mills

My name is Mills Baker; I write about love, culture, art, religion, mental illness, philosophy, memory, politics and the rather random.

My Photo Blog
Flickr / Videos
Facebook / Twitter
Email / Archive


[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]

Philip Glass - Einstein On The Beach - Act IV. Scene I - Building

This is dated, a bit absurd. It is not unlike the rest of Einstein on the Beach, which, if I opt to consider critically, can seem a bit ridiculous and even gimmicky. Besides the fact its libretto, excepting a few pieces, is mostly solfège left in place from the composition of the music, there is the endlessness of it. About the briefer Glass opera Satyagraha, critic Henry Heidt said:

“…it is well named, as a deeply felt commitment to passive nonviolence on the part of the audience is required to sit through a full performance.”

Indeed, Chris’ wife Alexi told me her mother broke up with a boyfriend who took her to see Einstein on the Beach, the five-hour exercise in mathematical-musical intricacies and trance-inducing acoustic manipulation evidently not working on her.

That said: I really like it anyway, even the saxophone that glides over the scrum of this piece. It might be my age -synth and sax tones aren’t necessarily ironic to me- or it might be that I feel a certain kind of cerebral hyperstimulation when I listen to it, my mind unified in attention but fragmented in chasing down disconnected harmonic tangents, and this piece in particular adds an odd element with the overarching melody moving between modes.

It often makes me think of scales and spaces: the vacuity of the atomic world and the vacuity of the universe and the teeming, vibrating density of the human perceptual world, nicely in the middle.

Update: Zombie Electroniq shares some excellent observations about Glass and the various critiques of his work here.

Abby in San Francisco about a year ago, before I knew her.

Abby in San Francisco about a year ago, before I knew her.

"Art is truth"; but can truth be political?

Andy Sturdevant of South 12th posted an excellent essay about John F. Kennedy’s assertion that “art is truth,” which comes from a speech Sturdevant excerpts, compares to Glenn Beck’s remarks on art, and partially disputes.

If art is to nourish the roots of our culture, society must set the artist free to follow his vision wherever it takes him. We must never forget that art is not a form of propaganda; it is a form of truth… In free society art is not a weapon and it does not belong to the spheres of polemic and ideology. Artists are not engineers of the soul. It may be different elsewhere. But democratic society—in it, the highest duty of the writer, the composer, the artist is to remain true to himself and to let the chips fall where they may.

Kennedy was likely contrasting the art of the West with Socialist Realism in particular, the Russian movement directed by the Soviet government to support official party policy. Art that didn’t directly support Communist principles or “inspire” the “workers” was considered not merely useless but bourgeoisie and reactionary. What was personal, individual, interior was deplored: “The private life is dead in Russia for a man with any manhood,” and this was true for the scribe as well as the soldier.

To be preoccupied with such a scale of life -love, death, family- in a time of global proletarian struggle was clearly anti-social solipsism, and therefore anti-Socialist sabotage. So Bulgakov is censored while Gorky thrives.

For many, particularly survivors of Soviet domination like Milan Kundera, the idea that politics is incompatible with art is axiomatic. But Sturdevant notes several artists, and there are many, who exemplify his claim that “Art canbe an ideological weapon in a free society, obviously, and there have been plenty of times in American history where it has been used as such.”

While I tend to dislike political art -which is not exploratory but expository, which does not seek truth but rather tells us where to find it, which is not existential but teleological (and therefore often dull and dated)- I am interested in what seems to follow from Kennedy’s claim. If art is truth and art cannot be political, is it fair to say that what is political is necessarily untrue?

I think it perhaps is, since what is political is aggregatory, reductive, and systematic, all qualities I associate with the subtle falsity of reason run amok. Kennedy seems to suggest as much when he says that truth emerges when the artist “remain[s] true to himself and… let[s] the chips fall where they may.”

That is: undirected fidelity to the individual, concern with the human, yields meaningful artistic truth. As all politics are teleological and subordinate the individual to theory, the chips cannot fall where they may. Their artificial arrangment may be moving, moralistically affecting, beautiful, but tied to the moment it won’t be enduring.

But that is just one view, and the point is: Sturdevant’s post is awesome.

“Oppenheimer, they tell me you are writing poetry. I do not see how a man can work on the frontiers of physics and write poetry at the same time. They are in opposition. In science you want to say something that nobody knew before, in words which everyone can understand. In poetry you are bound to say something that everybody knows already in words that nobody can understand.”
The brilliant physicist Paul Dirac, who seems not to have understood poetry, in a remark to Robert Oppenheimer. Thanks, dad!
GPOYW. The lights in the distance are from Death Valley. Thanks and a biscuit for my assistant during the process.
(Also, thanks to Lacey for this abomination).

GPOYW. The lights in the distance are from Death Valley. Thanks and a biscuit for my assistant during the process.

(Also, thanks to Lacey for this abomination).

Drunk, Crazy, Fat, Stupid

Kia Matthews posted an excellent mock apology on behalf of the overweight after discussing the universal scorn to which they are subject. One might write one for the mentally ill, too. There are similarities, particularly with regard to the points of contention that make such discussions so fraught: (1) the relationship between genetics and behavior, nature and nurture, determinism and will; and (2) questions of personal responsibility and social responsibility, particular as they relate to costs to society.

(Indeed, I wonder how long until “being out of socially-desirable shape” will be a named disorder in an edition of the DSM, but I digress).

As with standards of physical health, standards of mental health blend objective science with subjective assumptions about what a person ought to be, and like obesity mental illness reflects both genetic factors beyond the determination of the individual afflicted and volitional decisions made over time.

Thus they are both problematized by existing between culpability and blamelessness. Is the schizophrenic who doesn’t take his medicine at fault for obeying the commands of his voices? Is there anything “wrong” with schizophrenia, or is it the normative social standards of our time that condemn it to illness when it was once deemed mystical? Is the overweight man eating unhealthy food at fault for his condition, or is his metabolism? Or is it merely the contemporary obsession with body image that raises any of these issues? Is there indeed nothing “wrong” at all with being overweight? Or are both matters of degree?

In addition to being mentally ill, I’m also an alcoholic. Does that fall into the same category? I put it to you. Are the following dissimilar? Specifically, should our judgments about the culpability of the individuals involved be dissimilar?

  • an obese person eating unhealthily
  • a beautiful person neglecting his intellect
  • a mentally ill person resisting treatment
  • a successful person who lacks empathy
  • a drug addict using or an alcoholic drinking
  • an ignorant person failing to educate himself (holding a stupid placard at a rally which reflects his ignorance)
  • a neurotic who does not seek therapy

The conditions noted above all mix genetic predisposition and social circumstances with volitional choices made over time; all can in theory be overcome via decisive willpower, and indeed there exist tools to assist individuals who wish to overcome all of them through straightforward, logical, intelligible steps. All are also considered, to varying degrees, morally wrong by significant numbers of people (although which are wrong, how wrong, and why are subjects of contention). All, it has been argued, deleteriously affect society in addition to the individuals in question.

We seem to expect different levels of self-determination and self-overcoming from different sorts of people. Do we believe that human will is sufficient to defeat genetic predisposition, and if so is it always? Or do we think that will is itself part of our nature? Do we find mental and physical “faults,” if they are indeed faults, to be equivalent?

Is there any moral fault which we cannot contextualize as something pitiable, rather than contemptible? Are there any which we cannot say are simply different rather than pitiable?

We are socially inclined to apply different standards of culpability to human behaviors without examining how we derive those standards or what it would mean to apply them with logical consistency.

It interests me, for example, that people are casual with their derision of the overweight and the mentally ill and the stupid (“That fat moron is crazy!”), but less with the poor or the addicted. Is the allotment of poverty less fair than the allotment of insanity, obesity, or stupidity? Is poverty or addiction harder to overcome? Is fairness what permits mockery, or do we just mock whatever we can get away with?

I tend to think that in almost all these cases -even for ignorance, which is widely mocked in this milieu- judgment is shallow, uncompassionate, and intellectually mistaken; too many of the categories are lazily constructed and too many of the values are distorted. But perhaps I’m wrong. Would anyone care to disentangle this controversial mess?

Self-Pitying Greeks & Your Hallucinating Forebears

Tragos and Superfluidity, each of whom could hold my entire mind in their consciousness with room for a deluxe set of leather-bound encyclopedias and attention left-over for juggling, are discussing wether the Greeks were capable of (1) self-pity and (2) describing self-pity. Each asks interesting questions.

I’d be remiss, however, as a supporter of those personae non grata in the academy, if I didn’t mention the ideas of Julian Jaynes, the Princeton psychologist who proposed in The Origin of Consciousness and the Breakdown of the Bicameral Mind that through the time of Homer, humans were hallucinating schizophrenics dreaming of gods as a means of achieving volition:

According to Jaynes, ancient people in the bicameral state would experience the world in a manner that has similarities to that of a modern-day schizophrenic. Rather than making conscious evaluations in novel or unexpected situations, the person would hallucinate a voice or “god” giving admonitory advice or commands, and obey these voices without question; one would not be at all conscious of one’s own thought processes per se.

The book is quite remarkable for its presentation of varied sorts of evidence -physical traces of this division in the brain as evinced by experiments, archaeological suggestions of bicamerality in ancient cultures, and lots of literary analysis of Homer in particular- and for the fact that it’s the most radical thesis I’ve ever encountered and been unable to rebut.

As Richard Dawkins said, “It is one of those books that is either complete rubbish or a work of consummate genius, nothing in between! Probably the former, but I’m hedging my bets.” Daniel Dennett is more supportive, as are many others, but the sheer shock of the idea is so great that even if one doesn’t reject immediately it is hard to incorporate it into one’s beliefs.

Until recently, humans lacked consciousness -as defined by introspection- and lived by the fiat of hallucinated voices. In any event, whatever one thinks of this remarkable thesis -which Langer and Ragbag and I were to have debated at one point, I think- Jaynes’ reading of Homer and his assessment of the toneless, weirdly exteriorized Greek emotional world is relevant. He would doubtless agree that the Greeks were not capable of self-pity as they could not introspect.

Bear hunter on Kodiak Archipelago, May 11, 1957 (via).

Bear hunter on Kodiak Archipelago, May 11, 1957 (via).

Samurai Creed, author unknown

From the always wonderful Dirk Ashly Knoedler:

I have no parents; I make the heaven and earth my mother and father.
I have no home; I make awareness my dwelling.
I have no life and death; I make the tides of breathing my life and death.
I have no divine power; I make honesty my divine power.
I have no means; I make understanding my means.
I have no magic secrets; I make character my magic secret.
I have no body; I make endurance my body.
I have no eyes; I make the flash of lightning my eyes.
I have no ears; I make sensibility my ears.
I have no limbs; I make promptness my limbs.
I have no strategy; I make “unshadowed by thought” my strategy
I have no designs; I make “seizing opportunity by the forelock” my design.
I have no miracles; I make right action my miracle.
I have no principles; I make adaptability to all circumstances my principles.
I have no tactics; I make emptiness and fullness my tactics.
I have no talents; I make ready wit my talent.
I have no friends; I make my mind my friend.
I have no enemy; I make carelessness my enemy.
I have no armor; I make benevolence and righteousness my armor.
I have no castle; I make immovable mind my castle.
I have no sword; I make absence of self my sword.

Six people might not seem like a lot for a Tumblr meetup, but the bar has been set pretty low in the past so it qualifies. Scorning the many flakes, Erin, Lacey, Nicki, Sydney, Will, and I got together at the Chimes to discuss all the rest of you, your habits, proclivities, aberrant tendencies, and secrets. It was astonishing.

Syd’s husband also attended and took perhaps the worst photographs in history, most of which aren’t included in this Flickr set. From gaming the waitress to doing lines in the crowded bathroom, it was a night I’ll never forget.

[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]

Philip Glass - Trial 2 / Prison, “I Feel the Earth Move.”

From Einstein on the Beach, whose fragmentary rhythmic texts are embedding themselves in my mind with increasing force every day, this movement features the work of autistic poet Christopher Knowles. The cadences and repetitions of his words remind me of my internal monologue during states of duress -migraines, manic episodes, fevers- little fugues of iterating speech, staccato and repetitive, that have some compelling structure I can’t identify.

For Mumblelard, whose wonderful tags are sometimes similar.

Rainer Maria Rilke, "Autumn Day"

Lord: it is time. The summer was immense.
Lay your long shadows on the sundials,
and on the meadows let the winds go free.

Command the last fruits to be full;
give them just two more southern days,
urge them on to completion and chase
the last sweetness into the heavy wine.

Who has no house now, will never build one.
Who is alone now, will long remain so,
will stay awake, read, write long letters
and will wander restlessly up and down
the tree-lines streets, when the leaves are drifting.

Posted by Wesley Hill.

Ramin Bahrani’s Plastic Bag is too short to review and too sweet to ruin by discussing what it’s about; to the twenty-minute film I had only one objection: the music at the end seemed overwrought. Abby had another: the plastic bag is an icon that’s been rather ruined.
The precedent didn’t weigh on me, though. Above: love.

Ramin Bahrani’s Plastic Bag is too short to review and too sweet to ruin by discussing what it’s about; to the twenty-minute film I had only one objection: the music at the end seemed overwrought. Abby had another: the plastic bag is an icon that’s been rather ruined.

The precedent didn’t weigh on me, though. Above: love.

Tags: film telluride
“Film is twenty-four lies per second at the service of truth…”

Michael Haneke. This recalls the beautiful Julian Barnes line I quoted here.

The relationship of falsity and truth in art fascinates me. We exempt art from our age’s obsessive ‘scientism’ for good reason: human truths, fragile and elusive, are not always captured in realist exposition. Though we’ve decided that only what is isomorphic to reality is intellectually acceptable, story, enactment, myth, deceit, allusion, and provocation all remain not merely preferable to the ordinary world but indeed the only means of understanding it.