the vintage-animals invisible
bespoke tarpaulin
retracting light
from varnish & polish & chrome
and the unheard four strokes
resound emptily in their cylinders
with the viscous chill of winter garages)

while outside the burning winter sunlight
and the mix of climates
and the mix of woodpecker overalls
as it cuts over the snow field
and turns the horizon
like a steering wheel,
noon spin through bright meridian.



4.
the fourth is the sky,
drum-tight, without a line.
rare silence of earth's atmosphere
as it does not write, thick slate
its inextinguishable vapourings.
a few strokes only, broken signals,
broached interpretations,
remnant of prefix, an auspice.

a poem by the hungarian born poet agnes nemes nagy, from the book between: selected poems, published in 1988, in dublin. i recently discovered her work on douglas masserli's project for innovative poetry blog. her work is wonderfully economical, and at times reminiscent of francis ponge, although much more minimal. the images were shot sunday during the MAK center's annual architecture tour, windows from neutra (2), matson, and soriano.

this poem by nemes nagy is not my favorite (those will be posted another time), but it does contain my favorite word/image section i have read by her so far:

in the garden path, bird's neck path
as it turns, impossible in words
only in the hand's gesture,
and cranes its unwritable bird's head
into dull bushes.

it reads like a silent moving film.

i also love the entirety of window light 4... which seems so "much" that it feels as if the rest of the poem was simply the setting the table for this last read moment. the sound of the words, their order and suggestions of meaning, is overwhelming...

the sky as a covering, drum-tight... he sky without a line - perhaps is only a field, a shell... the sky as a rare silence - which one sees at times, but seldom hears - because of the inextinguishables.... and the ending: remnant of prefix, an auspice... as if all were some fragment of beginning, and always underneath...

when sunlight has a scent...

"beyond the window there is a garden, but i can only see its walls. and a few branches flowing with light. a little higher. i see more branches, and higher still the sun. and of all the jubilation of the air that can be felt outdoors, of all that joy spread out over the world, i can see only shadows of branches playing on white curtains. there are also five rays of sunlight patiently pouring into the room the white scent of dried grass. a breeze, and the shadows on the curtains come to life. if a cloud covers up the sun and then lets it through again, the bright yellow of the vase of mimosa leaps out of the shade. the birth of this single flash of brightness is enough to fill me with a confused and whirling joy.

a prisoner in the cave, i live alone and look at the shadow of the world. a january afternoon. but the heart of the air is full of cold. everywhere a thin film of sunlight that you could split with a touch of your fingernail, but which clothes everything in an eternal smile. who am i and what can i do - except enter into the movement of the branches and the light, be this ray of sunlight in which my cigarette smolders away, this soft and gentle passion breathing in the air? if i try to reach myself, it is at the heart of this light that i am to be found. and if i try to taste and understand this delicate flavor that contains the secret of the world. it is again myself that i find at the heart of the universe. myself, that is to say this intense emotion which frees me from my surroundings. soon, my attention will be filled again with other things and with the world of men. but let me cut out this moment from the cloth of time as other men leave a flower in the pages of a book. in it, they enclose the memory of a walk in which they were touched by love. i also walk through the world, but am caressed by a god. life is short, and it is a sin to waste one's time. i waste my time all day long, while other people say i do a great deal. today is a resting place, and my heart goes out to meet itself.

if i still feel a grain of of anxiety, it is at the thought of this unseizable moment slipping through my fingers like a ball of quicksilver. let those who want to, stand aside from the world. i no longer feel sorry for myself, for now i see myself being born. i am happy in this world for my kingdom is of this world. a cloud passes and a moment grows pale. i die to myself. the book opens at a well-loved page - how tasteless it is when compared to the book of the world. is it true that i have suffered, is it not true that i am suffering? and that i am drunk with this suffering because it is made up of that sun and these shadows, of this warmth and that coldness which can be felt afar off, at the very heart of the air? what cause to wonder if something dies or men suffer, when everything is written on this window where the sun pours forth its fullness? i can say, and in a moment i shall say, that what counts is to be true, and then everything fits in, both humanity and simplicity. and when am i truer and more transparent than when i am in the world?

moment of adorable silence. but the song of the world rises and i, a prisoner chained deep in the cave, am filled with delight before i have time to desire. eternity is here while i was waiting for it. now i can speak. i do not know what i could wish for rather than this continued presence of self with self. what i want now is not happiness but awareness. one thinks one has cut oneself off from the world, but it is enough to see an olive tree upright in morning sun, to feel this separation melt away. this with me. i became aware of the possibilities for which i am responsible. every minute of life carries with it its miraculous value, and its face of eternal youth".

albert camus, notebooks, 1930's

when lobsters go a courtin...

lobster went a courtin' and he did ride, uh-huh
lobster went a courtin' and he did ride, uh-huh
lobster went a courtin' and he did ride
two strange cherubs by his side, uh-huh uh-huh uh-huh

He crawled into the lady's oval sky, uh-huh
He crawled into the lady's oval sky, uh-huh
He crawled into the lady's oval sky
with a big black tux and a small bowtie, uh-huh uh-huh uh-huh

said the lady "that's a mighty ring", uh-huh
said the lady "that's a mighty ring", uh-huh
said the lady "that's a mighty ring"
the stone so big it makes me sing, uh-huh, uh-huh, uh-huh

one little angel with angel wings, uh-huh
one little angel with angel wings,, uh-huh
one little angel with angel wings,
in a stupor he stands and forgets to sing, uh-huh, uh-huh, uh-huh

the other little angel has a peg for a leg, uh-huh
the other little angel has a peg for a leg, uh-huh
the other little angel has a peg for a leg,
he holds a crown and begins to beg, uh-huh, uh-huh, uh-huh

his head all wrapped and walks on canes, uh-huh
his head all wrapped and walks on canes, uh-huh
his head all wrapped and walks on canes
his diaper too big and he seems insane, uh-huh, uh-huh, uh-huh

the lobster holds the ring while the lady sighs, uh-huh
the lobster holds the ring while the lady sighs, uh-huh
the lobster holds the ring while the lady sighs
"you've got antennas instead of eyes", uh-huh, uh-huh, uh-huh

"sweet mr. lobster i have a hunch", uh-huh
"sweet mr. lobster i have a hunch", uh-huh
"sweet mr. lobster i have a hunch"
"that you would make a fine fine lunch", uh-huh, uh-huh, uh-huh

so he dropped the ring and crawled away, uh-huh
so he dropped the ring and crawled away, uh-huh
so he dropped the ring and crawled away
to perhaps be eaten on another day, uh-huh, uh-huh, uh-huh

then the hungry lady ate the ring, uh-huh
then the hungry lady ate the ring, uh-huh
then the hungry lady ate the ring
it glowed inside her and made her sing, uh-huh, uh-huh, uh-huh

the cherubs heard the song and began to swoon, uh-huh
the cherubs heard the song and began to swoon, uh-huh
the cherubs heard the song and began to swoon
the lobster climbed the sky to live on the moon, uh-huh, uh-huh, uh-huh

the lady was sad and felt lonely, uh-huh
the lady was sad and felt lonely, uh-huh
the lady was sad and felt lonely
so she placed each cherub on a different knee, uh-huh, uh-huh, uh-huh

the three sang a song to the lobster moon, uh-huh
the three sang a song to the lobster moon, uh-huh
the three sang a song to the lobster moon
they all danced a jig and hummed a tune, uh-huh, uh-huh, uh-huh

the lobster drifted down on their serenade, uh-huh
the lobster drifted down on their serenade, uh-huh
the lobster drifted down on their serenade
he crept kind of close but was still afraid, uh-huh, uh-huh, uh-huh

the lady made a burp and the ring fell out, uh-huh
the lady made a burp and the ring fell out, uh-huh
the lady made a burp and the ring fell out
and the lobster he began to shout, uh-huh, uh-huh, uh-huh

"now little lady will you mary me?", uh-huh
"now little lady will you mary me?", uh-huh
"now little lady will you mary me?"
we can all live together now beneath the sea, uh-huh, uh-huh, uh-huh

the lady and the cherubs and the big gold ring, uh-huh
the lady and the cherubs and the big gold ring, uh-huh
the lady and the cherubs and the big gold ring
couldn't breathe underwater so they started drowning, uh-huh, uh-huh, uh-huh

the lobster laughed in an evil way, uh-huh
the lobster laughed in an evil way, uh-huh
the lobster laughed in an evil way
and the lady and the cherubs and the ring turned grey, uh-huh, uh-huh, uh-huh

as the four finally did so lose their breath, uh-huh
as the four finally did so lose their breath, uh-huh
as the four finally did so lose their breath
the lobster laughed himself to death, uh-huh, uh-huh, uh-huh

(found this drawing on sunday... circa 1900... pretty darn strange... not sure of the story, don't know the artist, and not sure what the cherubs are either... i'm wondering if it might be from a hans christian andersen or lewis carroll story... or just a little outsider drawing...)

when all that is left of a film is its background noise...

for the month of october i was invited to present a new sound piece on the website of the palais de tokyo museum in paris. the piece is a reworking of a limited red vinyl 7" released in 2007, and made by manipulating the 1962 soundtrack LP of robert bresson's film proces de jeanne d'arc. the piece is titled "one stone. and arcs and ears."

the piece was made by removing (although not completely and precisely) all of the speaking voices from the bresson LP, leaving only the background sounds, incidentals, etc. some of which were lightly processed.

for the web version, i reworked some of the mixing on both tracks and cross faded them together to form one continuous work. since the original two tracks/sides were both made from side one of the original LP, it's nice to be able to share them as one continuous "ear film".

i should also mention that it is really nice to click on a podcast-link and hear the opening sounds of crackling vinyl.

for those who speak french, you can read a longer text about the piece on the museum's website, but for those of you who speak only english, here is the text:

i began with the soundtrack LP of robert bresson's film "proces de jeanne d'arc", and edited out all of the talking of the main characters. in many cases my edits were not perfectly clean so whispered beginnings or endings of words can still be heard.

i wanted the trajectory to lose its sense of narrative - to shake all of the specificity out of it. i wanted to turn it into a path of ambivalence, fragmentation, pauses, and abstraction.

there is no music on bresson's original soundtrack, only talking and incidental sounds. on side one of the LP, a single musical instrument is heard for a few seconds (a horn playing a kind of fanfare in the middle of side one); and thus through sampling, i extended the horn sound, and used it to create a tonal field for the existing edited sounds to rest upon.

the title - 'one stone. and arcs and ears.' was made from taking some of the letters in robert bresson's name and the film title "proces de jeanne d'arc" to generate new words. 'one stone.' refers to the rock thrown through jeanne's window in the film, while 'and arcs and ears.' refers to the circular motion of the spinning record and the activity of listening...

i like very much how the crackling sounds of the original vinyl sometimes sounds a bit like the crackling of a very small fire.

for anyone completely obsessed and needing even more, here is a link to the original release with even more information...