e_jectamenta
In 1877, Charles E. Courtney rolled up the sleeves of his classic white tee, perched on an armchair, and with his smoldering gaze lit a fire that could take even James Dean to task.
The original Rebel Without a Cause is courtesy of the NYPL’s Digital Gallery
So… the earliest work on your site, Qrime, was the first to show your current style and palette of black, white, and red. Is this something you plan to stick with for a long time?
I’m not necessarily planning to stick with anything for a long time, but maybe I should explain my reasons for using the three colors. I think of the colors not necessarily as colors, but as elements. If you have black and white flashing back and forth, it is very annoying, but it creates a distinct feeling. Black is the darkest level and white is the lightest. That’s the flashiest thing you can see. When you have black and white right next to each other, that’s your maximum contrast. Everything is defined as much as possible. Then, when you have red, it creates a feeling that is overwhelming. I like that very raw feeling: the tension and the balance in the colors.
—from Pixelsurgeon’s interview with Motomichi Nakamura
Background Reading/Visuals:
Nakamura’s video for The Knife’s “We Share Our Mother’s Health” (Ratatat remix, far better than original)
Go ahead & make my Valentine’s day. Nothing says love like a little bit of Motown.
(Smokey Robinson & the Miracles, “Your Really Got a Hold on Me” live)
I’d go hide on the promenade & etch a postcard but moody introspection doesn’t come easy when it’s 60° and sunny in February. Nonetheless:
“Every Day is Like Sunday” - Morrissey
Art commentary appears to be drowning in its own language.
…
Books about topics as esoteric as quantum chromodynamics can still express ideas so transparently that even I can follow them. None I have read defies comprehension quite as wilfully as Carolyn Guertin’s essay, ‘Wanderlust: The Kinesthetic Browser in Cyberfeminist Space’, much of which reads like this: ‘The shuffling and unfolding of the information of her body in sensory space is enacted across a gap or trajectory of subjecthood that is multiple and present. Subjectivity is the lens and connector through which the spatio-temporal dislocation gets focused and bridged. The gap is outside vision – felt not seen – and always existing on the threshold in between nodes. Like the monster’s subjectivities, all knots in the matrix are linked.’
At this point readers may wonder what, exactly, a ‘gap or trajectory of subjecthood’ is – and why it’s both ‘multiple’ and ‘present’. They may also wonder why this should be preferable to, or different from, one that is multiple while absent, or singular while absent. Or singular while present. Alas, nowhere in Guertin’s essay are any answers forthcoming. Those who follow her work will see that an awful lot is asserted and countless names are dropped, but very little is comprehensible. It does, however, sound terribly impressive, as if it ought to mean something.
Imagine for a moment that you’re a first-year student, eager to impress. Are you going to be first in the class to raise your hand and ask whether your professor is mouthing utter bollocks?
(from Eye Magazine’s blog post “Art Bollocks is Everywhere You Look”)
