Beyond Words.

6 Jan
2010

Writing has come a long way since the first scratches of abstracted images on stone. It has influenced the way we think by giving us the ability to record our thoughts visually, which has in turn, contributed to the collective memory of society over the millennia.

For most people, writing is separate from the plastic arts. The form of text has nothing to do with the content of the words that are written. It is reasonable to assume that since the words have meaning in themselves, independent of the way they are written or presented, then the method in which they are put down in ink or print, and finally viewed, is of negligible importance. Only that the words are legible and that the conditions for writing and reading them in are sufficiently conducive.

However, this isn’t always the case. Writing is a visual means for the structuring and communication of information and sellers of luxury notebooks have managed to exploit this to the extreme. In some circles, notebook keeping has become an art in the recording and presentation of visual-textual information. Linear narratives are the norm, but ideas, like puzzles of all sorts, can be expressed through disparate patches of coherent thought, with embellished texts, emoticons, detailed diagrams and what not, later then on to be linked together to form the final picture or solution.

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There are many situations in which a non-linear method of the presentation of an idea or thought is preferable to a linear one. A large collection of information on a particular subject, for example, might be best expressed on a two-fold page spread that shows collections of data from different aspects that are important to its understanding. Many contemporary news journals employ this to great effect, taking advantage of the reader’s ability to link disparate information together. However, this form of information presentation is also easily exploited, as no untruth needs to be said if the author wishes the audience to infer a biased opinion.

In the 1920s, the German Dadaists combined in collages, disparate texts and pictures to make politically charged art. The value in the text consisted of both the definition of the word itself, for example, LOVE, and its typographic style, and of course the pictures that accompanied it. Textual information cannot be consumed out of context, be it on the printed page, or in the current social and political climate. The words “World Trade Center” have different connotations pre and post 9/11.

In the days before writing machines were invented, penmanship was of great importance. Good penmanship signified good upbringing, civility and class. For a few decades, graphology was even an accepted subject at institutes of higher learning. However, like astrology, there has been no scientific proof to back it up, only opinion. And mere opinion alone only ever ranges from the merely entertaining to the potentially harmful.

But since the advent of machine type, good penmanship has fallen into the fold and is now only of importance to parents with very young children who still believe good handwriting is a sign of intelligence, discipline and adequate neuromotor control.

Since the early 1800’s, Typography has steadfastly usurped penmanship over the visual meaning of words such that the form of the text implies information beyond the text itself. And ever since designers realized the power of designed text to affect our environment and our social and political consciousness, they have exploited it to great effect.

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An extreme example would be the poster announcing Obama giving his speech in Tiergarten in Berlin in 2008. Apparently some people thought the style of the poster (particularly the text) was a homage to German Fascism. Strange, considering that the style is in fact Bauhaus, and that the Nazis closed the Bauhaus school for its subversive curriculum.

Writing as an art has changed a great deal since Chaucerian tales of yore, Dante’s Inferno and Shakespearean sonnets. People still do write in regular prose, and most writing is done with font off the shelf that serves the writing and not the other way around. But it would be a pity if we didn’t try to express them in any other way. To make full use of the graphic quality of texts when it is possible, and to utilize the brain’s ability to comprehend words and pictures simultaneously for a quicker and or deeper understanding of things. After all, we started communicating face to face, and did so for the bulk of human evolution until 60,000 years ago when writing was invented. During that time, we communicated with words, sounds, gestures, and perhaps body paints and other decorations. Good writers can capture meanings that comprise all our senses in words, certainly. But much more or perhaps, different, types of meanings can be conveyed if words and sentences had value beyond their textual information.

Links:

http://www.typography.com

http://www.odedezer.com/

http://crookedtimber.org/2008/07/26/back-to-the-futura/

http://miller-mccune.com/culture_society/handwriting-is-history-1647


If a implies b…

5 Jan
2010

I’ve been hung up on this question for a few days now. If a implies b, does not b imply not a. I have not been thinking about it all the time, but it’s been running around in my head every time something that reminds me of the question presents itself to me.

At first, I thought it was yes. For example, if all Hungarian sausages are spicy, does not spicy sausage mean not Hungarian? Yes. Or, if all Cretan are liars, does non-liar mean non-Cretan. I guess so. Then I watched Naked Lunch, and at the end, William Lee is expected to prove that he is a writer. So, if all writers have pens, does not having a pen mean not being a writer… no.

I don’t know why this question is even important, but apparently it says something about your dating personality. And I really wish I knew what it was.

The safe word is chrome polisher. And my toilet is choked.

This is Your Brain on Kafka.

The Christmas season arriving always brings about strange and most entertaining nights and days out. Nic had just gotten back to Sing after a trip around the UK and wanted to meet for a chat about  some film stuff on Friday night. I was just back from 2 hours at the gym and coming down Concerta (which is like Ritalin, but better) and wasn’t feeling in top shape to head out straight away, so we hung around for a couple of hours talking shit and chilling out. By the time we got to Clarke Quay at 2 a.m. there wasn’t very much left by way of entertainment … most of the expat population seemed to have left town to spend Christmas with their families and to enjoy a coked out New Years’. We went into Sluttica (always guaranteed amusement) for drinks and I ended up dancing on the electronic floor at 5 in the morning, trying to avoid drunks that looked terrible to start of with and looked even worse while drunk, desperate and dancing. The only thing I was doing was dancing. Nic however was intercepted by a Japanese girl at the bar, and refused to come and dance. Which was possibly a good thing. I wouldn’t know.

The club shut, we left, and there was some talk of where to head down to. The girl asked if we were a couple several times, and no amount of fervent denial would keep her from asking. She stayed with us though, with no intention to leave, that much was obvious. Nobody could suggest anywhere to go, and after a failed attempts to find anywhere sufficiently amusing, we headed back to my place. So we were all having a drink and talking about random things when we came to the topic of the girl’s love life. It turned out to be quite a bad idea, but I guess she wanted to talk about it, and kind of guided the conversation to that direction. I don’t know why most women don’t just go straight to the point. If they want to talk about their love lives, they should just do it.

I watched Fight Club last night, and there was this bit where Marla Singer finishes Edward Norton’s sentence after he says “When people think you’re dying, they really, really listen to you, instead of just.. Marla Singer ” instead of just waiting for their turn to speak.” Conversation with friends and strangers is just personal therapy, and important part of life, and it’s a pity when people can’t speak their minds to the ones they love the most. In fact, it is almost certain that a majority of people never do that, which is why love is a word that doesn’t agree with me.

She did not tell us much, but the basic thing was that her fiancee died. Then she started crying her eyes out. To be honest I don’t know what the fuck was going on. First she was talking about one of them cheating on the other, then she said he died. Whatever, it was weird. Nic said later that he thought it might have seemed a little creepy when we were handing her tissues and saying it was alright. Perhaps, but she started it. She calmed down and then asked if she could kiss Nic. I told her it was him she wanted to kiss, not me, they could do whatever the hell they wanted, I would encourage it. Then I went to the bathroom. When I came back she was on top of him and in her underwear. So they started making out and at some point all her clothes came off and I went into my bedroom to get condoms. I stuck them in Nic’s shirt pocket and gave him a yeah-go-for-it-baby, smile-smile, wink-wink. They started doing it on the couch and the girl asked me to take off my clothes, which I did. Unfortunately at the point I wasn’t particularly interested in getting it off with Nic, and she wasn’t particularly interested in getting off with me, so I went back to my room and decided it would be a good idea to take a photo.

It looks quite artistic when severely cropped and placed under Photoshop’s cut-out filter. Like the photo that was evidence of the time I got nuts and made Drake paint random shit from my tits to my crotch, the message was “MY EDEN” in psychedelic red , orange and yellow. with arrows and circles. It was like… Tasteful…man… In a way only contemporary, post-society, post-everything type of art can possibly be.

She left at 7, and we went to the sauna. It made me feel really good. Especially after dipping into the pool. I don’t get to see early mornings that often, so it was a treat.

To be continued in another post…..

Funnily enough it took me half and hour to draw and 2 hours to prep it up in Photoshop. WTF.

beautifulstranger2

Tim Walker

16 Dec
2009

I was looking at Aquascutum’s recent ad campaigns and came across Tim Walker. His photographs are quirky, between the epic diorama and the personal vignette. Very fucking cute.

Fashion photographer Tim Walker doesn’t seem to belong to the world of you or me. He’s a Peter Pan, a daydreamer, a fantasist. His pictures are mirages, telling stories conjured directly from an imagination that most of us left behind in childhood. Looking at Tim’s photographs is like following the white rabbit into a world where elephants are painted blue, horses are dusted lilac, paintings come to life and pretty girls with Thirties faces are transformed into marionettes or abandoned princesses.

Hermes 2009 and Beds on Cars:

hermes

bedsoncars

Closing the case.

15 Dec
2009

Ooh lala, who is Parov Stelar? 1930’s jazz remixed with electro beats, and Lilja Bloom? Oh my lord. All my favourite things. Jazz, electro and etheral female vocals.

I finally had a nice chat with this Finn I met online yesterday. He offered me a ticket to the Fusion festival next year, which means now I have no bloody excuse not to go, and seeing as how I wanted to go this year and didn’t, I can’t miss it next summer. If things work out, it will be summer long raves. I miss Europe so much already…

Also Klara is coming down in Feb to visit, she was one of the l girls I was in Budapest with. She’s pretty awesome. She told me her mother plays the recorder for a living, which is kind of a weird thing to do as a job, and I’m still jealous over her find of vintage porn in well-preserved leather suit case during the District 6 trash day. I told her there wasn’t very much to do in Sing, and she said we don’t have to do anything, just get pissed and snog men. She’s hilarious, definitely one of the weirder ones.

Anyway Zouk Out was a great deal of fun for me until the next day when I realized I upset this guy I was seeing non-seriously (like everything else in my life right now, it’s the season damn it, everything is fucked until New Year’s). I felt kind of bad about it, but to be honest I thought it was fine. I was in my bikini top and g-string, it was a beach party. I felt appropriately dressed. The whole thing is kind of bizarre in my books. He suggested to me that it would be better if I wasn’t so, I don’t know what was the word he used, crazy, or loud, or something like it. Sweeter, more feminine, I don’t know. I felt my entire being just recoil at the thought. I spent all my life experimenting precisely so I will NOT BE THAT. Think, less angel more wild jungle animal, you get the concept of how I view myself.

I just can’t believe I was so stupid. I mean it was obvious I was way too out there for him. But it was fun while it lasted… I guess…and that’s what matters. He was different in all sorts of ways from me and what I was used to, and it was refreshing. Anyway enough. Time to close the case and file it away.

Goodnight.

Crucifiction AIX

14 Dec
2009

Random drawing on a Friday night to keep myself occupied and my mind of partying, just to save my mojo for the rave tomorrow. More exploration in different styles I could go with illustration. I need to work on my imagination :-/

crucifiedvoid

This damnest thing.

13 Dec
2009

Desire is a sneaky little thing that creeps up on you. An addiction that takes hold of your nerves, wrecks havoc with the electrical wiring in you head and before you know it you’re scared as shit because you don’t know why this is happening to you. The most nerve-wrecking thing about desire is it’s silence. The most tedious it’s dependency on things beyond your control. It’s blind spots. One day the person turns around and slaps you in the face; you do it to other people, and other people do it back to you. Living can be a business that is scary as shit sometimes.

Anyway. Whatever. I think I should learn to accept my feelings more and stop denying that they exist. Just because they are triggered by a combination of chemicals in your bloodstream doesn’t make them any less valid. Seems simple… but so difficult to accept…

The geo-metric properties of your body,
I Adore.
Plane, lines, angles and points,
To Explore.

Your voice is harshness,
Not Articulated.
Your thoughts are idealogy,
Not illusion.

Your arms reach out to stroke,
My Desire,
Your hands, soaked in vinegar, upon my reality,
Set Fire.

The Trojan horse that is,
Your Insecurity,
Has sacked my trust, so Fuck,
Your Intellectual Amorality.

Perhaps I should find a new,
Unconscious Fantasy,
Someone less value- laden,
Completed Apostasy.

You have drained the Sea of Stories,
Unbridled imagination,
Has turned into a wasteland filled with,
Supermarket propaganda.

But as the world suffocates,
As it burns,
You persist in seeking your,
Platonic Ideals.

And I remain attempting, to find,
Them,
In You.

The Mad Hatter.

10 Dec
2009

I just wanted to get the lips and the eyes. And the big red flower. He just keeps staring, and staring back at me.

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