Tag: wound media

A Fire in My Belly: The Wound Media of David Wojnarowicz

by on Dec.03, 2010

Lucas’s discussion of David Wojnarowicz’s “Fire in My Belly” brings our attention to a key term: vulnerability. What does this term mean? It derives from the Latin word vulnus, wound. I’ve been thinking lately about how wounds are a type of media—they are a spectacle on the body, they mark a site of violence (they are a memorial site?), they present a surface or image of uncertain depth and mark both a site of entry and of exit. They shed issues of blood, pus, water (if you’re Jesus). Sacred wounds represent the mediumicity of the wound par excellence– the fluid that flows from Jesus wounds can make its own images (as when Veronica wiped his face and his image was transferred to her cloth) and the stigmata itself is constantly remarking itself on the skin surface of saints, showing them to have been pierced by the Holy Spirit, showing them to have a surfeit of grace which leaks from the wounds; transferred to cloth, this fluid from saint’s wounds creates holy icons. Moreover, the vulnerability of wound-media has both a micro and macrocosmic effect; that is, a hyperbolic, excessive effect; when a stigmata appears there is a piercing of the membrane separating earth and heaven.

We can track the vulnerability in “Fire in My Belly” by the way the medium itself functions, with a choppy montage which makes the viewer aware of the cuts. (continue reading…)

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On Debris 2; Or, Vulnerability

by on Oct.05, 2010

Hearing Region

I once had perfect hearing, maybe perfect pitch. I would sing at the top of my lungs with little provocation. After I became a writer, I liked to perform my poems at top volume; a microphone got in my way, producing surplus noise or topping out my voice at a screechy ceiling, performing a violence on the audience’s ears. I tried to keep away from microphones.

Then I began to lose my hearing. I have what they call a ‘cookie bite’ audiogram. There’s a hole in the middle of a normal range of frequencies and volumes where sound for me drops out. My hearing picks up again at higher and lower pitches. It’s not the material apparatus of the ear but the nerve itself that has stopped carrying sound to my brain.

Idiopathic: no known cause.

Now I wear two hearing aids that marginally “improve” my hearing and have a material effect on my relationship with sound. For one thing, sound has become artificial, digital. Sure we’ve got tv ears digital vs analog hearing aids but which are actually beneficial? Everything processed through two tiny microphones. The world has lost resonance. It’s as if the world’s retreated, a just detectible amount, into its skin.

In the interval that’s opened up, I hear a lot more dead air.
(continue reading…)

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Body Possessed by Media: the Bodily Odors of the Saints; Or, Everything Ascending into Heaven Smells Rotten

by on Sep.21, 2010


Fi Jae Lee, "Everything Ascending Into Heaven Smells Rotten"

Some Catholic saints are known as “Les Incorruptibles” precisely because their bodies do not decay after death, which is, circularly enough, a sign of their sainthood, but some also are known (when living) to have released their own perfumes(not in the sense that Britney Spears and JLo released the “Curious” and “Glow” perfumes, although not entirely not in that sense).

Such a perfume is known as the ‘odor of sanctity’, associated with bodily proximity or even proximity to bodily fluids of the saints. Catholic websites relate that a bloody bandage removed from a sore on Padre Pio’s chest released his holy perfume all the way to Rome, where it was being brought for labwork ( I couldn’t find this website again when I wanted to annotate– diabolical intervention?). Odor and sainthood metonymize each other. Both are incorruptible and stick around, taking up space. The persistence of this odor of sanctity, its ineradicability, testifies to the stability and homogeneity of the saint’s moral composition, the solidity of his bodily holiness—even as it performs a countermodality of entropy and (reeky) contagion.

It also gets ahead of the saint’s life narrative, in that it foreshadows the saint’s nearness to God after his death, his ability to intercede with God on man’s behalf. It’s like, this guy’s so close to God, even God can smell this guy. Or maybe, he’s so close to God, we can smell God on him.

In the case of Padre Pio, his profuse ‘odor of sanctity’ was itself witness to his saintly tendency towards ‘bilocation’, or ability to be in two places at once. Quoth Catholic website EWTN,

“The phenomenon of bilocation is one of the most remarkable gifts attributed to Padre Pio. His appearances on various of the continents are attested by numerous eye witnesses, who either saw him or smelled the odors characteristically associated with his presence, described by some as roses and by others as tobacco. The phenomenon of odor (sometimes called the odor of sanctity) is itself well established in Padre Pio’s case. The odor was especially strong from the blood coming from his wounds. Investigation showed that he used absolutely no fragrances or anything that could produce these odors. The odors often occurred when people called upon his intercession in prayer and continue to this day.”

Here the odor of sanctity, be it tobacco or roses, is in surplus to itself—well, is it tobacco or roses?  It is surplus to presence and also evidence of it; at the same time, Father Pio is capable of multiple bodily locations or presences. His is a sign that stands for flux and surplus. The meduimicity of the saint is also evident in this rhetoric- his odor moves through him, and vice versa.

The most acute rendition of Padre Pio’s bilocation is itself a dense tangle of narrative signs and signals:

“The most remarkable of these reported incidents occurred on January 18, 1905 shortly before midnight. Padre Pio was in the choir at the friary when, according to his description, his mind traveled to a location in Udine where a child was being born prematurely just moments before the death of her father. In 1923 he met the girl and “recognized” her. The girl’s mother recalled very clearly the death of her husband and the vision of a Capuchin monk in Udine on the night when the girl was born.”

What, besides Padre Pio’s saintliness, is signaled to us by this account? What is signaling through this jumble of narrative flames (that is, frames?)? What is the significance of the child’s prematurity, the father’s death, except that they are turned into a kind of chronometer, their own narratives smashed up to secure the temporal timeline of Pio’s bilocation? 

But Padre Pio’s physical body, was, in fact, all too penetrable. In his lifetime, Padre Pio suffered a number of physical ailments, including asthma, bronchitis, acute stomach problems, tuberculosis of the skin. He also suffered from ailments that, like him,  seemed doubly located in his soul and in his body. He suffered stigmata and ‘transverberation’ in which “The soul being inflamed with the love of God which is interiorly attacked by a Seraph, who pierces it through with a fiery dart. This leaves the soul wounded, which causes it to suffer from the overflowing of divine love”. On account of this experience, a “first class relic” of Padre Pio is “a large framed square of linen bearing a bloodstain from “the wound of the transverberation of the heart” in Padre Pio’s side” and is “exposed for public veneration at the St. John Cantius Church in Chicago.” (This paragraph’s quotes from Wikipedia).

Because everything ascending into heaven smells rotten.

Oddly, while Pio welcomed his mundane physical sufferings as a chance to become “a victim of divine love”, Pio was beset with embarassment at these physical manifestations and asked for them to be removed:

“Dear Father, I am dying of pain because of the wounds and the resulting embarrassment I feel deep in my soul. I am afraid I shall bleed to death if the Lord does not hear my heartfelt supplication to relieve me of this condition. Will Jesus, who is so good, grant me this grace? Will he at least free me from the embarrassment caused by these outward signs? I will raise my voice and will not stop imploring him until in his mercy he takes away, not the wound or the pain, which is impossible since I wish to be inebriated with pain, but these outward signs which cause me such embarrassment and unbearable humiliation.”( http://www.cantius.org/go/organizations/relic_of_st_padre_pio_of_pietrelcina)

It’s pretty hard to imagine reacting to the ultimate sign of holy intervention with humiliation and embarassment. But Padre Pio, it seems, rejected his extreme mediumicity. He did not want the outward signs. He did not want to be a surface of fact.

Not incidentily, when Padre Pio’s body was exhumed for examination in 2008, it was declared intact; he was among the incorruptibles.

“Local Archbishop monsignor Domenico D’Ambrosio, who was present at the exhumation, said: “[…] You can clearly see the beard, knees, hands, the nails – if Padre Pio will forgive me it’s as if he has just had a manicure.”

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