Tuesday, October 30, 2007

I found it!

I had been trying to find this quote for something blog-related a few weeks ago with no luck. And now that I'm looking for a different quote (something about God's touch, or breath, or share in poetry -- I believe it was by Gide, but I first read it as referenced by Cocteau -- can anyone help?), I stumbled back across this one. I have no idea what context I was planning on using it in, so mull and ponder to whatever end your heart desires...

"Listen carefully to first criticisms made of your work. Note just what it is about your work that critics don't like - then cultivate it. That's the only part of your work that's individual and worth keeping." ~Jean Cocteau

EDIT: It was God's share, I found it. But feel free to ponder Cocteau anyway. Hell, since I found it, feel free to ponder Gide as well:

"Before I explain my book to others, I expect them to explain it to me. To claim to explain it first is to immediately narrow down its reach; for if we know what we intended to say, we do not know whether we said only that. - One always says more than THAT. - And what interests me most is what I put in without knowing, - that unconscious share, which I would like to call God's share." ~Andre Gide

P.Rekk
2007

Monday, October 29, 2007

Overhead on the Morning Commute

"...and blood magic is, y'know, prohibitive."
"Well, yeah, that's what it is. Plus, it's usually considered a little questionable. Ethically."
"It is?"
"Blood magic? Oh yeah..."

P.Rekk
2007

Friday, October 26, 2007

This is just a Tribute...

In lieu of the recent "what constitutes art" discussion taking place around the Chicago theatrical blog-stituency, I feel that I should be putting something up here. After all, the discussion has pretty much defined itself as me and Bob pitted against Don and Tony, and I'm the only one yet to contribute on my blog proper.

But for once in my life, I don't have any manifesto to provide (Aside from perhaps that, no, elephants cannot create art, Don. Dolphins and higher primates are a little hazier and could provide for some interesting research. But I digress...) I've contributed plenty to the discussions elsewhere, and will continue to do so as long as those discussions continue, but it's all feeling blindly in the dark for the answer to an unanswerable question. I'm enjoying it, but I've got no interest in structuring the discussion myself.

So instead, I'm simply going to provide a tribute to the artists I take inspiration from, a list which sort of places my position in the argument into context. I'm sure that Don and Tony, as well as anyone else on their side of the fence, might very easily find artists they enjoy on this list. It isn't meant to be contrarian or to oppose their viewpoint. These are simply and truly the artists that place hope for the possibilities of their (respective) forms in me. Consider it Paul Rekk deconstructed.


  • Marcel Duchamp: Here's the big guy himself, the go-to guy for all of these discussions. Fountain is the final destination of all 'what is art?' conversations. And there's a good reason I have "R.Mutt 1982" tattooed on my back.

  • Rene Magritte: Continuing the tattoo thread -- "Ceci n'est pas un Bries." spans my side, to soon be joined by "Ceci n'est pas un Adam." and "Ceci n'est pas un Paul." The last time I was in the Art Institute, I was next to a elderly couple as they went, baffled, from Dali's Venus de Milo with Drawers to Magritte's On The Threshold Of Liberty. They saw me enjoying it and the lady asked why. Taken off guard, I muttered something about it being a picture of our world from the mindset that anything imagined can also exist. And, oddly enough, it apparently helped her approach the work tremendously. Dali, Miro, and Tanguy are great, but Magritte brings it out of our minds and into our homes.

    • Jean-Luc Godard: The greatest of all filmmakers, not because of what he does but because of what he wants to do. I'm one of the rare types who enjoy early, mid, and late period Godard equally as much (what I've been able to see, at least). From Breathless to Weekend, from Prenom Carmen to L'Origine du XXleme siecle, Godard knows there's new ground to be broken at every turn and, more importantly, that breaking it is a lifelong process.

    • Georges Perec: Continuing the 'greatest' thread: the greatest writer of the 20th century, in the short list for greatest ever. Yes, there's A Void, his most popular work, in which the constraint is by now unfortunately better known than the work itself. But the dealmaker is Life A User's Manual -- just reading the maze Perec placed in front of himself to write it is exhausting to me as a writer. The fact that he came through on top and dragged with him an epic of minutiae is nothing short of genius.

    • Christo and Jeanne-Claude: Christo and Jeanne-Claude have repeatedly done what few other abstract artists (hell, artists in general) can do -- get Joe Everyman to not only see their work, but to create an informed opinion of it. Seek out the Maysles Brothers' light-handed documentaries on Christo's work to see this in action. (The one on The Gates opens at the Music Box one week from today!) The masses may choose to watch reality TV and read US Weekly, but that doesn't mean they can't, won't, or don't want to consider other, more divisive, work. Remind me to blog someday about the time, less than a year ago, I discussed aesthetics with a class of small-town Iowa high school sophomores.

    • John Cage: I mean, his "Organ²/ASLSP" began performance in a church in Halberstadt, Germany in 2001 and is scheduled to last 639 years! One performance! For serious? That's fucking amazing. And Halberstadt, Germany is actually quite high on my list of places to visit, solely because of Cage. The next musical event in the piece (a new chord) will be on July 5, 2008. Who wants to take in a little Cage with me next summer?

    • Samuel Beckett: Yes, maybe it's an obvious one, but I'm not about to start name-dropping Godot and Endgame. Some of the best work Beckett ever did was some of his earliest. I'm not quite sure that he ever topped Murphy, Watt, or Molloy.

    • Jean Cocteau: Don't be surprised by the inclusion of a little lyricism on this list. I'm not just a steaming ball of transgression. Cocteau seemed to live in that line between reality and dreams, between life and death. Even better, he was able to show it to us. To everyone's surprise, it turned out to be extraordinarily simple, yet no one has been able to recreate it since.

    • Alejandro Jodorowsky and Fernando Arrabal: The Panic Movement will explode your mind and then play with all of the dirty, naughty pieces that it finds among the wreckage. You should probably be a little afraid to trust yourself in these artists' hands.

    • Alfred Jarry: The theatrical version of Duchamp. I don't understand why I like Jarry. I can't even follow Caeser Antichrist without the help of two or three translations to cross-reference. But goddamn if there ain't something marvelous there -- the man was possessed by an unnatural spirit, a spirit that has infused itself into the page.
    This is is by no means complete, and I may feel fit to add a second list (possibly one not of artists but of one-off works that give me the same inspiration). However, this is a pretty good start. And this list does a better job of describing my feelings towards art than any long and verbose credo that I could have come up with.

    Thoughts? Lists of your own? Comment that shit!

    P.Rekk
    2007

    Tuesday, October 23, 2007

    As easy as one, two, three.

    So I never blog-ficially shared the news: the Per Diem trinity is complete. Warmest welcomes to Lance Hall, the final piece of our puzzle. We had our first official meeting as a full company last night, and it was extremely productive. Look for all sorts of fun news and informations as things progress, and progress mightily!

    P.Rekk
    2007

    Friday, October 19, 2007

    A Play on a Train

    On my most recent ('recent' being used quite loosely here) writing project, I decided to go back to longhand. Early this year I had been working on a prose piece, which has been backburnered, that had been extremely difficult to slog through. I loved the results, but most of the time I found myself only writing a few sentences, maybe a paragraph, before nodding off. Part of the problem was the style of the piece. It's got some similarities to the automatic writing of the Surrealists, and that's not an easy place to get to, much less sustain. There were a few times when I hit a streak and would go, go, go; most times, however, I'd slowly dip into a writer's coma. If you're still curious about the results, they're still up at Bries' myspace page; the link is to the right. I jumped over to another project (bad habit, I know, but I've always got four or five in a certain stage of germination) that became more pressing -- I'd like to have it available as a Per Diem possibility -- and also decided to jump to longhand, as the dim glow of the laptop also probably isn't very conducive to consciousness.

    And it worked. I just finished the first draft of Peculiar Way. Well, I will have finished it soon. I've finished it in my head, but technically, I've got a bit of the final scene to actually put to paper yet. And of course, then I have to make the transfer to digital. But I consider it finished.

    I never wrote the post about my writing process that I always meant to, so here's the truncated version: My writing process has no definition -- and I'm struggling (not struggling... ehhh... curious, maybe?) to decipher how much of that is me still finding what works for me versus me just not having a specific style. Because I know it is a mix -- formal reinvention and exploring new grounds are a big part of my process. Many of my ideas begin as formal conceits which then get a story built around them. And I've begun to notice thematic similarities that are emerging within these works, despite the varying styles. The most obvious (to me) example is a sense of the circular. Most of my work ends where it begins, sometimes (borderline often) quite literally, even to the point of repeated scenes. I haven't put effort into figuring out why I do this, and to tell the truth, I don't plan on putting much effort into it at present. But I digress: no defined style, partially due to a lack of refinement, partially due to a refusal to stay in one place. That's me right now.

    And fitting with that, when I switched to longhand for Peculiar Way, I also naturally shifted my writing schedule ('schedule' being used quite loosely here). Portability is a blessing -- no longer did I do my writing at home in the evenings where my dim glow was awaiting. Nope, I always had that notebook with me, and the best time and place for a little inspiration seemed to be... on the train during rush hour coming home from work. Unlikely, perhaps, but 90% of this (albeit, short) play was written in a cramped, tired, and not particularly happy railway car. I hope it doesn't reflect.

    But despite its unfortunate birthing conditions, I'm quite keen on Peculiar Way. At least I'm keen on what it is in my mind; we'll see how I feel when I type it out. It's been a process of discovery (which isn't all that remarkable, I know -- the writing process should always be one of discovery) -- this will be the first time I dedicate a work to someone. I was a little way into the work when I realized that this story, sparked by a very minor scene in a Tarkovsky film, had evolved into a reflection on my relationship with one of my best friends from high school. And I've already said too much -- I hate discussing deeper readings of my work with any but a few intimate friends. Chalk it up to the journal aspect of having a blog. So it's a work that is close to me in a very specific way -- that's the official summation.

    A short play. Six scenes. Three radio, three intimately staged, about an astronaut and his loved ones during the days approaching his launch.

    The current idea running through my head is an inclusion of Peculiar Way in a Per Diem evening of radio and radio-esque plays. All things providing. Keep an ear to the ground -- or this blog.

    P.Rekk
    2007

    Thursday, October 18, 2007

    I remember when...

    ...I wrote on here about theatre and art and ideology and new ideas and all that fun intelligent-seeming stuff rathering than blathering therapeutically.

    Maybe I should try that again soon.

    P.Rekk
    2007

    Tuesday, October 16, 2007

    Thoughts of the Moment: A Diversionary Tactic

    There are rules to be followed in art. As an artist, are they your own rules, or are you following someone else's? Neither is incorrect.

    How often do you seek a change in rules? Some can live their lives on one set, others want a new game every time. Neither is incorrect.

    "No rules" is a set of rules. Anarchy is still a form of government.

    If someone is playing by a different set of rules than you expected, you can try to pick them up as you go and risk failing miserably or you can refuse to play and guarantee failure.

    You can fail as an audience member. Which isn't necessarily bad.

    A third option: You can try to change the rules. This is a place where things can get ugly or beautiful in a hurry. And the consequences are yours to deal with.

    The artist and the audience are equally complicit in this relationship. A bad experience on either end can rarely be blamed solely on the other party. Give what you want to get.

    P.Rekk
    2007