Yeah, James !

I can't recall which lecture it was, but once the class got into a huge discussion about the movie Avatar. In retrospect it must have been the lecture on the avante garde, because James Cameron is so astonishingly uncreative.

"The avante garde intends to shock viewers out of thier complacency and wrestle with the conventions of bourgeoise art and mortality"

- Duchamp. The urinal artisan.

The most expensive movie of all time with a budget of $237 million, Avatar has been compared to the epic likes of Star Wars and Lord of the Rings. Avatar was said to “employ a new generation of special effects”, and it showed at the box office as it proved to be the highest grossing film of all time in North America. Cameron originally wanted to start filming after his 1997 film Titanic, but he reckoned the worlds state of technology hadn’t caught up to his vision yet.

When the world was ready, Avatar was released for traditional 2D projection, as well as 3D formats such as RealD, Dolby, XpanD, IMAX 3D and even 4D - a marketing term that describes an entertainment presentation system combined with 3D film with physical effects in the theatre that occur in sync with the film – in Korea, the leading multiplex chain CJ-CGV used more than 30 effects during the movie, including moving seats, sprinkling water, lasers, smells of explosives and wind.

Despite the larger than life proportions, negative feedback managed to seep through the praise. Some critics contended the film was “big and dumb”, while others criticised the plot for being trite, such that viewers may as well analyze a beach ball.

One can’t deny Avatar is technologically epic, but the film triggers me to ask the question: is the grandiose sense of entertainment more important to us than intellectual content?

Does narrative die at the hands of these larger than life blue people on the big screen?

I think Avatar is one of the first films that demonstrate the new craze of 3D. The stereoscopic era of motion pictures dates back to the late 1890s, but was relegated to a niche in the industry due to obtrusive mechanics. In 2010, 3D films have reached a point in production which has granted enormous mainstream acclaim. Coinciding with developments in digital media and high definition, 3D may be as significant a technique in film as the introduction of colour.

Is 3D film avante garde? or is it avant garde's anti thesis - fun, visually stimulating, not necessarily thought prokovoking?

I don't have an answer to this yet. But when I do ... I will write James Cameron a letter immediately to propose a collaboration on his next film to take over the art world as we know it. Because if there is anything that was ever avante garde in this universe, we can trust that is was certainly Titanic, in all its loud and romantic glory.

(that was a joke.)

The main indicators of a technopoly - plastic palm trees, bikinis, and turf. Lots of turf.

And DEFINITELY scuba diving chihuahuas.

A technopoly, according to media fiend and cultural critic Neil Postman, is a society that believes that the sole aim of human labor and work is expediency, and that technical calculation beats human opinion any day. The meddling of citizens in a technopoly then, are best guided by "experts" (ie - machines). Basically, in a technopoly we are robbed of all agency and willingly give our souls over to the wretched gluttonous machine.

Postman wasn't down with this - he was a humanist and maintained that new technology could never substitute human values.

He believes that the U.S. is the only country to have actually developed into a technopoly. He believes this because citizens don't see the downside of a society riddled with technology. Instead, they crave more and more ... until information becomes garbage, utterly incapable of answering our questions and ends up obscuring solutions to even our mundane problems. He fears that the next generations of people to come will be used to technology, not use it.

I think this exemplifies the general fear revolving around the Internet and the crazy technologies that stem from it. I fear this, but I will be the first to admit that, sometimes I feel myself loosing footing in the real, (print) world, and slipping down a slope of mechanical accessories. (Telus totally conned into buying a Blackberry last weekend, thereby rendering me a much more frequent user of facebook, text messaging and even blackberry instant messenger. I don't really know how to use this contraption yet but already I feel inescapably connected.) How "attatched" do we have to be to our digital accessories in order to become "technopolized" as a society?

Also, what does this mean for the artist?

Digital art and flash poems don't really speak to me. Judging from what I have seen so far, I find them uninspiring and trite. I can get down with a little musical remix or mash up here and there, of course, (I'm only human, and even worse, a college kid). But when it comes to visual art, I need something in which I can feel the love in. I don't mean necessarily something made by human hands, because media like silkscreen and lithography don't require any human touching, and often that is the point (Warhol's mechanically produce prints emphasized the coldness of commerical duplication and consumerism), but I guess I need resources that are of this world.

...I oil paint, so maybe I'm showing my bias. At any rate, I like what Mark Amerika did with Filmtext, and Grammatron is pretty cool too, but I'm not sure I would classify them as art. Maybe I would feel better about classifying this as art if e-art had a category of its own by which to judge this umbrella genre of creations.

Niel P. reckons the solution to the technopoly is a good old fashioned education in history, and social effects of technology.

Since you asked, My solution to the problem here would involve instilling an appreciation of nature in our children. Yeah yeah yeah, super corny, I know ... but knowledge of our primal roots is humbling beyond any knowledge of history. In a sense, it is history, but history before we made history as humans. Before we built ourselves up a fancy society, the challenges posed by the elements was unparalleled by that of the numerous worries of technology. And when it comes down to it I don't think there will ever be a day when a tsunami or tornado couldn't mess us up like a computer crash. We'd be miserable, but we would survive. Contrary to popular belief, we would survive.

We owe a lot to our natural environment, and when we lose that, it will be all turf and plastic palm trees. Which sounds kind of fun, (but I guess we need trees to breathe and what not). Besides, I couldn't handle a spring break themed life for more than the length of reading week.

I expected to see these guys in Mark Amerika's Filmtext.

"Nothing happens here. Nobody lives here"

The introduction of Filmtext says this itself. And speaks the truth.

When I investogate this piece via Google, I discover that Filmtext is a "hybridized online/offline digital narrative created as a net art site, a museum installation, an mp3 concept album, an artist ebook, and a series of live performances" as proclaimed by the artist himself.

I read this and at once I believe that my digital literacy is failing me! I don't understand this! Mark Amerika is telling me I have 4 personal messages and I can't open them! I hear lazers but I can't see them! A futuristic scroll opens before my eyes and says something incomprehensible !

On the first "level", in the desert, text that appears in the little box when I click one of the white crater things seems to be a series of postmodern rants about the body and art, media terrorists and social hammers, perception and reality.

When I graduate to the next two levels, his prose becomes even more cynical and cryptic. At one point I click something and its this woman's voice leaving a message on an answering machine, telling me about doing laundry and stuff. This keeps playing over and over again and I can't find a stop button of any sort. This is why I'm not entirely sure is there are other levels after this, because this phone message is playing over and over again and I feel increasingly anxious because checking my phone messages always makes me feel anxious like I'm neglecting someone somewhere. I don't know this woman and I don't know what Mark is trying to make me feel!

...Well, Mark Amerika has succeeded in creating a highly baffling digital narrative that makes me feel kind of lonely and kind of stupid because I have no idea whats going on.

Nice fonts, though.

Roland Barthes doesn't want to be a literary square.

I've come to terms with Twelve Blue.

I realize M.J. meant no harm in trying to get the reader a little more involved. He placed on us responsibility that some may have been not be used to - and that's kind of uncomfortable for some. It can hinder people's enjoyment of the poem. But he was only trying to liberate us, reader ! His intentions were good ! And he wanted to get closer to us, as hypertext blurs the line between reader and writer.

Roland Barthes, (an ACS homeboy, and certainly a househould name around here) argued that the ideal text did this - achieved an unclear distinction between the author and the reader. In fact, hypertext contains many aspects of Barthes' ideal text. It links, connects, allows information to be presented in a crazy ordder. It is a "galaxy of signifiers".

Woa. Deep.

He wasn't down with readerly texts, (commonly associated with lame classical texts. I don't think they're lame, but I reckon Barthes did), texts presented in linear ways, traditional texts adhereing to the status quo. He even went as far as to say that they supported the commercial values of the literary establishment.

Well isn't Barthes radical? I want to see him and Walter Ong fight.

On the other hand, a writerly text allows the reader to take control of the text. We construct our own meaning, as each reader is a subjective soul interpreting the text however they want. Twelve Blue is a writerly text, freeing the passive reader from the shackles of his own! small! mind!

Roland Barthes just wants to do what he wants. From this perspective, I can appreciate Twelve Blue and what it is trying to achieve - top knotch readers who can actively get down with text in a subjective, personalized way. Barthes just wanted us to not be literary squares, and instead, be our own literary hero's.

I feel closer to Michael Joyce already ...

That is a fine textile.

At Last: I finally understand the term textile !

From the day I dragged my boyfriend textile shopping in the dead of winter, I developed a true appreciation for textiles. (Shockingly, he didn't really appreciate this.) I also happen to really appreciate text - but I didnt think the two had anything in common. Except maybe "Bless this mess" on decorative kitchen crochets.

Alas, the term textile is a Latin word originating from the word textere, which means "to weave", as in to weave yarn to make cloth, as demonstrated by the lovely lady above. We do the same thing with words, non? weave them together to make sense. Sometimes when we are super advanced and postmodern, we can get inter"text"ual, or meta"text"ual, meaning that a bit of text about another text lies in top of a text. Many fictions incorporate intertextuality to make them more complex and interesting. Like in Shakespear's Hamlet, there is a play within a play. There are a million other examples of intertextuality out there in film and books, and they are on the rise.

George Landow knew what was up with his celebration of hypertextual freedom. He thought hypertext and hypermedia were open and linear, and crusty, ancient old books were closed. He believed that we needed to abandon conceptual systems founded on ideas of center, linearity, and migrate toward multilinearity and networks - essentially, ditch print for digital.

Pretty cutting edge, for a man who specializes in Victorian literature.

Twelve Blue, Michael Joyce.

Perhaps you wonder why I chose this picture for a post about Twelve Blue, the poem by Michael Joyce.
Well, it came up in a Google image search for the poet, and led me to a blog that promised me that this very hot dog would sing Twelve Blue to me while it was in the shower. Not the strangest promise anyone has ever made me, but I was intrigued. It didn't keep its promise, much to my disappointment. Hot Dogs are never to be trusted.

Similarly, I think my high expectations were to blame for my lack of enthusiasm for the hypertext piece.

The name Twelve Blue initially made me think of those math games I used to have to play in elementary school. Twelve blue cats eat twelve blue apples, so how long will it take for train A to pass train B? That kind of thing.

Anyway ... The aspect of Michael Joyce's hypertextual poetry that I found most interesting is his prose. It is really beautiful. His references to women stand out to me, using references to Gaugin and carnies. He uses alot of earthly and classic imagery, things pertaining to nature and the like. His poetry is astonishingly sensual for the medium he uses. To me, this juxtaposition is really ironic (and I reckon also a little distracting). Based on the fact that it is a hypertext poem, I found that I had lower expectations for the quality of his actual writing, and expected to be more astonished by the flashiness of the hypertext. I anticipated more stimulation, more qimmicky things. I assumed the medium would naturally become the message, with its overpowering and voltaic qualities.

On the side of the screen are panels with a bunch of different coloured lines, which arrangement you can change by clicking on - the purpose of this is unclear to me. According to Greg Ulmer, they represent the StorySpace network, and each line is a link to another document. But nothing happens when I click it. I feel like I'm missing something here.

In terms of content, the cumulative effect of the poem is supposed to be that of drowning, Greg tells me. That, and an "awareness that this image of drowning in its totality is the signifier for some unstated, abstract, perhaps inarticulable signification." Gregs explanation is a little vague to me, but from what I can understand, but I feel the finality thing. The last panel of the poem, starting with "everything can be read", has a sort of resolution to it that evokes feelings of the details of humanly life; the whorls of a rose, armpit, the sigh of rain, light through high branches of blue pines, whisper, every man and his mother, every woman and her lover ... culminating to a catharsis. There is nothing more than these details.

All the things I imagine would flash before your eyes during the last moments of drowning.

Hence, I attribute the profundity of this poem to Joyce's writing skills. I would probably be just as in awe if I read this on a peice of paper. If not more. Call me old fashioned, but I have a hard time anticipating seeing poems of Tennyson and Rossetti quality in electronic form. To me, the medium simply doesn't lend itself to the seemingly effortless masterpeices that were scrawled on parchment under a willow tree on a bank somewhere at dawn, in "ye ole' days". That's what I picture when I think of classic poetry.