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psychogeography was defined as “the study of the precise laws and specific effects of the geographical environment, consciously organized or not, on the emotions and behaviour of individuals.” don’t take that definition too seriously though, which is to say don’t misconstrue the use of “precise laws” and “specific effects” as some kind of scientific method. psychogeography is in fact quite the opposite. also, and this can’t be understated, this definition was put forth by the self proclaimed leader of the “situationist international” guy debord. an earlier situationist, ivan chtcheglov, defined the substance of psychogeography this way, “It must be sought in the magical locales of fairy tales and surrealist writings: castles, endless walls, little forgotten bars, mammoth caverns, casino mirrors.” the combination of the two might be closest to the truth.

this definition i found out there in cyberspace comes closest to one block radius’ intentions i think: psychogeography is the active search for, and celebration of, chance and coincidence, concurrently with the divination of patterns and repetitions thrown up by the [meeting/collision] of the chaos and structures of cities, personal histories and interpretations. It is based on the technique of the dérive, an informed and aware wandering, with continuous observation, through varied environments. It can be sought and can lead anywhere.” i think most new yorkers, whether realizing they were engaging in a high minded exercise in conceptual art, or not, have done this. just going out for no good reason, following their feet, and feeling something. 

if you have no idea who the situationists were you are not alone. i’m only aware of them because 8 years ago or so i worked in a bookstore and was often bored out of my mind- the perfect conditions for casually devouring books you don’t care about on subjects you’ve never heard of. in any case the situationists might be described as the ultimate “youngest sibling” art movement, trying to out-dada the dadaists, and out-surreal the surrealists, rejecting everything. in my estimation they were on the whole beyond any acceptable limit of pretension and purveyors of some of the finest grandiose, revolutionary, anarchist, yet simultaneously vague, opaque, and uninviting conceptual art ever ignored by the rest of humanity. their bread and butter was, as evidenced by their monicker, “the situation,” which might be thought of as the precursor to the dreaded and embarrassing “happening,” not to mention, dare i say it, the retarded “flash mob.” they also made picture books. none of which is to say they are not interesting in their own way. i enjoyed the book what is situationism, a reader when i read it, and i am no fan of conceptual art. if you

do

like conceptual art you’ll totally dig the situationists. if the phrase “totally dig” makes you cringe and start spouting words like bourgeois and proletariat you will also totally dig the situationists. personally i’ve found writing about the situationists more interesting than writing by the situationists (guy debord’s society of the spectacle excepted).

in any case, this one block radius project is well worth checking out. from a conceptual standpoint especially. i think anyone who has ever haunted certain blocks in new york will instantly appreciate what they are trying to do. i don’t think it’s entirely successful, but they are still working on it, and it may very well be that it’s the presentation that keeps it from resonating as much as it might. i’d like to see more contextual relationships between pieces of content. each piece is too singular, too removed as it is now. it’s hard to feel the ephemeral aspects of a city block, or to make the connections and random associations necessary to invoke the real dérive experience when everything is separated. all that aside, thumbs up.

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it’s hard to imagine what it must have been like when the sun was a totally mysterious unknown quantity. just some impossible to fathom crazy hot white light in the sky. why is it blinding to look at? what the hell is it? where did it come from? why does it move across the sky? will it be back tomorrow? sure is cold when it’s not around… hope it comes back tomorrow!

every culture has in its origins a creation myth concerning that dependable equal opportunity god sol, and they are without exception fascinating. They are particularly fascinating when you force yourself to remember they are not simply ancient versions of goodnight moon. solar folklore puts it this way: “as you read these, remember they were not stories created to entertain, nor were they written for children. these myths, legends, and tales represent their culture’s worldview, a peoples’ attempt to explain, understand, and come to grips with nature’s phenomena.” they didn’t have the benefit of soho after all.

eggs rising from water to hatch hawk headed mutants, human sacrifices, ropes made of human hair, beating stars with a magic jawbones, guys with three eyes and four arms, riding the sky in chariots drawn by seven mares…  the things our wacky pagan, pantheistic, heathen, forbearers came up with! and to top it all off, the sun as a god! The sun! Not like now when we know the truth that anything which can’t grow a beard can not be worshiped as god- not a star, not nature, not woman.

I can’t help but wonder: why does knowing that the sun is in fact a massive nuclear reaction, the fusion of hydrogen nuclei into helium nuclei, put it in the theocratic dog-house? It’s still

plenty fucking impressive and mysterious, not to mention It’s still the very thing which makes all life on this planet possible. Why do we insist on anthropomorphizing our fears in order to find a suitable target for our worship? It’s exhibits a huge lack of imagination. If you can make the leap to believe in and worship something imaginary, why not use some imagination like our heathen ancestors? They could really cook up some good ones, and what do our modern god lovers prefer? Some often inattentive though usually downright abusive dude. Some guy. If you can’t make the leap to believe in an elephant headed manta ray with 12 nostrils that showers orange seminal fluid over a 900,000 mile wide ping pong ball afloat in a sea of squid ink, then why believe in anything

un-seeable? Why must you hedge your bets with bearded men?

I say, if you are so self hating and scared that you feel you absolutely must prostrate yourself before something, let it be something that 1) exists, 2) let me say that again,

exists

, and 3) let it be something whose power and glory effects the destiny of humanity, (or hell, forget humaniy’s destiny and let it be somethinng that just effects your day) like oh I don’t know, the sun… or a woman. But that’s just my opinion on this rainy sunless day… will it be back tomorrow? sure is cold when it’s not around… hope it comes back tomorrow.

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the idea that fountain was proclaimed more influential than les demoiselles d’avignon or guernica strikes some as odd. but why? look around you. the choice could have been nothing else. from the strictly intellectual nature of the work, to the lack of dexterous talent needed for it’s creation, to the oh-so-clever inherent irony, to the effect of nullifying critical parameters, to the faux-revolutionary stance, to the very slick coldness of the porcelain itself: this piece of art managed to accomplish exactly what it’s creator wanted, even if it took 87 years for it to be made official, even if the artist himself had long since given up on creating art as a futile persuit- the “bourgeois” art world with all it’s standards, it’s premiums on beauty and skill, was torn down simply by casting the whole thing as somehow passe, or not modern. well- mission accomplished. but here’s the thing, duchapm’s “revolutionary” art is in one way at least exactly like a true, violent, pitchforks and torches revolution… it only lasts for a day after which the revolution is over. the revolutionaries are now the aristocracy, and news to the dukes and duchesses, a duchamp can only be done once.

coincidentally the book which i mentioned a week or so back, “the end of art” by donald kuspit dwells for a chapter or two on duchamp, so i thought with this announcement it’s fitting to offer up just a few bits of it.

on duchamp’s intentions:

“the readymade is usually regarded as tongue-in-cheek and ironical, but it’s import is clearly nihilistic, for both the spectator and the artist. it not only illustrates duchamp’s belief in the absurdity and futility of the judgment of posterity- his belief that no final verdict can be passed on the artist, which is what the spectator believes he does when he experiences and judges art aesthetically- but his belief that art itself is absurd and futile, for it never adequately realizes the artist’s intention and may even misrepresent it.”

“while duchamp recognizes the inevitability of aesthetic judgment, he wants to dispense with it, for the posterity it promises is beside the immediate subjective point of creativity. it is too much a matter of consciousness, which invariably uses currently fashionable ideas to cut the subjective work of art down to social size, thus forcing it into a procrustean bed of conventional objective consciousness.”

if any of that is indeed on target then it’s actually pretty funny that the establishment would judge his work and proclaim it “the most influential” in the eyes of posterity, that his anti-fashion ideals would of course become the fashion. haha. it’s great. it’s like spitting is his eye or like what hicks said about jesus returning and seeing everyone wearing crosses. anyhow…

on the results, or taking this intellectual stance as gospel at the expense of aesthetics:

“in a post-aesthetic art world the work of art becomes a bully pulpit, and the artist tries to bully the spectator into believing what the artist believes. he becomes a self righteous bully preaching to us about what we already know- the ugliness and injustice of the world- without offering any aesthetic, contemplative alternative to it. indeed, the aesthetic, the contemplative, and the beautiful are bad words in the artist’s “revolutionary” vocabulary… social criticism is no doubt a noble cause, and changing the world for the better no doubt a heroic enterprise, but it is far from clear that art is effective at both. the artist is not exactly the best person to educate us to the realities of the world nor the best person to help us endure and even overcome our suffering.”

“the division between reason and sense haunts modern art, a split that undermines it from within, eventually destroying it- pulling it apart into factions… this unbalanced situation, which is evident in modern art from the beginning… is as entropic as it is creative. in the history of modern art the entropic becomes dominant, the the extent that modern art increasingly seems like a failure of creative nerve, or rather, more pointedly, creative imagination and creative intuition come to be beside its point. creative imagination is replaced by a pandering to everyday social interests, usually stripped of their affective resonance and existential implications- their human dimension. art becomes a way of getting an ideological message across much the way, for plato, myth was a way of making the truth comprehensible to the simple-minded masses, or at least putting it in a hyperbolic narrative form that turned it into a spectacle that would hypnotize them into believing they in fact were in possession of it.”

“in post aesthetic art the idea is raw and intellectually and emotionally undigested, and there is little or no art. nuance and subtlety are expendable; the message is all, and it is ultimately a self righteous one, calling for a new conformity and simplicity in its conception of the social truth. indeed the simpler the message the better, for a simple message is easier to communicate to the masses than a delicately complex one. ideas become slogans- banner headlines- in ideological art, if it can still be called art. for it seems more like a poor cousin of the mass media, lacking both their slickness and outreach…”

these might not be the best snippets, out of direct context with the rest of the book they might all sound exceptionally dark and cynical, but i think you get the point. we find ourselves in this place, and in our totally clueless assinine way we’ve officially canonized a new patron saint of our mediocrity. one who would have despised us.

in any case i’d like to congratulate mr. duchamp on all the effort it took to sign a piece of trash and thus supply us with the perfect symbol of our oh-so-clever art world, though i’m sure he’ll have a difficult time hearing me over his own howling laughter and squeals of “checkmate! checkmate!”

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