Tag: Body Possessed by Media

Bringing it All Back Home

by on Oct.30, 2010

Why is this album cover so beguiling? I think for its gyre-like qualities–the vortex– occult/Modernist qualities. The golden ring feels like an error AND like a media effect– an accident of light, a glitch or warp of the film or lens?– making us feel the presence of (archaic feeling) non-digital apparatus by which this photo was taken. At the same time, it looks like the iris of an eye. So the eye is somehow the ‘same as’ the glitch, the error, and the media– the archaic media. Here, rather than representing rationality and insight, or even just perception in its various definitions, this eye is excessive to itself. It is an eye that can see itself (rather than a transparent eyeball), an eye which seeps (or leaks) its own gold material onto the image itself.

And the image itself has rat-nest, imperialistic qualities. Like Marlowe, or any armchair imperialist, Bob Dylan has lugged a bunch of knowledge ‘back home’, rendered here in material form. Knowledge is materialized everywhere as books, magazines, sheet music, portraits, furniture, friezes, woman, I guess. The woman has a knowing look. She is not the Intended, despite her black hair, because we are at the end of History, here, everything has been or is going to be shortly consumed. Foreshortened to the point of convexity? Perhaps to be consumed by a conflagration, that is, by the evil eye, which does not see but leaks, stains, marks. Stigmatas. (Eye-stigmata.)
Culture as the possessions of the dead.
Shortly to be (re-)possessed by media the eye.

Et in arcadia, I was (always?already?in the process of being!) possessed by media!

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The Body Possessed by Media: Artaud; or, Flaming Creatures

by on Oct.07, 2010

“Furthermore, when we speak of the word “life,” it must be understood we are not referring to life as we know it from its surface of fact, but that fragile, fluctuating center which forms never reach. And if there is still one hellish, truly accursed thing in our time, it is our artistic dallying with forms, instead of being like victims burnt at the stake, signaling through the flames.” The Theatre and Its Double, Preface.

This quote has always stymied me because, first of all, I like to dally with forms, and, given that Artaud has a lot to say about the material requirements of the Theater of Cruelty, it seems that he does, too. Rereading this quote through the lens of the Body Possessed by Media, however, I see a more undecidable image. That which is just  a form, or just  a surface of fact, is a dead thing, part of the debris of modern culture Artaud diagnoses elsewhere. The role of the artist is to be “like victims burnt at the stake, signaling through the flames.” This final image interests me on two levels. First ,because it seems to draw on a cinematic image of Joan of Arc d from the Dreyer film in which Artaud performed, and, on some level, predicts its disintegration in the cupboard of a Norwegian mental asylum where the only extant print was recovered in 1981. More importantly to my argument, we truly have the mediumicity of the body in extremis in this image. The body is burnt, made a victim in perfect, ritualistic theatrical event. The body is burnt by the flames which then form a screen, a medium through which the body signals, and of course some kind of life force is signaling through the body at that moment. At the same time, the entire image of the body, stake, flames is an emblem through which the life force signals. And, syntactically, the body itself is signaling through the medium of flame. It is flaming. Supersaturated. Supermediumistic. It’s the signal.

A flaming creature.

And what kind of force is doing this signaling? Only one which is itself like a victim at the stake—fragile,  fluctuating. Vulnerable (etym: Latin: vulnus: wound). But as I’ve demonstrated elsewhere (in my gaga stigmata piece), the wound is the ultimate medium, the ultimate site of the body possessed by media, revealing a spectacular surface through which a force of “pure” media can flow.

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Body Possessed by Media and Bataille’s Solar Anus

by on Sep.17, 2010

Meat Purse

My thinking about art, writing, media and genre, lately coming together under the rubric of the Body Posessed by Media, is heavily indebted to Bataille (a connection I’ve drawn before in my essay “Expenditure, or Why I’m Going to Die Trying”, which was an AWP talk and also appeared in Fence).  In showing how the idea of the Body Posessed by Media links to Bataille, I’d like to consider this quote from George Battaile’s essay, Solar Anus:

“Everyone is aware that life is parodic and that it lacks an interpretation. Thus lead is the parody of gold. Air is the parody of water. The brain is the parody of the equator. Coitus is the parody of crime.

Gold, water, the equator, or crime can each be put forward as the principle of things.
(continue reading…)

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The Body Possessed by Media 2: Hunger’s Dirty Protest; or Everything Ascending into Heaven Smells Rotten; or, Bobby Sands, Matthew Barney, Fi Jae Lee, Atrocity Kitsch and Male Anorexia

by on Aug.23, 2010

When I watched Hunger, British artist Steve McQueen’s art movie about Irish dirty-protest-leader/hunger striker Bobby Sands, I freakin’ could not believe how much the Bobby Sands figure (as played by Michael Fassbender) reminded me,visually, of Matthew Barney in the Cremaster cycle. Even for an obviously debased Irish Catholic like me,  this is a sacrilegious thought. How could the body of Saint Bobby Sands twin with the body of an narcissistic anally-fixated bulimic art god?

Michael Fassbender as Bobby Sands

[Wikipedia moment: Bobby Sands is an incredibly interesting (still notorious?) figure—an IRA member who, in various prisons, protested in order that he and his comrades be classified as political prisoners rather than criminals. First they refused to wear prisoner’s uniforms, going naked and/or wearing blankets instead; then they refused to bathe and smeared their prison walls with shit (the ‘dirty protest’); finally they began a hunger strike, of which Sands died. In freakin’ 1981, people. During the hunger strike he was also somehow elected to the British Parliament on the “Anti- H-Block/Armagh Political Prisoner’ ticket—H Block referred to the ‘H’ shape of the Maze Prison in which the Hunger strike was taking place]

Sands flummoxed the British government with his blanket protest, dirty protest and hunger strike—these rejections of health and hygiene upended the Foucauldian prerogatives of both the prison regime and the British subjugation of Irish bodies as metonym for their subjugation of Ireland as a plantation, colony, etc. The protests went outside and around the value hierarchies culminating in the whole pure white bodies of Thatcher and the Queen and also activated the immemorial English condemnation of Irish as animals, savages, heathens, etc. The mortification of Sands’s body was also an easy match with Roman Catholic ideas of martyrdom, saints, and the physical mortification of the devout.

Hunger’s Dirty Protest

However , a Wikipedia-informed saint’s-life of Bobby Sands and a movie ‘about’ Bobby Sands are two different things.  What struck me about the movie is how deliciously it indulged in the visual breakdown of Sands’s (Fassbender’s) body—since he’s at least half naked throughout, one can observe he is at first attractively (male-ly) muscled, his cheekbones grow more pronounced; his muscles shrivel; bones appear beneath his skin, bed sores appear—rather than an interiority, it’s as if the body continually has more surfaces to reveal. The whole movie is Sands’s/Fassbender’s body. The flights of birds, the falls of light, the truncheons, the prison structure—all seem to emanate from or return to this body. The much praised mise-en-scene is like a bodily fluid. Sands’s body changes form and hosts other media—it never disappears. It cannot be erased from this movie because it is the movie—the medium through which it progresses.

Bed Sores

The same might be said for Matthew Barney’s oeuvre—his body is the ultimate material, the ‘matrix’ or mother material, through which and from which all the media move and pour. The beads, the vaseline, the flesh that falls away and continually reforms itself in bodies that signal hybrity—of man, animal, god, petroleum product—the tendency of bodies to break down, be consumed or consume themselves so that all physical gestures seem like a species of devourment, defecation or eructation. Gestation and the physical development of sexual differentiation in the womb allegedly provide the underlying structure of the Cremaster cycle, but this is overdetermination is also a kind of oversaturation—the very site of sexual difference inscribed within and shot through with and indeterminate from the continually reconfiguring material of the maternal body… itself indistinguishable from the ‘male’ body of Matthew Barney.

A Cremaster

Hunger and Cremaster link to Fi Jae Lee’s work in that the body is possessed by media but is never obliterated by it despite the violence done to it by media possession (and by becoming a medium). Instead, it multiplies, splits open to reveal new surfaces, digests itself, becomes porous to fluid, breaks down and reforms, extrudes new media and materials. Unlike actual anorexia or bulimia, this logic doesn’t end in death, but makes a zone there in which to continually reconfigure or recapitulate itself.


(Fi Jae Lee, Everything Ascending into Heaven Smells Rotten)

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Fi Jae Lee: The Body Possessed by Media

by on Aug.06, 2010

Fi Jae Lee, Mememememememe (candle)

Can a body be possessed by media? It’s a trick (and tricky) question, since a medium, in the occult sense, is supposed to be possessed by others. If an entity can be possessed by a medium, or, worse, by media, it is then opened to all kinds of possession, penetration, contents it cannot contain, overcrowding, doubling up, debility and damage. Deformation and eclipses, ellipses, reemergence and reemergence.

The gist of these metaphors calls to mind the libels directed at immigrants by nativists in most parts of the world—that immigrants crowd the space, use up the resources, create waste, destroy property, crowd out the job market, live in crowded living spaces, over-impregnate, make loud music, cook loud food, dress provokingly, wear the wrong skin, crash the state or (in America) crash emergency rooms with their bodily catastrophes. Such licit fantasies reverse the actual power dynamic in which the established population holds final power over the immigrant’s body.

But what if we reverse this current of thought, construing the foreign body as the one which is infiltrated, possessed, crowded, crashed with catastrophe?

Fi Jae Lee, Le Massacre de Jesus Egoiste

In this reversed current of thought, rather than the body of the state, the foreigner’s body becomes mediumistic and is itself run through, suppurated, saturated with further media,  conduit of infection, irritation, correction, image, odor and noise, and worst of all: more bodies.

The Korean artist Fi Jae Lee’s work operates in this zone of contamination, inflammation and metasization. Her work is multimedia, but with none of the technophilic, flow-chartish nicety and expertise that term has begun to imply. There are too many media here, too many, even, for the multimedia environment of the Internet—her website has too many images to get a sense of the whole body of work; so much text crowds the text window that the scrollbars must be constantly manipulated to bring more into view; on my screen the crucial scrollbars are occluded. As for her art work itself, it involves sculpture, painting, installation, monologues, her own body and hair, the performance of rituals. As much as they are brimming over with color, texture, scale, activity and sensation, they are also lousy with text, text which is a bad fit for the artwork, in that it seems to occupy a testy, inflamed adjacency.

Fi Jae Lee, Le Massacre de Jesus Egoiste

Lee’s work Le Massacre de Jesus Egoiste is a multimedia performance which occurred in France and Chicago; on the Internet it’s a heap of photographs attended by a tract which substitutes for an artist’s statement, in which she asserts “I am selfish Jesus.” She reveals:

I am a medium between God and people. I will not die. Although my body will die someday in some ways, my soul will keep resurrecting in people’s minds forever.

Here we have Jesus as the contaminating medium—as a selfish, parasitic medium. He/she/Jesus/Fi Jae Lee mediates ‘between’ God and people, but he/she/Jesus/Fi Jae Lee also passes into a second medium, “people’s minds” from whence he/she/Jesus/Fi Jae Lee reboots inexhaustibly “forever.” However, this is not the end of the Moebius like hypermediumicity and hyperposession balling up in the piece:

As the Selfish Jesus, I have realized that the unbreakable and fundamental energy, which established and maintains the world, is our selfish desires. Unfortunately, people hardly ever attain this knowledge because of what I call, “the skin,” which wraps and hides the desire. For those blinded by “the skin,” I do a barbarous orgy whose name is “The Massacre of The Scissors Woman.”

Here one medium, Selfish Jesus, already possessed by Fi Jae Lee (or vice versa), does battle with another medium, “the skin”, taking up the medium of “scissors.” As the tract specifies,

To enter the orgy of “the Scissors Woman,” people draw the faces of human beings who they bitterly hate. “The Waitress,” the priestess of the Selfish Jesus attaches the cursed faces on each headless doll scattered around her, and brings the dolls to the scissors. I ruthlessly cut the heads off. The heads fall into the pond of blood. Dangling arteries, I soak the blood to behead more and more heads. Opening their thickest “skin,” all human beings in the ceremony fall into extremely delightful feeling.

The dangling modifier “dangling arteries” suggests the ways bodies have been distressed by this performance—do the arteries dangle from “the heads” or from Selfish Jesus? Meanwhile, the blood somehow becomes a medium for beheading as well as a supersaturatable medium which can become ‘soaked’ with itself. Audience participation adds more bodies to the ritual; audience bodies become one more medium in the already supersaturated space. But the ritual keeps producing more personae—the Mistress of the Scissors, the Waitress, the Selfish Jesus, the dolls and their heads, the evil skin and the capacious blood. But lest that settle things, the Selfish Jesus also wishes

wish I could squeeze myself into the cracks of everyone’s “skins.” Settling down there, I will boom boom boom beat “the skins” to stimulate their desires. They shall call the Selfish Jesus again to liberate their desires.

It is impossible to be free of the inlooping, parasitical media, what some might call a ‘feedback loop.” The parasite artist/messiah’s job is to irritate this interrelationship, to prompt a continual production and destruction of media, which then sites the human as the medium through which both the violence and a “delightful feeling” wells.

Fi Jae Lee, My Shrine

It’s easier to assess this work through the text than through the text *and* the photographs, the photographs which in their multiplicity depict more and less than we want to see. In the photographs we get a sense of an art that is simultaneously pressing out of and into the space of itself, into and out of the roomsized installations, becoming herniated, cartoonish, bursting and suppurating. Fabric forms and sharp-looking stalactitic “shrines”, photographic doll heads which compress the images of the face weirdly to two dimensions and refuse to produce an organizing third dimension, strange clear liquids that float hair and bend light, a shin-bruising fountain of wine, a woman with her body and face obscured in the garbage-like heaps of her work. Odor and texture aren’t visible in these sticky photos, yet they aren’t detached from them, either.  Instead they are made present in the way the images stutter, replicate and stick to each other, never settling down into a nice 360 degree “installation view.”

Lee arrived at her autoproducing jelly-like mediumicity upon watching a documentary about disability:

After having recovered their lost sensory capacities through an operation, they suffered more acutely from the sudden deluge of light or sound than when they had lived with the disabilities. Our senses both require the ability to sense as well as to edit. I was shuddering under the unfamiliar environment and language much like people with such disabilities. I wanted to materialize the chaotic state in my work.

The “chaotic state” is the body’s shudder, unable to regulate its own mediumicity and absorbed in an at first responsive but then self-generating spasm. Her work doesn’t safely “replicate” or “recreate” this state, but “materialize[s]“ it, creating a mediumistic extension or surplus with which her own body is conjoined. As she later remarks on smelling scorched dried squid, upon her return to Seoul:  “In a sense, the border of a community can be translated into boundaries of the senses. The reeking odor of grilled squid is the other as well as the abjection of the West.” This is the signature gesture of Fi Jae Lee’s art, this diffused and jelly-like body of work, not to exemplify or illustrate but to reek, to permeate, to particalize and infiltrate the brain of the perceiver through the porous nasal passage, even as the work itself breaks down, becomes disorganized, is destroyed yet malingers.

As Lee’s mother comments, “Your workspace reeks of putrefying smell.”

Fi Jae Lee, everything ascending into heaven smells rotten

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