On Mon, 7 Jul 1997, Bracha
Lichtenberg - Ettinger wrote: "Let me try to add a kernel, a drop...."
***** Yes, an art whose radiant singularity topples the
strongholds of capital-commodity, and ranges over, through, and past the
dead objects which Art can become. But even against weak art, there is
not much
the "market" can do to hold back its flickers of resitance and
inventions - the rare moments of creation always show and hover.
Even when the arts are weak there is resistance, this mystery Lyotard
speaks of, this radiance which induces a vision, a swoon in the production
of the painting and poems of the visonary and visioned artist. And it
is there that the break occurs that the god might speak and say to the
painter you will See the other side. The other side of a border
space which hurtles to the future, and like an image of what cannot be
known through memory or creation, then a Vison would come, radiant and
speaking a word not known to the crowds of bodies on the streets of the
great cities, the melee.
=09And the price is high for artist as she sees and speaks across the
void, her own radiant wounds become the gold upon which the space is made.
Andthe border is a metaphor of wounds, and through the wounds the new
invented spaces are opened up, and the new ones, the nomads will pour
through. Like horses never seen or heard and guitars, voices and dreams
speaking. Some unconscious factory wherein production and desire churn and
bend the material into shape (the desire machines humming), and what is
required of the artist is a fabulous legendary discipline. So the art
which emerges, is the listener to the voice that cannot be heard without
the utmost attention. And this which listens is also the wound, and the
blessing which creates. This cannot be less than the star which brightly
burns in Art. This burning which is given and seen and pulled
from the wound, and via this stepping across the stone, over the Stone of
pain, there is something left and made; what is given, an emergent sun;
like even its darkest places of memory and misery. It becomes the riant
radiant space of joy where the viewer and artist meet in a vision of Her
who cannot be
named, and if we look back at her, when moving up those stairs from the
underworld she vanishes. And the figure who goes to meet Her knows this.
He knows it, it is He who speaks it, calls it, call it the
unconscious which speaks back to Him. The sign of Cain and his unknown and
un-named Sister, but they have names elsewhere. And the silent air, the
allegory which speaks their name, is the very trembling air they create
when the words stand=20
against the formless shapeless chaos of creation, and then the matrix
radiates and peals forth its visual desire. Point elsewhere always,
elsewords to itself and outside. And when that limit is reached, that is
the place which exceeds any knowing, then the Vision occurs also. And the
artist is also healed by her borderspaces, as the word also heals the
worker in words. Even Virgil could not show them that space if they did
not already know it.
=09Haunted as they are they cannot be brought forth on the pillory,
the state of culture, but they invent its very means of existence. They
are the producers off flood lines, and richness, wealth and bodies which
explore the ends of the veins of art. And this cannot be taken back by the
appropriative techniques of the socius.
=09So they remain creating and inventing the mysterious unspoken
weavers of spheres beyond the splits of consumer and producer, artist and
viewer, poet and auditor, lover and beloved.
=09***** Clifford Duffy **** "A word which speaks in the veil of
morning and laughter"
=09Bracha-Lichtenberg Ettinger wrote:
" But at the same time, there is a
resistance
> in art, there is this kernel (when there is this kernel, it is not always
> the case, it is even rare), which does not fight even
> the question of commodity because, it is beside it and not opposite to
it. It
> is on another sphere. And the notion of matrixial borderspace tries indee=
d
> to capture or suggest something of this sphere. So Lyotard's point is, th=
at
> under whatever circumstances, some art by its own strength and mystery
> radiates its singularity, and it is this part that deserves the name art.
> This singularity, or "presence" demand nothing. This singularity which
> can't become object of social exchange and commodity, the artist pays for
> it, but in a different way. And I quote Lyotard from "Doctor and Patient"
> (edited by the amazing Viktor and Olessia) Forgive me those who don't kn=
ow
> French, my translation would be too poor, I leave it in the original):
> "Ceci seul est certain pour le peintre...c'est qu'il paie l'oeuvre au pri=
x
> de ce qu'il est, de son esprit et de son corps tels qu'ils apparaissent e=
t
> s'apparaissent, donn=E9s, identifiables. Il lui faut se laisser venir
> jusqu'au seuil de ce qui l'exc=E8de."
> " retomb=E9es " - tous objets de calcul et mati=E8re =E0 bilan"=20
>=20
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>=20