Wednesday, October 09, 2013
Tuesday, October 08, 2013
Saturday, January 12, 2013
It takes many forms and it inherently can and should take new forms, forms we have not seen even if the underlying structure of written grammar is hard to, possibly incapable of, change. Structure at that level is in the black box, preventing any form of direct observation.
Of course, confidence in my personal ability to create new forms is elusive, but considering new forms, trying to notice work that could be or could lead to new forms, that's a worthy effort. Considering my own efforts to find a new form is worth something.
Film, the visual approach to communication, is one area to observe. Script-based or not, film is a sufficiently complicated attempt to communicate that it obviously holds the potential for new forms of writing.
Any attempt to bring existing techniques from one genre of writing and apply them to another genre could lead to new forms. Bringing techniques from literary fiction and applying them to anthropological writing is where I started with this project. What I learned from that attempt is worth a post or two.
Looking toward the future, considering the effects of social development and evolution, and hoping for change lead, in themselves, to the possibility. This makes science fiction of abiding interest, even though the participants in the genre itself often despise change as much as anyone else does.
Comics, another attempt to combine words and images, still retains the promise of new forms of writing, though belief in this potential has ebbed in since the end of the 20th century.
At the root of the desire to consider new forms of writing is the problem of knowledge. In archaeology, the field works ceaselessly to uncover artifacts. From the fields perspective, this work is incomplete until the material unearthed is rigorously examined, interpreted and results published. The field as a whole publishes at a rate far behind what excavation provides and demands. The field is then at risk of retreating, receding and ultimately disappearing. It's possible that outside, relatively uninformed, interest in the field and desire for its results is all that is keeping it going at this point. A proper appreciation within the field for what efficient publication, and possibly new forms of writing, could do to revitalize it and to put their fate back in their own hands is lacking. How can we articulate this?
Thursday, January 03, 2013
It was Wednesday, hands down in a sink of refuse that the thought occurred to me:
It‘s time to open the studio up again.
I know, I know - It’s so far away and the place is likely in total disrepair at this point.
Broken windows. Bird nests in the rafters. Mold in the basement.
And, really, all of the damage and neglect is not on top of a long functioning institution, it’s what’s left of a start up that barely began before it was abandoned. But still my mind goes back the promise of the studio, of what could have been. And I wonder if anything that could have been could still happen.
I put a back pack of supplies together, decide which is my best pair of walking boots and catch a bus to the turnoff south of the highway. It’s a long walk to the studio. I don’t know why I put it in such a remote location. Sticking to my vision I suppose - up where eagles dwell lies the thin air of concentration and clarity. Above and away from the noise and smell of life actually lived.
And maybe that was where things went so wrong. Right at the beginning in the initial design of the place: removing oneself from life to comment on it. Going to an unreachable location to get any work done was bound to be unsustainable.
I’m thinking all of this while I’m still standing at the turn off. It’s a long walk there, so I better get going. Here I go.