…and other Fluxus artists too!

Ushering in the holiday season, the talented artists of Fluxus Music bring you their own cover of the Xmas classic “All I Want For Christmas Is You“. As a part of their “Real Live Vol. 7 Winter Special“, Fluxus released the MV for this song, which includes the vocalists of Clazziquai, Winterplay, U&Me Blue, W&Whale, ByeByeSea, Park Ki-young, and Yi Seung-yol.

It’s always nice to get a break from all the idol craze, and just get some pure and simple vocal power.

Here is also the Real Live spot for the Christmas season concerts~

Merry Christmas POPSEOULers!

L Magazine directed me to a Wall Street Journal article about performance art by James Franco. The man has two MFAs, and I know that he has been involved in the art scene so I was excited to get to read a piece by him.

I found his recent stint on General Hospital and his awareness of his character and himself with the layers of reality and performance this introduces to be interesting. He is James Franco playing Franco the artist on a soap opera where a special episode will be filmed in a New York gallery. Franco is aware of this play of characters and the audience perception of him in such a role.  This leads to a textural performance with so many different James Francos all in play at once.

His history of performance art is a great little introduction to the subject. I did object to Abramović’s quote: “If you bake some bread in a museum space it becomes art, but if you do it at home you’re a baker.” This is a naive grasp at best of art and situates performance art within a museum space which it has always seemed to fight. Kaprow’s Happenings and Fluxus events, the so-called golden age of performance art, were not predicated around assumed “museum spaces.”  Yes, context of space is important and adds to the discourse, but to render the question of “what is performance art?” down to such a simple distinction is dangerous. That argument may have worked years ago, but in a world where discussions about art and its contexts evolve constantly, its naive. Franco gets this with his immediate follow-up about playing the Green Goblin on set and in subway (far from what we would consider “museum space”), and how the subway performance would allow for “a host of possibilities [to] open up.”

The distinction that Franco introduces between the ephemeral performance and the filmed performance opens up the discourse of repetition via film and experience via a singular moment. The Fisherspooner piece at P.S. 1 highlights the public’s often negative perception of performance art. Much like Improv Everywhere’s work, Fisherspooner’s complaints that the audience wasn’t engaging with the music enough only later to find out that the languidness was all part of an art being filmed for a piece about a fictional musician. This filming and “hidden camera” work highlights an apprehension I have with pieces like this. I don’t feel that art is ever about tricking the audience: its about revealing something to the audience.

After reading this piece, I want to read more of what Franco has to say, let him really flex that dual MFA muscle and see what he has.

L Magazine directed me to a Wall Street Journal article about performance art by James Franco. The man has two MFAs, and I know that he has been involved in the art scene so I was excited to get to read a piece by him.

I found his recent stint on General Hospital and his awareness of his character and himself with the layers of reality and performance this introduces to be interesting. He is James Franco playing Franco the artist on a soap opera where a special episode will be filmed in a New York gallery. Franco is aware of this play of characters and the audience perception of him in such a role.  This leads to a textural performance with so many different James Francos all in play at once.

His history of performance art is a great little introduction to the subject. I did object to Abramović’s quote: “If you bake some bread in a museum space it becomes art, but if you do it at home you’re a baker.” This is a naive grasp at best of art and situates performance art within a museum space which it has always seemed to fight. Kaprow’s Happenings and Fluxus events, the so-called golden age of performance art, were not predicated around assumed “museum spaces.”  Yes, context of space is important and adds to the discourse, but to render the question of “what is performance art?” down to such a simple distinction is dangerous. That argument may have worked years ago, but in a world where discussions about art and its contexts evolve constantly, its naive. Franco gets this with his immediate follow-up about playing the Green Goblin on set and in subway (far from what we would consider “museum space”), and how the subway performance would allow for “a host of possibilities [to] open up.”

The distinction that Franco introduces between the ephemeral performance and the filmed performance opens up the discourse of repetition via film and experience via a singular moment. The Fisherspooner piece at P.S. 1 highlights the public’s often negative perception of performance art. Much like Improv Everywhere’s work, Fisherspooner’s complaints that the audience wasn’t engaging with the music enough only later to find out that the languidness was all part of an art being filmed for a piece about a fictional musician. This filming and “hidden camera” work highlights an apprehension I have with pieces like this. I don’t feel that art is ever about tricking the audience: its about revealing something to the audience.

After reading this piece, I want to read more of what Franco has to say, let him really flex that dual MFA muscle and see what he has.

FLYER FOR THE DO A JOBBY SHOW AT OFF CORSO ROTTERDAM 2005

Joseph Beuys, Manifesto, 1970. Alteration of George Maciunas’ Fluxus Manifesto, February 1963.
From 1. Karton, Edition Hundermark, Berlin 1970. 30 x 21 cm

Fluxus Collective Editions, 1963 – 1965

Fluxus Street Events, March – May 1964. Photograph by George Maciunas

Dick Higgins, Danger Music No.2, 1962. Performance at Fluxus Internationale Festspiele Neuester Musik, Wiesbaden 1962. Photograph by Hartmut Rekort

George Maciunas, Dick Higgins, Wolf Vostell, Benjamin Patterson & Emmett Williams performing Philip Corner’s Piano Activities at Fluxus Internationale Festspiele Neuester Musik, Weisbaden 1962. Photograph by Hartmut Rekort

Takeshia Kosugi, Anima I & Ben Vautier, Attaché de Ben & George Maciunas, Solo for Violin.
Simultaneous performance, May 23rd 1964, by Ben Vautier and Alison Knowles (not pictured) during “Fluxus Street Theatre” as part of “Fluxus Festival at Fauxhall” New York City. Photography by George Maciunas. 51 x 40.5 cm

La Monte Young, The Tortoise Droning Selected Tigers From the Holy Numbers for the Two Black Tigers, The Green Tiger and the Hermit, from: The Tortoise, His Dreams and Journeys.
Performed 1964 at the Pocket Thetare, New York. From left; Tony Conrad, Marian Zazeela, La Monte Young and John Cale.  Photo by George Maciunas

Fluxus is not: a movement, a moment in history, an organization. Fluxus is: an idea, a kind of work, a tendency, a way of life, a changing set of people who do Fluxworks -Dick Higgins.

Taken from the Latin word meaning “to flow”, the origins of Fluxus began in the early 1960s with Lithuanian born George Maciunas (1931 – 1978) who’s ideology quickly attracted a large network of artists, composers and designers who continue to express his extraordinary vision in the manifestation of anti-art, encompassing everything from music, photography, sculpture, installation, publications and pavement art to poetry and drama.

Beginning with a series of festivals featuring concerts of new experimental music and other avant-garde performance, Fluxus artists reacted against the commodity status of art, its commercialization in the gallery system, and its static presentation in traditional institutions. They often rejected the concept of artistic genius and single authorship in favor of a collective spirit and a collaborative practice.

Fluxus compositions or scores for performances and events involve simple actions, ideas, and objects from everyday life. Some scores, such as those in George Brecht’s Water Yam (1972), were printed on cards and then packaged into plastic boxes and sold as inexpensive multiples. These scores call for open-ended actions and events that can be performed by anyone at any time in any place. Also on view is Yoko Ono’s Invitation to Participate in a Water Event, in which she invited people to bring containers to her 1971 exhibition. These vessels were filled with water, displayed in the show, and labeled as collaborative works of art.

Sometimes a documentation or artifact from a Fluxus event became a work of art, a material presence that referred to an absent action or previous performance. Alison Knowles’ Journal of the Identical Lunch (1971), documents her ritual noontime performances at a New York diner with various artists and friends. In Dick Higgins’ ongoing series, The Thousand Symphonies, he composes musical scores with bullet holes and paint on sheet music. The result is both a documentation of the artist’s action and a work of visual art.

Incorporating musical compositions, concrete poetry, visual art, and writing, Fluxus performances embody Higgins’ idea of “intermedia”- a dialogue between two or more media to create a third, entirely new art form. Fluxus performance also incorporates actions and objects, artists and non-artists, art and everyday life in an attempt to find something “significant in the insignificant.” The influence of this highly experimental, spontaneous, often humorous form of performance art prevailed through the 1970s and has been rediscovered by a younger generation of artists working today.

___

Fluxus

Thomas Kellein : George Maciunas : Jon Hendricks

Thames & Hudson

1995

___

Fluxus

Thames & Hudson

B

The aprons are DONE! They need fragile, feminine names.

I have to work on my Fluxus paper. I have the first page almost done and the bibliography is done…maybe.

I was reading ‘This Is Modern Art’ (Matthew Collings) and i came across this

I really like this! Manzoni was a punk before punk!!!

L.

I’m telling you now… you ain’t never heard anything like THIS before…

James Alaska is one of the most marvelous people I’ve ever met. He’s also one of the most persistent musical train spotters I have ever known. In metaphorical terms, his beard of knowledge has grown to such gargantuan proportions that sometimes in bad weather, light aircraft attempt to set down on it. His love of disco knows no bounds and for this, I must salute him. Having played storming sets as a resident at Magnet in the late nineties he then went on to deliver repeated nights of musical passion as one half of the Love Thy Neighbour duo James Shakti & Stuart Principal, between 2001 and 2006 in various salubrious venues in London.

James has now arrived in another age of musical knowledge, having recently completed an MA in Sonic Art, he’s now creating music compositions as part of experimental electronicists Vlk and The Alaska None. The beard situation has worsened. Now, on top of the impromptu run-downs of Chic catalogue numbers and release dates, we are blessed with further knowledge about the source of sound itself. Its bloody mind boggling – so I thought I’d share… brace yourselves.

What we have here is a 10 minute edit of MFSB’s Love is The Message by James (the full piece is a whole 19 minutes long!) called Paradise Dust. If you’re expecting disco, please readjust your head, but consider first that this was generated from disco – from the very essence of our dear godfather of groove Larry Levan:

And here’s what James has to say about his composition – yes, it’s an essay, but if you’re into vinyl, disco, Levan and a bit of musical philosophy, then you should probably trim your beard, grab yourself a cup of tea and settle down to a story. A story about how James found Larry, and Larry found James…

Inspired by the spirit of Gavin Bryars’ ‘The Sinking of The Titanic’ (1969), the composition ‘Paradise Dust’ explores issues surrounding the vinyl record as a sonic medium, cultural artefact and physical object, in relation to the themes of music and memory, decay, and the passage of time.

The piece is part homage to Larry Levan, widely cited as the most influential DJ of all time, who died age 38 in 1992. The piece utilises a vinyl copy of ‘Love is The Message’ by MFSB, which I sampled only after allowing it to be covered with a thick coating of dust; the final, locked groove left playing until the stylus lost touch with the vinyl. I also utilise field recordings made at 84 King Street, SoHo, New York; a site of central importance for the city’s underground dance music scene in the late 1970s and 80s, where the Paradise Garage once stood. Here Levan inspired “an unparalleled reverence” in his devotees – the club’s 15,000 or so members, dancers and fellow DJs.

Larry Levan began DJing in 1971 at the age of 16, but it was at the Paradise Garage from 1977 to 1987 that he had a profound impact of the development of DJing as an art form. Levan lived and worked at the Paradise Garage, literally sleeping in his DJ booth. He was obsessed with perfecting every tiny detail of the environment, spending days fine-tuning the custom made sound system or adjusting and redesigning the lighting rigs.

According to fellow DJ and producer Francois Kevorkian, “outside, insurance men were knocking their knees to Abba and the Bee Gees, dreaming of the coke and celebrity fuelled nonsense of Studio 54. Inside the Garage the original disco family were continuing and amplifying their tribal rituals. At the centre was Levan himself, a DJ who enjoyed such a passionate relationship with the people on his dance-floor that they worshipped him more or less as a god….and for everyone there, it really was the temple, it was sacred ground.”

The Paradise Garage played host to life changing experiences for thousands of people and Levan has become a legend due to his DJing, production and remixing skills. For those of his devotees who remain, they may have fragmented memories, but physical objects, once charged with significance and meaning from that era, also remain somewhere. These are a cultural residue, no longer significant as they once were, in the same way that 84 King Street, no longer the Paradise Garage, remains.

Vinyl records offer us a curious paradox – the more they are heard, the more they decay. Valued, treasured and played, vinyl is a victim of its own form. As David Toop notes in ‘Haunted Weather’ “Record (player) design encapsulates the idea of self destruction in perpetuity. The needle ploughs through the spiralled groove, wearing away at both itself and the message it transmits.”

Records, as sound artist Christian Marclay has pointed out, will almost always have once been, “bought and sold, loved and protected, played and collected.” Yet many years before vinyl began to disappear as the DJ’s primary tool, domestic record collections, victims of technological advancement, began to be discarded, given away, donated to charity shops and relegated to attics and storage spaces. Although occasionally bought up by a few remaining vinyl enthusiasts, the record’s fate more often than not is to fade in significance, at some point the once prized object invariably finds itself on a slow, downward trajectory.

Now the same is true of DJ’s vinyl collections. Replaced by CDs and sophisticated DJing software, attics and charity shops house once treasured records which are destined to fade into obscurity. Yet, rarely is vinyl afforded any kind of definitive final passing. Often these objects are not dumped or destroyed, perhaps due in part to their status as a once valuable object, but nor are they ever esteemed or played again in the way they once were. Fluxus artist Milan Knizak scored, marked and broke records during musical performances in the 1960s, shocking and dismaying his audiences at a time when vinyl was sacred. One can’t help feeling that in our present age, most records sitting in attics, car boot sales, or in one of a handful of the few surviving second hand record shops, would jump at the chance for such a merciful release from their un-dead state. Instead, denied an end, most of them sit unwanted, unheard and ignored, ‘gathering dust’, in a literal or metaphorical sense.

This fading, forgetting and slow decay of vinyl, imbues the object with a certain poignancy. As Josh Davis (DJ Shadow) explained while being interviewed in a warehouse full of records for the ultimate DJ movie ‘Scratch’, “just being in here is a humbling experience to me, because you’re looking through all these records and it’s sort of like a big pile of broken dreams.”

Cultural theorist Theodore Adorno spoke of records as “freezing, this life into itself”, fixing a musical moment “that otherwise would flee”. Toop goes further describing records thus; “a spiral scratch, a gleaming hole into which memories are poured, only to emerge again as ghost voices, life preserved beyond death. Frozen in time within the grooves, a voice, an instrument, becomes the living dead.” It is this sense of suspension or of being frozen in limbo which I’m recreating in this composition.

I significantly chose “Love is the Message” as my source material. Described by Bill Brewster as “the lodestar of New York Disco”, ‘Love is the Message’ was one of Levan’s signature songs, integral to his DJ sets. He produced and remixed several versions of the track for the band MFSB. In a curious echo of Toop and Adorno’s comments on vinyl as a medium which ‘freezes’ and suspends, Levan’s fellow producer Tom Moulton described the track thus; “when I got to certain parts of it, it was like being pushed off a cliff and not falling. Suspended. Because that’s what the song does to you”. Levan is reported to have listened endlessly to the track, telling Moulton that he heard ‘ghost voices’ in the grooves of the record.

Gavin Bryars’ 1969 piece “The Sinking of The Titanic” centres around similar themes, the freezing in time of a musical moment. Bryars’ piece draws out and extends the episcopal hymn “Autumn” which was played by the Ships’ band as the Titanic sank beneath the waves of the Atlantic. Bryars notes the efficiency of water as an acoustic medium, and therefore invites the listener to imagine “The prolongation of the music into eternity”. In the sleeve notes for a 2006 performance of the piece, Bryars also notes the first use of Marconi’s wireless telegraphy in the Titanic’s rescue operation, reporting that one of the rescue ships, the Birma, heard radio signals originating from the titanic, 1 hour and 28 minutes after the ship had finally sunk. Furthermore, Bryars cites Marconi’s belief that “sounds, once generated never die, they simply become fainter and fainter until we can no longer perceive them. Marconi’s hope was to develop sufficiently sensitive equipment… to pick up and hear these past, feint sounds”. I’m employing a similar methodology, a sonic ‘stretching out’ of one of the final records to be played at the Paradise Garage, as if in to some distant musical horizon.

The composition share’s a central parallel with Man Ray’s Elevage de Poussière (Dust Breeding – 1920). By photographing dust which had been purposely gathered on Duchamp’s work in progress ‘The Bride Stripped Bare by her Bachelors, Even’, Man Ray incorporated and appropriated the work of another artist he admired, fashioning a new creation, founded on the obfuscation of another.

By exposing to the air the unsheathed copy of “Love is the message” which was the sound source for this piece, allowing it to gather a thick layer of dust, I’m highlighting my chosen compositional themes through an exaggerated symbolic gesture. Fusing Vinyl’s physicality and status as an object with broader, conceptual issues, this makes for thought provoking listening.

One could say that the layer of dust accumulated on this particular vinyl record is emblematic of the inevitable falling into obsolescence of vinyl as a medium, and of the accompanying slow obscuration of all of the memories embedded within the world’s discarded record collections. By encouraging the dust gathering process, and by featuring and employing it as a compositional device, I attempt to draw attention to the passage of time, making it, and the displacement and fading of those memories by the present, audible.

MFSB? OMFG.

Rich

I’ve said it before (for instance, here) but it bears repeating: Thanksgiving is my favorite American holiday.

I love everything about it, from the mythology to the mashed potatoes; from my family’s adherence to our culinary traditions (like this regional requisite) to the outlandish reinterpretations I’ve encountered elsewhere (like this ghastly gallinacean); from the nearly non-secular nature of the celebration to its unabashed, yet rational, nationalism; from its emphasis on amplitude and generosity to its freedom from mandatory “gifting,” etc.

Your dinner guests will give thanks for receiving these native stand-ins.

In other words, it’s the perfect domestic festival: you stay home from work, cook or contribute dishes of delicious food, celebrate your connectedness with as many of your favorite people as you can stand, watch a parade or two on TV, play some football, say “thank you” more than “please,” and nosh and nip and (when lucky) nap. Rinse and repeat. That’s it, easy as pie — except for all the setting- and cleaning-up, of course. There are endless variations on this theme and very few regulations, and that’s about as American as it gets.

Oddly enough, it’s also one of the exclusively Yankee celebrations that requires the inclusion of French produce — namely wine and beer. As any regular reader of this blog knows (or can guess), we’re not here to discuss the former. In fact, when someone asks me what wine I want to drink with my meal, I say “beer!” Glib and annoying, yes; but no less effective, and no less true on the fourth Thursday of each November. Especially because, in this case, the beer of choice comes from the Pas-de-Calais region of northern France, near Belgium.

Biere de garde, or “beer for keeping,” is a light-bodied, slightly malty, and moderately hopped farmhouse ale (similar to a Belgian ale, such as saison) with a strong herbal component that is, in the words of Garrett Oliver, brewmaster at Brooklyn Brewery and author of The Brewmaster’s Table, “brilliant with turkey.” The aromatic quality of biere de garde, which is usually sold in champagne-like bottles, perfectly matches all the various and savory qualities of the Thanksgiving Day meal — from the salty seasonings on the crunchy, browned skin, to the bouquet of veggie flavors in the stuffing and sides, to the rich poultry and game essences in the meat — and it makes everything taste juicy.

Castelain is my favorite biere de garde. It’s like liquid stuffing: slightly sweet, bready, earthy, tangy, and the perfect accompaniment to nearly every ingredient on a plateful of the standard turkey meal — and, I would bet, it pairs well with the components of a non-standard one, too. Unfortunately, as I have come to discover over the past few years, it’s also hard to come by right now. Because biere de garde is typically brewed to be consumed as a summer beer, it’s not readily available the rest of the year. And despite the fact that Belgian-style ales are all the rage among microbrewers — for instance, the number of tripels on the shelf seemingly has trebled in the last six months — scant few Americans are brewing bieres de gardes, based on what I could find in my area, at least. It’s a shame, really, because I think they’re missing the boat (the Mayflower, as it were) when it comes to creating the perfect pour for the premiere American meal.

So, following a failed attempt to locate the proper bottles to serve at my table this year, I decided to turn my deficit into a dare and set out to discover something that is comparable, in terms of flavor and comestible compatibility, easy to obtain, and brewed by our native sons and daughters. Following are the byproducts of this harvesting.

One caveat, however: I have previously (and somewhat unwittingly) reviewed several of the beers that could serve as a stand-in for the Flemish habitue. And although I normally prefer to use this space to talk about novelties (or new-to-me’s, at least), I’m willing to risk repeating myself in order to introduce these quality quaffs to those who either have yet to be served or need a second helping. So, here goes. Enjoy!

Sixteen, Avery Brewing Company. This limited-release saison proved to be a great summer brew and would, I imagine, hold up equally well at turkey time. Created in celebration of the brewery’s 16th anniversary, this Belgian-style ale features just enough unique ingredients, including jasmine, peaches, and honey, to make it a stand-out among its peer beers. Pouring out cloudy-blond, with lots of frothy foam, hoppy floral notes, and a nice balance of fruit and spices, it’s surprisingly less sweet than expected, slightly tart and dry, and assertive enough to pair with a range of flavors.

Le Freak, Green Flash Brewing Company. As the name implies, and as I discovered this summer, this is one unusual farmhouse ale. A cross between an Imperial IPA and a Belgian-style tripel, it appears milky-light-brown, with citrus (grapefruit and orange) aromas and a potent whiff of alcohol. The IPA genes contribute some highly hoppy and dry-sweet flavors, while the tripel lineage confers a mix of herbs and spices and lots of carbonation. In August, it got down with a dinner of baked sweet (turkey) sausages and ears of fresh Silver Queen corn, and would no doubt prove tres chic with sliced turkey breast and sweet corn pudding.

Biere de Mars, Brewery Ommegang. As I predicted I might in my review, I’m definitely going to place this beer front and center on my Turkey Day table. Similar to a biere de garde (and, brewed in Cooperstown, N.Y., the closest thing to an all-American I could find), this more robust amber ale pours out in an orange hue, with lots of spice and citrus notes, and a tart, dry, and, well, funky taste due to a key ingredient: Brettanomyces bruxellensis, or “Brett,” a wild yeast used in secondary fermentation. This late-stage infusion apparently imparts a fruity, peppery, musty bite that, like a dry Chardonnay, will kick-start your tastebuds between forkfuls for an “out of this world” experience.

Saison Athene, Saint Somewhere Brewing Company. It seems fitting that this medium-bodied ale, brewed in Sarasota, Fla., is one of the most citrusy saisons (with pronounced grapefruit highlights) that I’ve ever opened. It’s also one of the sweetest. Both are qualities that I think make it an ideal partner for a meal that includes a variety of lighter-flavored ingredients, such as cranberry sauce (especially if it includes orange peel, the way my grandmother made it), and squash, turnips, and sweet potatoes. It is just dry and sour enough, too, that I’d bet it would do the Schuhplattler with a side of sauerkraut, which is a Maryland must-have.

La Merle, North Coast Brewing Company. Here’s another farmhouse ale that, with its golden complexion, racy carbonation, and earthy, yeasty-biscuity flavors, would serve as a refreshing and versatile table-mate for Tom and all the fixings. Last week I tried it with pork chops baked with apples and acorn squash and discovered that, because the fruity aromas and hops bitterness are less dramatic and more understated here than with other saisons, the spice notes are more noticeable and draw out the sweet and herbal qualities inherent in such a piquant meal. Gobble, gobble!

Coup de Boule, The Brewer’s Art. This is a traditional Belgian dark ale spiced with cardamom, cinnamon, and saffron that pours out coppery gold with a lively head of aromatic foam. It’s mildly spicy, with hints of lemon and malty sweetness, and a taste that reminds me of an apple pie. Seems appropriate, doesn’t it? Moreover, because dark ales are considered a good pairing for game-based dishes, I thought this relatively new brew from the Baltimore-based (and Esquire’s favorite) brewpub would be a strong choice for those who favor dark meat and hearty stuffing — like the kind my mom makes, with apples, raisins, and sausage. And, oh yeah, save a little for dessert, too.

Other American-made French-style beers that I’ve read about, figured would be ideal, but couldn’t find on the shelf in time for this posting include Fluxus (Allagash Brewing Company), an ale fermented with sweet potatoes and black pepper — is there a better-sounding second-best beer for the Thanksgiving meal? — Fuego del Otono, or “Autumn Fire” (Jolly Pumpkin Artisan Ales), an amber ale and one of the few bieres de gardes to be released in the fall, and Garde Dog (Flying Dog Brewing Company), a conventional biere de garde from an unconventional brewery.

I’d also recommend the Pecan Harvest Ale from Abita. Although I’m not a fan of the ubiquitous, often uniformly flavored “autumn ales” that seem to be growing in popularity among brewers, I was intrigued by the possibility of this one, and enjoyed it with a slice of fresh shoofly pie. Mildly flavorful, dry rather than sweet, and slightly nutty, I imagine it’s cracking good paired with its eponymous pastry.

So, there you have it, a selection of six-plus native stand-ins that, though not quite achieving la perfection, nonetheless will squash your desire to serve grape-flavored libations at the dinner table this holiday — and that’s something for which your guests will be thankful. But keep the wine glasses out — you’ll enjoy the beer better if you don’t drink it straight from the bottle.

As always, talk turkey here and tell us what you think. Have you tasted any of these beers? Are there other American-made bieres de gardes, or different beer styles altogether, that you prefer to serve with your Thanksgiving meal? Let us know by leaving a comment below.

And be sure to visit (and join) the Scribbleskiff page on Facebook (find it here), where you can partake in wall-to-wall conversations, find additional information and suggestions from readers, and more.

a meta’ ottobre 2009 mi sono recato a Lubiana per passare un allegro week end in compagnia degli amici di sempre (beppe,betty enrico e sella)……la citta’ e’ molto carina peccato che in quel periodo e’ piu’ deserta di una citta’ deserta!!! il sabato sera alle  6 ci siamo fermati a bere un aperello in una delle vie principali ed eravamo solo noi!!!!! a destra e a sinistra c’era il nulla, il vuoto piu’ assoluto……sembrava che fosse appena scoppiata una bomba atomica……

cmq da quello che mi e’ stato detto, durante la settimana (grazie agli universitari), sotto natale e nel periodo estivo c’e’ molto piu’ movimento ……..

le due fanciulle avevano chiesto di scegliere un alloggio che avesse il bagno (privato) in camera. In considerazione di cio’, dopo una ricerca su internet abbiamo optato per una camerata da 6 posti letto presso il fluxus hostel

La struttura e’ stata ricavata da un appartamento all’interno di un grazioso (e piuttosto datato) palazzo del centro di lubiana. Al nostro arrivo siamo stati accolti da un ragazzo molto molto molto loquace il quale ci ha illustrato le diverse facilities dell’ostello: cucina con televisore, internet gratuito e smoking area (un terrazzo).

il pavimento e’ composto da lastroni di legno antico altrettanto affascinante per il suo scricchiolio quanto fastidioso nel caso in cui i tuoi vicini siano dei giovani teen-ager desiderosi di far casino dalla mattina alla sera!!!!!! fortunatamente i nostri compagni di branda erano molto piu’ tranquilli di noi addirittura il sabato notte abbiamo trovato tre giovani di 17-18 anni guardare il dvd del re leone…..

mmmmhhhhhhh  alla loro eta’ mi pare  di aver avuto ben altri hobbies ….vabbe’……..

bene, ora veniamo alla grossa sorpresa (ed unica grossa pecca)…..come gia’ detto la scelta dell’ostello era stata fatta in funzione della presenza del bagno in camera ed in effetti nel nostro alloggio c’era una stanza con doccia e lavandino (non il water)solo che era a disposizione di tutti gli ospiti della struttura!!!!!!!!!

Il bagno vero e proprio e’ situato all’ingresso dell’appartamento/ostello

In sintesi l’ostello e’ assolutamente da promuovere se non fosse che le informazioni relative al bagno sono decisamente fuorvianti….

la nostra camera

Holiday Shopping Night on 12/3. Join Wild Child and its partners at 397 Mass. Ave. for a night of holiday cheer. Refreshments, free gift-wrap and holiday gift ideas.

Promo of the Month: T-shirts. Now through Thanksgiving, in-jean-ius will be offering a special promotion on all t-shirts. Buy one, get 15% off. Buy two, get 20% off. Buy three or more, get 30% off. Don’t miss your chance to grab great T’s by your favorite designers such as Michael Stars, Erge, Fluxus, Johnny Was & Three Dot.

Twilight’s Tip of the Day- Top Hats: Magical nipple concealers that transform any look from red light to red carpet. These reusable, adhesive, ouchless and hypoallergenic wonders are our top tip for looking flat out fabulous. Note: Top hats can be worn dozens of times with or without a bra. Available at 12 Fleet St.

I had my Professional Practices class this morning and I had to choose a topic for my final paper. I chose Fluxus. I’ll tell you more about it after I write my paper. It seems that the more I read about it the more confused I am. I had never heard of it until Cecil Touchon had commented that one of my pieces was fluxus or something like that. So by the time the semester is over I should know what it is and how to explain it. I could only find 5 books at the university library when I put it in the keyword search, so I’m going to rely on the internet quite a bit. I’m hoping to get into my studio this weekend. I’ve been down there quite a bit this week-mostly picking up and organizing. I find things I forgot about when I do that. I have bitsand pieces out on a table that I’m trying to figure out, too. There’s a doll head and a shoe stretcher, 2 barbie-sized dress mannequin things, a Bundt pan (red), an atomizer, a root, and a few other things. Right now, the pan is upside down and has the doll head in the middle with the root stuck in the top like hair. It could be done. I don’t know.

Magpie Thunder Bureau presents A Bird in the Hand

Magpie Thunder Bureau

Magpie Thunder Bureau

Materials...

*Today I Saw A Bird...

A Bird in the Hand

Magpie Thunder Bureau

Bird prints...

Magpie Thunder Bureau =makestation=

Magpie Thunder Bureau

Magpie Thunder Bureau

**********

Please go to magpiethunder.blogspot.com for more photographs of the rest of the exhibition.

Thanks!

Fluxus film

Project for Constructing the Digital Image Class

One minute duration

Por Arthur Dantas . Tradução das falas de Brotzmann por Luciano Valério

(publicado originalmente na +SOMA 7. Aqui, com alteraçòes significativas)

“Eu não tenho muitas expectativas, na verdade; só espero que as pessoas venham. Nós vamos fazer o que sempre temos feito: dar o melhor de nós mesmos e ver como o público reage, se irão gostar ou não.” Essa declaração de Peter Brötzmann, um dos maiores músicos de free jazz em atividade no planeta, sobre sua apresentação recente no SESC Vila Mariana, em São Paulo, reflete muito de sua postura em relação à música: toca apenas o que lhe interessa no momento, sem preocupação com convenções ou regras específicas. Brötzmann, que tem mais de cem discos gravados em 40 anos de carreira, veio acompanhado dos músicos Marino Pliakas (baixo) e Michael Wertmüller (bateria), divulgando o violentíssimo álbum Full Blast.

A apresentação do trio em São Paulo é inspiradora – para usar um adjetivo que não dá a conta do que foi apresentado. Não à toa, o grupo foi eleito a melhor performance ao vivo de 2007 pelo site All About Jazz. De imediato, o público fica atônito, pasmado. Uns fogem, outros, extasiados. A eletricidade corre pelo teatro quase lotado. Almas de pouca fé saem, evitando o terror sônico vindo do palco. Como se pudéssemos nos safar da violência que nos espera do lado de fora do teatro. Toda alma é fustigada pela improvisação virulenta de Brotzmann. Seja no saxofone, no clarinete ou no tarogato, o ataque é o mesmo. O que quer aquele senhor grisalho no palco, empunhando seus instrumentos como se pudesse responder ao mundo por meio de notas musicais acintosas e frenéticas? Era algo que me vinha à cabeça. O baixo, tão distorcido ressoava permanentemente pelo espaço, preparando o terreno onde se instalaria o caos. A bateria complementava – se é que isso seja possível – o frenesi do experiente músico alemão. Passa-se quase uma hora. Cessa o som. Meu mundo ruiu e repentinamente volta ao lugar. As pessoas se levantam, aplaudem muito e vão embora. Essa movimentação me parece um tanto vulgar após uma sessão de depuração via free jazz violento e expressionista. Fico com a impressão que o artista se nutre intensamente da tensão moderna e nos devolve esse sentimento em forma de cascatas sonoras, alcançando um tipo de catarse muito peculiar. É quase como uma resposta ao mundo, um diálogo tenso, intenso, cuja intervenção é: recebam à agressão e violência cotidiana de volta. Expurgo e depuração.

O músico alemão começou na música como clarinetista, mas logo passou para o saxofone – instrumento que o consagrou mundialmente –, influenciado por músicos europeus vanguardistas como John Cage e Karlheinz Stockhausen. Inicialmente, ligou-se ao baixista Peter Kowald, e logo tocaria com o lendário jazzista estadunidense Don Cherry. Músicos fundamentais da música contemporânea de invenção, como Han Bennink, Evan Parker e Keiji Haino, são alguns de seus parceiros mais constantes. Ainda que seu trabalho encontre variações e fases bem definidas e distintas, há uma característica muito evidente em sua estética: a improvisação intensa e animada, marcada por barulhentos e intempestivos solos de saxofone, expandindo o free jazz mais radical dos Estados Unidos, de artistas como Albert Ayler, Ornette Coleman e John Coltrane (em sua última fase). Esse estilo próprio acabou por caracterizar toda uma cena européia iniciada nos anos 1960, que deitou raízes e se espalhou pelo mundo. Para leigos, uma comparação igualmente leiga: pense nas paredes de ruído e vanguardismo de um Sonic Youth de seus melhores trabalhos e na violência sonora de um Napalm Death. Pois é, Peter Brötzmann e seus companheiros europeus fazem com que tais bandas soem ingênuas, amadoras.

Vale abrir parênteses para falar de sua aptidão artística inicial: as artes plásticas. Assim como outros artistas do free jazz e da música livre, Peter Brötzmann começou na pintura e estendeu suas atividades para a criação de objetos. Só que encontrava-se no meio de um furacão artístico chamado Fluxus, uma das vanguardas artísticas mais importantes da segunda metade do século XX. No início dos anos 1960, Brötzmann era um jovem assistente em uma oficina de artes plásticas em Wuppertal, na Alemanha. Inicialmente, a Alemanha foi um dos pólos divulgadores do Fluxus – que, mais que um movimento, era “um modo de fazer coisas (…), uma forma de viver e morrer”, nas palavras de Dick Higgins, um dos entusiastas desta vanguarda. Óbvio que isso atraiu o saxofonista, que encara a arte como uma atitude diante do mundo.

“Eu tive grande prazer e honra em trabalhar com Nam June Paik [um dos principais artistas Fluxus]. Ele fazia sua primeira grande exposição na Europa Oriental, justamente na cidade em que eu vivia. Eu trabalhava em uma grande galeria de vanguarda que havia por lá, então estava sempre preparando as coisas, consertando pianos – todas as noites o público tocava, quebrando as teclas do piano, e no dia seguinte eu tinha que consertá-las. Assim conheci integrantes do Fluxus, como George Maciunas, que vivia na Alemanha naquela época. Era um bom lugar para a vanguarda. Acabei vendo várias performances, shows e exibições. Para além da música, foi uma outra maneira de abrir os ouvidos e o os olhos para outras coisas. Depois, acabei encontrando Don Cherry, Steve Lacy e Nam June Paik.” Pergunto se ele ainda tem interesse por pintura, já que quase todas as artes de seus álbuns são de sua lavra. “Sim, e naquela época a pintura era algo que eu realmente gostava de fazer – a música vinha em segundo plano. No meio da década de sessenta a coisa mudou de figura, e aí a pintura acabou ficando em segundo plano. Hoje eu tento equilibrar as coisas, colocar 50% de cada lado.”

Mas houve ainda outro fator para que Brötzmann escolhesse a música: a paixão por se relacionar com artistas inventivos e igualmente livres, como Carla Bley, Steve Lacy e Cecil Taylor – que no ano passado fez uma comentada apresentação no Tim Festival no Brasil. “Gosto muito de estar na estrada, gosto de trabalhar com essas pessoas. Acho que tocar o que chamam de jazz tem um lado social, que é criar algo junto a outras pessoas. O grupo que montei em Chicago é como um evento social, em que eu divido boa parte da minha vida com essas pessoas para criar algo junto com elas. É uma sensação incrível. É legal trabalhar em estúdio, mas estar com outras pessoas e viajar é realmente o mais importante para mim.” Este trabalho de Brötzmann em Chicago, que chega a reunir de 5 a 12 músicos, é uma das iniciativas mais celebradas dentro da cena de free jazz mundial dos últimos tempos. Ele conta como tudo aconteceu: “Um dia eu estava conversando com o John Corbett (um dos maiores entusiastas e crítico de música contemporânea mais radical e vanguardista) em Chicago, e começamos a falar sobre os outros músicos que também estavam na cidade. Chamamos essas pessoas e logo começamos a fazer vários shows pela a cidade. Já se passou uma década desde então, e espero que isso dure até quando nós agüentarmos (risos)”.

Da mesma forma que artistas vanguardistas como os estadunidenses John Zorn e Ken Vandermark, o holandês Han Bennink e o sueco Mats Gustafsson, o músico alemão criou vínculos com certa fatia da música pop – se é que podemos usar a palavra “pop” para tratar de grupos como Sonic Youth, The Ex ou Napalm Death. Seu filho Caspar Brötzmann, inclusive, foi um dos pioneiros na mistura entre thrash metal e free jazz. “Eu não tenho muito que falar a respeito… Veja só este trio [se referindo aos músicos que o acompanharam no Brasil]. Cada um de nós é de uma geração diferente, e temos passados diferentes. Claro que bandas como o [grupo holandês] The Ex são legais. Quando comecei a perder um certo sentido de busca em minha música, passei a tocar com um monte de músicos de rock, e nunca houve uma discussão sobre o que fazer, era somente ir e tocar. Estou aberto a tocar qualquer coisa, mas também estou aberto a dizer ‘dane-se, eu não gostei disso’.” O músico explica sobre sua concepção de jazz: “O jazz não são os 12 compassos do blues, não são os 32 compassos do jazz tradicional: jazz é um sentimento bem forte e uma maneira de viver. E está ligado às ruas. Você viaja e aprende coisas, porque passa por diferentes estados mentais a cada noite, tem plateias diferentes. Os jovens não aprendem mais isso hoje em dia. A música nunca vai morrer, porque é centrada no ser humano, e é a maior forma de comunicação internacional. Você não precisa saber idiomas – só precisa tocar.”

Pelo menos dois álbuns gravados por Peter Brötzmann são tidos como marcos na música moderna: Machine Gun, de 1968 e Nipples, no ano seguinte, ambos ao lado do plural e dinâmico baterista Han Bennink. Nenhum desses dois trabalhos vendeu milhares de cópias, mas, o estranhamento inicial hoje se tornou objeto de culto: Nipples, em sua primeira reedição em CD nos Estados Unidos, vendeu 3 mil cópias em poucas semanas. Machine Gun tem exatos 40 anos, assim como um acontecimento político-cultural que marcaria nossa época: as revoltas estudantis parisienses em 1968, que inspiraram outros movimentos similares ao redor do planeta. Muito se comenta sobre como a estética improvisada e livre deste disco antecipava esteticamente os ideias de igualdade, autonomia e livre associação dos jovens de Maio. Um crítico português acredita que esse álbum “é um dos mais potentes manifestos [sobre o Maio de 68] que ainda hoje se podem escutar sob a forma de disco. Uma efetiva declaração de guerrilha urbana”. Reduzir a música de Brötzmann e outros jazzistas europeus de então à esfera política parece banal, mas as conexões são evidentes – quando não explícitas, como no álbum Machine Gun – e deitaram raízes profundas, que se estendem até os dias de hoje.

“[Maio de 68] é uma grande história, precisaríamos de muitas noites para falar a respeito. Claro que na Europa e na América foi uma época difícil, e especialmente nós, alemães, tínhamos uma idéia forte de como seria uma sociedade, de como a vida deveria ser, bem diferente de como o governo da época achava que deveria ser. É uma coisa que aprendi depois de ver as fotos de Auschwitz e os filmes sobre os campos de concentração. Vi filmes sobre isso na escola, com 14 ou 15 anos, e foi aí que tive a certeza de que isso não poderia se repetir. Existia um sentimento meio ingênuo na década de 60, achávamos que poderíamos mudar o mundo para melhor. Era uma ideia muito fútil, e aprendi rapidamente que esse tipo de pensamento não estava certo. Hoje em dia se vê a mesma coisa acontecendo no Iraque, na África etc. E ainda não é uma boa hora para se sentar em uma cadeira confortável e relaxar ouvindo boa música. O mundo se afunda em guerras, e isso é algo sobre o qual não podemos fazer muito, mas ao menos podemos ser bem livres e tirar algo dessa situação e dizer algo em nossa música. Eu ainda acredito que não é hora de desistir e sentar diante disso tudo achando que está tudo bem, quando na verdade nada está bem.” Mais uma vez, um músico pensando sua arte como uma resposta política ao mundo.

Saiba Mais:

www.shef.ac.uk/misc/rec/ps/efi/mbrotzm.html

Les objets amusés de Michel Giroud, Hors Œil Editions (DVD).

L’introduction est un intriguant travelling latéral dans le Musée de l’Objet à Blois (magnifique musée moderne), sur fond sonore évoquant une fanfare compressée de tuyaux, un troupeau de moteurs désintégrés dans leurs brames, l’entrée des gladiateurs remixée pour des humains mutants… On dirait, de fait, la remontée visuelle d’un passage important de l’évolution de l’espèce humaine, vue à travers ses objets…  En passant devant chaque œuvre, un bref arrêt pour indiquer le nom de l’artiste, parfois quelques points de suspension, le temps d’un gros plan, un détail, la griffe. Ce musée est dédié aux artistes et courants artistiques qui détournent, rapportent, recouvrent, détruisent, transforment, font parler des objets usuels de leur quotidien ou les propulsent dans d’autres dimensions, transformations, déconstructions. Un inlassable travail de tri pour rediriger le moindre déchet, la moindre production banale, industrielle vers quelque chose qui fasse sens, signe, indication, poésie, dynamique créative. Michel Giroud, dans ce document, rend hommage à chaque artiste faisan son apparition dans le Musée de l’Objet. Michel Giroud est avant tout, intégralement, une apparition. Cela ressemble à des sketches, des farces, des gags, des rituels d’énergumènes, mais non, rien à voir, enfin si, le rire est bon à prendre, de bon cœur, mais cela n’empêche que ce qui est montré est tout à fait sérieux. Et sans doute qu’à partir de ces comédies en solo, une meilleure compréhension de ces démarches artistiques est possible. Michel Giroud est, entre autres, historien d’art, spécialiste de la descendance Duchamp, des phénomènes Fluxus, Lettristes, Nouveau Réalisme…, il sait de quoi il parle. Il évite, ici, de figer dans un discours docte, savant, des pratiques artistiques qui entendaient échapper à ces discours. Il élabore un discours oblique et physique, de théâtralité bricolée, de mimiques appliquées et déclarations collées, rôles de compositions et costumés. Il enchaîne 32 rituels : « Nam June Paik – Christo – César/Warhol – Vilmouth – Gherban – Lévêque – Dietman – Lavier/Dufrêne – Pommeurol -  Arman – Ben – Sturtevant – Roth – Brau – Petit – Sabatier – Vermeiren – Armleder – Sarkis – Raynaud – Cragg – Dali – Titus – Jones – Hains – Broodthaers – Présence Panchounette – Isou – Filliou – Spoerri – Brecht – Wolman. Il se met dans l’œuvre, il se laisse posséder par son esprit, son procédé. Pour Christo, il s’emballe et s’offre une transe d’emballé. Montrer que ces œuvres se vivent aussi de l’intérieur. Compressions, collections, alignement, empilement, séries, détournements, pour chaque artiste, il « imite » le procédé, le réinvente à sa manière, avec les moyens du bord. Il se l’approprie, indique que ce sont des pratiques qui ne sont pas limitées à la transgression artistique, mais qu’elles sont des moyens de se connaître, de connaître son environnement, elles sont des démarches de connaissance, il les vit dans leurs plasticités, en s’y coulant, en revivant leurs moments déclencheurs. Elles reflètent un art de vivre, elles proposent des dispositifs transitionnels avec le réel.  C’est une magnifique figure de l’amateur que présente Giroud : en ayant une pratique de ces arts que l’on dit volontiers sans savoir-faire, il les connaît mieux, il en parle mieux, il les valorise. Ils recouvrent leur mystère, leur profondeur d’art pas-donné-à-tout-le-monde-de-le-faire… Les séquences sont réalisées chez lui, autour de chez lui, dans les Alpes. Le décor naturel surgit plus d’une fois, fait partie intégrante de la démarche.Il raconte aussi sa rencontre « choc » avec l’exposition de Marcel Broodthaers, « Le Musée des Aigles » (qui lui inspirera son Musée des Muses Amusées), son admiration pour Isidore Isou, Robert Filliou et Présence Panchounette… Il joue avec les mots, les formes, les postures, les accessoires, les objets anciens ou emballages industriels, enfilent les anecdotes comme des perles nouvelles, réalisent donc des canulars qui sont en fait des démonstrations savantes. Michel Giroud a aussi de nombreuses activités de « peintre oral et tailleur en tout genre », il est impossible de répertorier ici tout ce qu’il fait, tous les mouvements qu’il a créés, les différents avatars qu’il a conçu pour agiter le monde flou et fou des signes artistiques et industriels. Présentant et vantant une série de déchets trouvés, emballages, bouteilles en plastique, il les décrit comme des oeuvres créées par des individus, artistes populaires inconnus, il déconstruit le nom des marques et des pubs pour, en les prenant au sérieux, les couper de leur utilitarisme manipulatoire, les fondre dans une poésie brute, archaïque. Je lui dédie deux photos de la galerie d’art Les Drapiers (Liège), réalisée par Julie Menuge, imitation des vitrines de bazar chinois, dans le cadre d’Europalia Chine : accumulation de boîtes, jouets, bouteilles, sachets trafiqués par collages, détournés de leurs marques premières. (À l’intérieur, la galerie propose, d’une part, des vêtements de l’ethnie chinoise Miao dont, pour le dire vite, l’écriture, la mémoire collective, leurs histoires consistent en broderies sur les vestes, chapeaux, chaussure et, d’autre part, une autre salle d’épicerie fantastique de Julie Menuge.) (PH) – le DVD « Les objets amusés de Michel Giroud » sera bientôt en médiathèque – Michel Giroud en vidéo: entretiens, performances … – Isidore Isou en prêt public – Robert Filliou, documents sonores – Images Présence Panchounette – Documents sur le Nouveau Réalisme en prêt public -

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Promo of the Month: Now through Thanksgiving, In-jean-ius will be offering a special promotion on all t-shirts. Buy One, Get 15% Off. Buy Two, Get 20% Off. Buy Three or More, Get 30% Off. Don’t miss your chance to grab great T’s by your favorite designers such as Michael Stars, Erge, Fluxus, Johnny Was & Three Dot.

Kids Yoga Program at Stil Studio starts on Monday, November 16 at 10:45am. All kids classes are free for the first week. 740 Legacy Place, Dedham, MA 02026.

“Tras el mayo del 68, pensé que el tiempo de las barricadas
ya se había cumplido. No se puede lanzar piedras cuando los
otros tienen helicópteros y satélites. La próxima resistencia
se deberá situar en este nivel”.
Nam June Paik

Este post hace parte de una serie de artículos que escribí para el proyecto HiperBarrio-ConVerGentes dicha serie tuvo 5 entregas,pero en este espacio publicare 3 que se acercan al objetivo de este blog, en cuanto a los usos alternativos del video.

En esta tercera parte me alejare de la televisión convencional y entraré en detalle; con la utilización experimental del video desde sus inicios hasta nuestros dias, usos y soportes tales como videoblog, webtv , videoarte, video comunitario, televisión comunitaria.

Al hablar de video, hay que referenciar a unos de los videoartistas que no solo utilizó el video y la televisión como soporte para sus obras si no, un medio para descontextualizar y redefinir la imagen monopolizada por la tv, fundamentó su trabajo en la experimentación. Utilizó las imágenes que le proporciona el medio televisivo para crear otras nuevas que se originaban a través de la intervención directa en la formación de la imagen, o mediante la aplicación de sintetizadores y colorizadores..

Este gran video-artista fue Nam June Paik nacido en Seúl, Corea del Sur, en el año de 1932 , además de video-artista fue un famoso compositor.
Estudió música e historia del arte en la universidad de Tokio. Más tarde, en 1956, viajó a Alemania, donde estudió teoría de la música en Múnich, continuando en Colonia y en el conservatorio de Freiburgo. Trabajó en el laboratorio de investigación de música electrónica de Radio Colonia, y participó en el grupo de performances (1) Fluxus (2).
A paik se le considera pionero del video-arte por ser el primer artista al que se le ocurrió grabar una cinta de vídeo y mostrarla en público como un hecho artístico.
Con el dinero de una beca de la Fundación Rockefeller compró uno de los primeros Portapacks (3) que se comercializaron en EEUU.

Un día, cuando volvía a su casa desde la tienda de música Liberty, el taxi en el que viajaba se cruzó con la comitiva del Papa Pablo VI en su visita a Nueva York. Paik grabó su llegada desde el asiento trasero del taxi y esa misma noche mostró las
imágenes bajo el título Electronic Video Recorder. Sucedió el 4 de octubre de 1965, en el Café Go-Go de Nueva York, durante las veladas “Moon Night Letters” organizadas por Fluxus a la manera de “Cabaret Voltaire” (4).

Pertenecer al colectivo Alemán Fluxus lo llevo a la experimentación con sonidos,música,video y objetos pero no solo Paik fue uno de los primeros pioneros del video-arte que utilizo la experimentación, la critica a los contenidos televisivos y el papel pasivo del espectador .

En el año 1959 su compañero de actividades en Fluxus Wolf Vostell creo la primera obra en la historia del arte que incorpora un televisor, que hoy forma parte de la colección del Museo Berlinische Galerie en Berlín.

“El medio es el mensaje”. Este famoso aforismo comenzó a difundirse en Understanding Media (1964), un libro de Marshall McLuhan que ejerció una gran influencia en la contracultura y el arte de los años 60/70, y muy especialmente en los videoartistas de esas décadas.

La respuesta más habitual de artistas y activistas fue la confrontación, demostrando su oposición al medio a través de la crítica contra-televisiva y de violentas acciones contra el aparato de televisión.

Las primeras reacciones contra el medio televisivo tuvieron lugar en el terreno del happening (5) y las llevó a cabo Wolf Vostell demostrando una actitud combativa frente a la televisión. En el Yam Festival celebrado en mayo de 1963 en New Brunswick (EEUU), Vostell envolvió un televisor en alambre de puas y lo enterró “vivo” mientras continuaba emitiendo su programación.

Y en septiembre de ese mismo año, condujo al público de la Galería Parnass de Wuppertal (Alemania) a una cantera donde podía verse a lo lejos una televisión en funcionamiento, cogió un fusil, y la destruyó de un disparo: fue el primer fusilamiento del medio.

Como muchos otros creadores, el coreano Nam June Paik encontró en las teorías de McLuhan un importante referente y sus obras también demostraron al principio cierta agresividad, pero enseguida se produjo un cambio.

Su mujer, Shigeko Kubota, explica a la manera Fluxus la transición de una primera etapa destructiva de Paik a otra mucho más creativa: “Cuando conocí a Nam June Paik no era videoartista, sino músico. Se hizo videoartista en los años sesenta. Cuando le conocí era un compositor. Rompía pianos y después de romper pianos comenzó a romper televisores.

Más tarde se preguntó porqué rompía pianos y televisores si podía conseguir más belleza utilizándolos para crear objetos. Por eso empezó a hacer esculturas y a utilizar los televisores como material escultórico .La nueva postura adoptada por Paik erradico las acciones violentas, pero continúo siendo crítica con la televisión bajo un punto de vista irónico y provocativo.

Mientras que la actitud de Paik se inscribe directamente en la corriente más burlona y provocativa de Fluxus, la de Vostell retoma la vocación nihilista (6) del dadaísmo (7) de una manera estricta; es decir, si determina que Vostell siempre fue Fluxus por su compromiso radical, se tendria que convenir que Paik siempre fue Fluxus por su concepción lúdica del arte.

Pero existen otras diferencias notables en el uso que ambos hacen del televisor y de la imagen electrónica. El interés de Vostell en la televisión se centro en el aparato, en el objeto, en lo que éste representa y en el ritual. Utilizo el televisor como un elemento más en su repertorio de materiales y le otorgo un nuevo sentido en sus happenings.

Por otra parte, no creo imágenes, sino que se sirvio de las imágenes que emite la programación en el momento de su intervención, mantiene la TV apagada, o la deja con lluvia .

Cuando Paik utilizo el aparato de TV, no pretendio lesionarlo ni destruirlo, sino, en cualquier caso, ridiculizarlo. Paik no entablo un combate abierto contra la televisión; una actitud que ha sido clasificada de “visión constructiva” del medio, frente a la “negativa Acidez” de Vostell.

Por último, las diferencias entre Paik y Vostell no se limitan a un planteamiento específico de la televisión, sino que se extienden a su concepción global del arte y, por supuesto, de la vida. El mismo Paik establece distinciones profundas entre su postura y la de Vostell: “ Él trabaja con el aparato de televisión, hace una denuncia. Es su problema, no el mío. Yo sólo me intereso por la luz grabada en términos artísticos. Él está más comprometido socialmente. Está más en el campo de la conciencia social, que yo respeto, como ser humano, pero algunas veces el contexto social no es el mejor camino, no siempre tiene buen resultado artístico.

Para no hacer el asunto largo y aburrido el señor Paik falleció en Miami EE. UU en el 2006 y Vostell en Berlín en 1998.

Estos hombres no solo han influenciado a los artistas de los últimos tiempos si no tambien abrieron una brecha para que se genera tecnología alrededor de los medios audiovisuales, también se puede decir que Paik fue un visionario adelantándose a inventos de la tecnología actual como la televisión por cable y el video streaming.

Véase las obras Global Groove 1973: una especie de video- paisaje imaginario que anticipa lo que podría ocurrir cuando todos los países del mundo se conecten entre sí mediante la televisión por cable.

Good Morning Mr. Orwell 1984: En él se invitaba a participar a artistas de cualquier parte del mundo para conseguir un producto internacional compuesto por la mezcla de imágenes sintetizadas que Paik recombinaba entre sí en tiempo real vía satélite entre París y New York.

Con esta reseña del inicio del video-arte, entrare en materia a los usos alternativos y nuevos soportes;entrando a la fase final de esta serie que tiene como finalidad ahondar en las Herramientas y medios que permiten que se democratice la imagen. brindandole a personas comunes y corrientes dichas herramientas para contar historias de su realidad circundante, cumpliendo con la visión de paik que se encuentra en la parte final del epigrefe de este articulo:“la proxima resistencia se deberá situar en este nivel”.¿cual nivel?, el mismo que ejercen los medios de comunicación monopolizando y manipulando la información.
Somos la proxima resistencia que visiono Paik, la cual es la que se esta gestando actualmente con blogs,vblogs,video comutario,tv comunitaria y webtv.

Notas:
1)Muestra escénica, muchas veces con un importante factor de improvisación, en que la provocación o el asombro, así como el sentido de la estética, juegan un rol principal.
2) palabra latina que significa flujo) es un movimiento artístico de las artes visuales pero también de la música y la literatura. Tuvo su momento más activo entre la década de los sesenta y los setenta del siglo XX. Se declaró contra el objeto artístico tradicional como mercancía y se proclamó a sí mismo como el antiarte.

3)Es un equipo de vídeo portátil compuesto por una cámara y un magnetoscopio. Los primeros modelos fueron comercializados por la firma japonesa Sony y la holandesa Phillips durante 1964 y 1965, permitiendo el acceso a esta tecnología a escala popular y provocando toda una revolución en el mundo de la imagen.

4)El Cabaret Voltaire fue fundado el 5 de febrero de 1916 por Hugo Ball en Zúrich como un cabaret con fines artísticos y políticos. Se encontraba en la planta superior de un teatro de cuyas serias exhibiciones se burlaban las obras interpretadas en el cabaret. En él normalmente se experimentaba nuevas tendencias artísticas. Fue aquí donde algunos piensan que se fundó el Movimiento Dadá. Además, los surrealistas, corriente que descendía directamente del dadaísmo, solían usarlo como lugar de encuentro.

5)De la palabra inglesa que significa evento, ocurrencia, suceso). Manifestación artística, frecuentemente multidisciplinaria, surgida en los 1950 caracterizada por la participación de los espectadores. Los happenings integran el conjunto del llamado performance art y mantiene afinidades con el llamado teatro de participación.

6) Del latín nihil (nada) e ismus (doctrina, movimiento, práctica de) es la “actitud” filosófica, puesto que no es una tendencia filosófica estrictamente definida, de negación de todo principio, autoridad, dogma filosófico o religioso. El nihilismo es una posición filosófica que argumenta que el mundo, y en especial la existencia humana, no posee de manera objetiva ningún significado, propósito, verdad comprensible o valor esencial superior, por lo que no nos debemos a éstos.

7)Movimiento antiarte que surgió en Zúrich (Suiza) en 1916 iniciado por Tristan Tzara, que se caracterizó por sentimientos de protesta contra convenciones literarias, una actitud de burla total por las manifestaciones artísticas literarias, por gestos y manifestaciones provocadoras en las que los artistas pretendían destruir todas las convenciones con respecto al arte, creando una especie de anti-arte o rebelión contra el orden establecido en aquella época de comienzos y mediados del siglo XX, en los periodos de la primera y comienzos de la Segunda Guerra Mundial.Tuvo su área de influencia no sólo en el arte gráfico sino que también en la música; y surge como consecuencia de la quiebra de valores.

Las definiciones de los terminos en las notas son tomadas de wikipedia.
Este articulo esta basado totalmente en la investigación y libro llamado: La televisión no lo filma: investigación reflexiva acerca de la televisión del colectivo Español zemos98. Tomado del capitulo llamado Paik TV. Homenaje a un Mongol visionario escrito por Laura Baigorri.

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