I chose to represent the Runquist murals in a single image — merging technology and art into one cohesive unit. Just like the evolution along the tree in both murals, so does the floral display function: from objects fading into the background, visible present, and blurred glimpse into what is to come in the future.
In the article for this week’s reading, we take an in depth look at the interaction between technology and art, how the two inform one another, and how through this interaction they challenge “the limits of the possible based on previous experience, knowledge and conceptual frames” (Jones, p21). We explore the evolution of art and technology from origins in alphanumeric hardcopy, static and dynamic screen images, through objects and events that are not screen based, to dynamic, interactive, multi-sensory output (Jones, p21). It is Jones contention that “old cultural patterns do not die. They may fade or become more evident; that is, they may be de-mphasized or emphasized. Only as part of the general ‘non-expert’ culture can such patterns contribute significantly to maintenance and/or change” (Jones, p21).
Most notably Jones follows the evolution of the combination of art and geometry to represent informational data and to describe the world around us (originating from the Computer Technique Group of Japan, who combined photographic and geometric data to represent political commentary [Jones, p23]) through the development of early three-dimensional screen imagery displayed as wired-frames to modern virtual environments (Jones, p24).
Jones assertion that only through non-expert use of art and technology can enculturation of such events occur (Jones, p22). This very much speaks to the points made in this weeks video lecture by Jane McGonigal.
Mcgonigal suggests that there are practical and important implications to the number of hours devoted to gaming (McGonigal, TED2010). She discussed the relevance of harnessing this energy and applying the embedded attitudes and sensibilities (optimism) towards the world around us. In this way the two are very much on the same page regarding how a current use of art and technology (video gaming) can have future implications that weren’t previously understood or intended. It requires a dialogue between science and art, and the acceptance and widespread use by non-experts to propel things to the next evolutionary level.
Mcgonigal, Jane. Web. (Recorded at TED2010, February 2010 in Long Beach, CA. Duration: 20:04)
I had a couple of thoughts regarding this week’s materials on remix culture and copyright law. First, did anyone else draw a corollary between what Lesig said about the “age of prohibition” (Lesig, TED) we live in and drug culture as it relates to legalization?
The arguments he makes against certain kinds of read-only culture remind me strongly of the kind folks make regarding legalization laws: “We need to recognize you can’t kill the instant that technology produces, we can only criminalize it. We can’t stop our kids from using it; we can only drive it underground. We can’t make our kids passive again; we can only make them “pirates”– and is that good?” (Lesig, TED).
How do you feel about ordinary people living their lives against the law (Lesig, TED) as it relates to what Lesig discusses? As it relates to drug culture? Do you think that sort of underground realization is equally corrosive and corruptive to a society when it comes to drug culture? (Lesig, TED).
The other thought I had while watching the presentation and looking over the reading was about intellectual property at large. Nothing exists nor is created in a void. Everything piggy-backs on prior developments and discoveries: how do you think this idea should influence copyright law? Or how not?
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According to Jane McGonigal’s presentation on why gaming can create a better world she suggests that in games individuals are “the most likely to stick to a problem as long as it takes – to get up after failure and try again,” (McGonigal, TED2010). She then contrasts that with real life stating, “In real life when we face failure, when we confront obstacles, we often don’t feel that way; we feel overcome; we feel overwhelmed; we feel anxious, maybe depressed, frustrated or cynical – we never experience those feelings when we’re playing games. They just don’t exist in games,” (McGonigal, TED2010). She made a point to identify character level-specific quests and problems as one of the motivating factors – the knowledge that your character won’t be overwhelmed whatever opposition you encounter, despite having to work hard to achieve your goals, because the obstacles are scaled to your relative in-game level.
Do you also think the fact that games have pre-established storylines, ultimate outcomes, and predetermined solutions or sets of solutions contributes to this sense of optimism? In real life this doesn’t exist: there are problems, and we hope to eventually discover solutions, but they aren’t predetermined — there are no guarantees. The inherent knowledge that there is a solution does not exist.
My other question relates back to our study of horror. Do you think the comfortable distance – the fact that the game world is knowably fake, like the act of viewing a horror movie (whatever fear exists is “safe” and can be overcome by the knowledge that you are watching a screen, are safe, and what is about to happen isn’t real) promotes this optimism and hopeful attitude? A gamer knows if they attempt a task and fail (maybe die), they have ample opportunity to make another attempt – generally at no real cost to themselves, their character or gameplay. This is maybe especially true if you know when to save your game – valuable progress isn’t even forfeited.
I also thought McGonigal’s anecdote about the invention of the first dice game had an interesting tie-in to this week’s reading. It was said that Herodotus, an ancient Greek historian, cited the king of Lydia as being the first inventor of games as a means of enduring a drought season: one day his subjects would eat, the next they would play dice as in order to distract them from the limited number foodstuff resources (McGonigal, TED2010).
In our reading Jones suggests that “old cultural patterns do not die. They may fade or become more evident; that is, they may be deemphasized or emphasized. Only as part of the general ‘non-expert’ culture can such patterns contribute significantly to maintenance and/or change,” (Jones, p21). Do you think McGonigal’s claims about the origin of gaming validate this theory? And if so, what is the individual non-expert’s role in contributing towards the evolution of gaming’s practical, real-world value or application?
Jones, B. J. (1990). Computer Graphics: Effects of Origins. LEONARDO: Digital Image – Digital Cinema Supplemental Issue, pp. 21-30.
McGonigal, Jane. Recorded at TED2010, February 2010 in Long Beach, CA. Duration: 20:04
Spirituality
I would define spirituality as the act of divining (read: appropriating) meaning. Whether or not you believe there are celestial or cosmic forces at play is irrelevant, unknowable, and lack of belief therein doesn’t preclude one from spirituality. I return to Dissanayake’s idea of “making special” or, alternatively, meaning production again and again: value is only ever subjective, whether collectively determined for the prosperity of maintaining structure – a system – or individually assessed.
For the purposes of this dialogue I am focusing on the latter. Grey articulates this as the act of seeing (looking) versus deeply seeing: “There is a vast difference between looking and seeing – a difference which is fundamental to the artist’s experience” (Grey, p72). I would argue, perhaps only semantically, it is less a passive act of “recognizing meaning,” as he later goes on to define it, and more an act of projecting value – however subconsciously. In this way the act of creating value is an act spirituality.
Spirituality v. Religion
I believe spirituality and religion to be separate entities, yes. If religion is defined as a set of beliefs and practices, it is likely those beliefs and practices (value constructions) inform spirituality (the appropriation of meaning), but that does not make the two equivalent. Much the way we discussed in the first week’s readings that our values are in part influenced by our family, culture, experiences, etc., that does not make them congruent – there is a separation, an opportunity for the individual to assess those exposures and choose in favor or in spite of them. Similarly our individual values (religion) certainly influence how or what meaning we may divine, but just as certainly do not define it.
Creativity
I would define creativity as an act or perception of innovation and appropriation – a combining of disparate elements – whether they be physical or merely associative of the mind – into a complex and symbolic whole. It includes spirituality, defined as the act of appropriating value, and the stringing together of seemingly unrelated yet analogous parts. In short it is the construction of meaning, beauty, or otherwise transcendent values that offer reprieve from or insight into the harsh realities of the human condition.
Source of Creativity
I believe the source of creativity extends from the desire to construct meaning in an otherwise bleak and meaningless existence – which some interpret as the “divine” – as well as the conscious manifestation of the subconscious mind. It is in many ways an effort to explain or define existence, the human condition – life. In the first week of reading we discussed survival value among other concepts. Largely there is little survival value associated with utter and absolute meaninglessness – the ego doesn’t thrive on lack of purpose. It requires validation. It requires a reason to be. It requires an unpacking of the “mysteries of the universe.”
Grey, A. (2001). Art as Spiritual Practice. The Mission of Art (1st ed., pp. 205-233). Boston & London: Shambhala.
I – not surprisingly – had a difficult time choking down much of the excerpt from Grey’s Art as Spiritual Practice. It was overly self-referential which inherently compromised its credibility. In the interest of indiscriminate transparency his musings reminded me overwhelmingly of listening to the vaguely coherent rants of friends contemplating the meaning of the universe after/while tripping on various psychedelics – albeit with perhaps a more academic vernacular and organized tone.
When Grey volunteered his “Aha” moment as being inspired by a drug-induced experience it became clear why. The entire tone of the piece felt a lot like one big self-congratulatory pat on the back. His talking points seemed primarily aimed towards establishing the validity and importance of his own artwork while simultaneously dismissing the value of opposing and critical views with little to no explanation: “The works of Dadaists and performance gestures force the art world to broaden the context of what art can be. This does not automatically confer greater depth of meaning to a work” (Grey, p88).
Dadaism was a nihilistic movement of the early twentieth century characterized by the illumination of the ridiculous and absurdity of life and mainstream art forms. That sort of framework obviously isn’t congruent with Grey’s tripped out notions about chakras, interconnectivity and the divine, and so he dismisses it as “aesthetic novelty” (Grey, p89).
Criticisms of his work aside, Grey did manage to bring a few interesting ideas to the table: the act of meaning production (defined as “deeply seeing”), his articulation of the creative process (which as it turns out is an “adaptation of the findings of several scientists’ attempts to outline the mysterious phases of creativity” [Grey, p75]), and his discussion of the conceptual mind and meaning as a sort of symbolic placeholder for the external.
Grey, A. (2001). Art as Spiritual Practice. The Mission of Art (1st ed., pp. 205-233). Boston & London: Shambhala.
Article One
The first article I’ve selected comes from Granta.com and explores the role horror in modern society, particularly considering the advent of the internet, social media, and how/what increased exposure does to our perceptions of the “other.” It chronicles several narratives and the ways in which each speaks to the issue illuminated by the author, citing most specifically the use of Eros and Thanatos — in other words desire and death. It also briefly discusses the necessity of selecting appropriate music or non-diegetic sound in the horror narrative.
I thought the article was an interesting choice because in as many ways as it touched on the subject of horror similarly to the readings we were exposed to in class this week, it also presented another perspective: “that which is familiar to us, and which we indeed are, is also the most profound, frustrating and compelling of enigmas. Fear and desire — so intrinsically linked — and witnessed through the creation, compulsion and destruction of the body” (Salu, 2011). This is in contrast, in some ways, to what Carroll stated that in addition to curiosity it is monsters or the unknown “arouse interest and attention through being putatively inexplicable or highly unusual vis-a-vis our standing cultural categories, thereby instilling a desire to learn and to know about them” (Carroll, p281).
It is in contrast for obvious reasons: one advocates that it is the familiar thrown into circumstances of “creation, compulsion and destruction” of the body that excites the audience, while the other maintains that it is the unknown. In both cases, however, there is an element of what Carroll refers to as being “of the sort that was a highly probably object of disgust” (Carroll, p283). What they are both referring to is what Salu calls the Eros and Thanatos, or mutual existence of desire and disgust. In this sense, there is a paradox between the familiar and unfamiliar. For example, seeing the human body torn to bits. We, as viewers, can relate to the human body and certainly understand pain, but the unknown exists in the form of the extremity and excruciatingly horrific circumstances the victim is killed under. The proximity to the known excites enough to continue watching the undeniably disgusting. In both cases, both writers ultimately make a case for curiosity and morbid fascination.
Salu, Michael. (2011, November). The Art of Horror. Granta.com [Online Publication]. Retrieved August 3, 2014. http://www.granta.com/New-Writing/The-Art-of-Horror
Article Two
The article attempts to explain the joy of horror through scientific terms. The first such explanation presented is the catharsis horror films provide. The audience goes to see a horror film knowing they will be scared, but the fact that it is a “safe” kind of scared allows the nervous system to get worked up, then calm back down: “our nervous system requires a periodic revving, just like a good muscular engine” (Begley, 2011). The pleasure of the horror narrative, under this explanation, is believed to be derived from the ensuing relief.
It also suggests this may be why the horror genre is so popular among the younger generations, as confirmed in our weekly reading, “audiences for horror fictions are often adolescent males” (Carroll, p291). Begley continues to suggest that as we get older we “tend not seek out experiences that make our hearts race, and feel that real life is scary enough” (Begley, 2011).
Following the catharsis model of horror enjoyment, Begley cites Freud saying, “horror is appealing because it traffics thoughts and feelings that have been repressed by the ego but which seem vaguely familar.” This mimics the suggestions made in the first article about the inherent play between desire and fear.
The second scientific explanation made in the article is that “horror films generally stick to an almost Victorian moral code… Horror films thus appeal to people who like predictability and neat ends” (Begley, 2011).
Lastly the article suggests that “most fundamentally, horror films are popular because they speak to the basic human condition of existential fear, the knowledge that we are all doomed… By sitting through a fictional depiction of that fact — even if the movie’s victims slough their mortal coil in a more sensational way that most of us, God willing, will — we face our greatest fear” (Begley, 2011).
I think I am inclined to agree mostly with this last possible explanation. There is a simultaneous attraction and repulsion towards concepts of mortality, particular meeting our own demise. To validate Carroll’s points, it is the ultimate unknown, and, again, as the first article I reviewed suggested, is familiar enough to spark interest in all of us.
Begley, Sharon. (2011, October). Why Our Brains Love Horror Movies. The Daily Beast [Online Newspaper]. Retrieved August 3, 2014. http://www.thedailybeast.com/articles/2011/10/25/why-our-brains-love-horror-movies-fear-catharsis-a-sense-of-doom.html
My appearance has changed dramatically over the years as I have experimented with different styles/looks and the resulting influence it has had on the way the world interacts with me. More often than not, though greatly diversified in terms of representation of look, the quality of look has mostly been the same: counter-culture. This was not always, however, the case.
Growing up I maintained a fairly conventional appearance for a teenage boy located in rural Oregon: short hair, long shorts/appropriately baggy pants (as was the fashion at the time), unadorned by piercings or tattoos — overall fairly generic and nondescript. Not because my family was particularly conservative (or at all). My parents met in Africa during the peace corps and were always supportive of any decisions my siblings or I made about our identities. The whole “rules of society” thing never really existed in my house growing up, but I’m getting side-tracked. Despite an overall conventional appearance, this still didn’t prevent folks from recognizing there was something a little different about me. I don’t really fit into conventional gender roles and never have. Intellectually impoverished areas like rural Oregon tend to interpret this one way: “he’s a homosexual.” (It might be worth noting that I define my own sexuality more fluidly than that, and have been sexually active with folks who present as both female and male.) Needless to say I experienced a lot of marginalization growing up and general exclusion/mistreatment.
I think in a lot of ways this influenced my immediate decision to alter my appearance to that of a somewhat less conventional manner. If externally presenting myself as “normal,” “traditional,” “conventional,” — whatever — didn’t allow me to fit in, then why would I bother to do it? If I was going to be marginalized, it was going to be on my terms. So I let my hair grow out enough to start spiking up in a mohawk fashion and pierced my lip. (Gasp!) Something blatantly defining as “gay” in the community I grew up in.
What followed was interesting. Once I began asserting myself visually, people stopped feeling the need to define me and just sort of backed away — they seemed somewhat uneasy around me. Somehow, overnight (well, as long as it took to enact these changes to my appearance) the power structure had been subverted. I remember feeling in control of how people reacted to me, which informed future decisions about my personal customization: if I press button ‘x’ it will elicit response ‘y.’ As I said, interesting. I began to revere my own appearance less as a statement about me, and more about those who interacted with me — and how they chose to go about doing so.
As time went on I added more and more piercings to my body, my clothes got tighter/more revealing, my hair more defiantly hawked, and began to present an overall more sexually provocative image — bordering almost on the feminine.
Currently I’m in the long-haired, bohemian, 60s/70s sun-child stage of presentation, bordering very adjacently the look of homelessness: scruff, unkempt and wild hair, short (by modern standards for men, but still longer than anything completely accepted for women) cut-off shorts, sandals, and a lot of sunglasses — A LOT.
I have my own graphic design business and work full-time managing a local print shop while attending school full-time on top of that. I’ve been vegan for the past six-years and have recently started trying to grow more and more of my own food, and prepare the majority of my meals at home. I also run 8-12 miles a day, train for marathons, and am extremely goal-oriented. It keeps me very busy. I’m very responsible. Though it’s interesting how often people look at me, based on my appearance, and assume things like I have “weed to sell” or know where to score some heroine. On one occasion I was even stopped by a security guard and checked for “track marks” on my arms and asked to empty my pockets. Of course there was nothing to be found because I don’t engage in such behaviors, but I’m very aware of how I present to the world around me. In that sense, I don’t know that my appearance defines my values, not in the typical or expected way, anyway. I’m not a drug addict, I have my own place, and work very hard. If my appearance were to speak to my values in any way, it would be a rejection of conventional perceptions — an attempt to serve as a mirror for those who would otherwise tell me who I am. There’s nothing more illuminating about a person than the judgments they project onto an external entity. That has always been the driving force behind the choices I make regarding my personal aesthetic: I’m going to reveal you for what you are by way of letting you reveal yourself. I don’t know if that’s a value or result of marginalization as a child?
Regarding my peer community, I don’t spend time with a single type of person — and all of my friends, however varied, have a lot more humanity in common with each other than objectifications about appearance might reduce them to. As I stated in my discussion post, I’m really uncomfortable with this topic at large because I know, from my own personal experience, and having been alive long enough and experienced enough people to know that external presentations are incredibly superficial, and in terms of what’s really important, not even skin deep. You might be able to extrapolate approximations about a person’s attitudes or beliefs, but more often than not I suspect you’d be wrong — and wouldn’t really access what’s infinitely more important: is this an interesting person? Do they have exciting thoughts/and ideas? Are they engaging? Are they kind?
The article I selected approaches the topic of whether food is or is not art in several ways, operating under a somewhat different set of definitions — though not entirely — than previously discussed in class. First the author gives consideration to the chef as an artisan and the skilled craftsmanship that goes into the actual production of the food. Next he discusses the debate through the framework of the avant-garde. Last, and possibly the most removed from what we’ve read/discussed over the past few weeks — though I think still equally relevant and is the interaction between artist and investor and how the interaction of the two define something as art. Ultimately the author appears to be in favor of the opinion that food is, indeed, art as he doesn’t really offer any counter examples or opposing views.
Much the way Dissanayake defined art as the “propensity to ‘make special,’ particularly things that one cares deeply about or activities whose outcome has strong personal significance,” (Dissanayake, p22) Parassecoli asserts that “chefs are not just craftsmen, artisans, or business persons; they are expected to offer patrons (and critics) dishes and menus that stimulate and surprise them, find new methods to manipulate ingredients, and interact with technology and design in ways that keep them on the cutting edge and ensure coverage from press, TV, and the Internet” (Parassecoli, 2013).
At first interpretation this may not reveal itself to be synonymous with what Dissanayake presents so much as a business-centric model of art-defining, but further consideration reveals the level of expertise, passionate study, exploration and innovation that find themselves accompanying modern cuisine as a very real and discernible effort to “make special” — to elevate a mere act of consumption to an experience worthy of discourse and professional critique. That sort of scrutiny carries with it inherent value of special. It certainly holds up to the modernist ideal that “what is said (or written) about a work is not only necessary to its being art, but is indeed perhaps more important than the work itself.” The very act of attracting critical attention, would, under a modernist perspective give reason to believe that food is, indeed, art.
I think Telfer herself would have to appreciate this perspective despite her belief that the inherent transience of food “limits the contemplation that is possible — a work of food art will not be around very long to be contemplated” (Telfer, p24). In the act of critique, food is granted an extended shelf-life of contemplation — the discussion surrounding a particularly masterful technique or innovative fusion of flavors or cultures can last far longer than the individual item of food can be appreciated on the palette. But does that make it any less appreciated or contemplated? I think not.
Parassecoli goes on to refer to this “intelligentsia” surrounding food as avant-garde, defined by “Merriam-Webster’s Collegiate Dictionary as an intelligentsia that develops new or experimental concepts esp. in the arts” (Parassecoli, 2013). Again, the act of lingering critic — contemplation — is what in turn informs the artists (chefs) and pushes them to strive to new and innovative developments.
Lastly Parassecoli discusses something not directly discussed in class, but could again be related to Dissanayake’s beliefs about art as the “making of special”: the inclusivity of artist and investor, “if creativity in the kitchen produces income, it is highly praised as a cultural achievement and valued as a commercial asset” (Parassecoli, 2013). As we increasingly live in a world dominated by capitalist ideologies, commercial assets are ever more indicators of cultural achievement — in other words, the socially valuable or special. Dollar amounts represent perceived value — how special or unique an object or experience is. It could again be argued the peripheral discussion (in this case assigned dollar value) surrounding the work defines it as art just as much as the work itself — and certainly doesn’t subtract from the idea that food is, indeed, art.
Dissanayake, E. (1991). What Is Art For? In K. C. Caroll (Ed.). Keynote addresses 1991 (NAEA Convention). (pp. 12-26). Reston, VA: National Art Education Association.
Parassecoli, Fabio. (2013, August). Is Food Art? Chefs, Creativity, and the Restaurant Business? Huffington Post [On-Line Newspaper]. Retrieved August 1, 2014 from http://www.huffingtonpost.com/fabio-parasecoli/food-art_b_3830791.html
Tefler, E. (2002). Food as Art. In Neill, A. & Riley, A. (eds.) Arguing About Art: Contemporary Philosophical Debates (2nd ed., Chap 2). New York, NY: Routledge.