AD603 Critical Theory

In the past semester I have read more documents that have questioned my Latin-Americanicity than I think I can handle. Recently, I have started questioning my work, asking, “How much of this is evidence of Mexicanism? Was I taught, at some point that I need to make work that looks like Frida Kahlo and Diego Rivera? Am I making images that are predictably Latin and therefore exotic?” Well, the images above are a juxtaposition of a really old lithograph I made and one of Kahlo’s famous self-portraits. Notice something similar about them?

In response to the first questions, I really do not remember anyone imposing Mexican artists on me as role models. No ever said, “Erika, this is what Mexicans make art about. You need to do this, too!” So, have I accomplished this all on my own?  I think I have. But I can’t figure out if I’ve done something wrong. I am pretty certain that I haven’t.Can you really blame me for making a person that looks this fabulous into a hero?

Mosquera, in “The Marco Polo Syndrome,” maintains that there is this idea going around that permeates the art world, among other worlds. The syndrome, as I understood it, is an approach. Mosquera argues that the way we approach art and culture is much to European-ized. How did this happen? Through centuries and centuries of persuasion, apparently.  Moreover, Mosquera suggests the colonization was the vehicle for Eurocentrism. Colonization is like a special invitation–extending an offer to the less advantaged (third worldly) to be as privileged as one is. In his own words, “Western metaculture established itself through colonisation, domination, and event the need to articulate it in order to confront the new situation within itself.” This reminds me a lot of museums and galleries, actually. It reminds me of carnival-like biennials that aim so desperately to encapsulate a “universal” or “global” art world. All of these are good in theory but in their actualized state they are less than successful.

What I liked about this document is that the author proposes solutions to problems. What I did not enjoy was the absurdity of the solutions proposed. Self contradicting, Mosquera advocates de-Eurocentralisation through “adopting postcolonial impurity through which we might free ourselves and express our own thought.” I am not sure if “our own thought[s]” really exist anymore after all the evidence Mosquera provided against it!

He gives the example of Jose Bedia, a Cuban artist, whom Mosquera refers to as a “Western” artist who makes Western culture from non-Western sources. Here is a video of Bedia’s work. It is certainly different than what I have seen produced in the United States, for example. The explanation sounds convincing. But I think it is inevitable for Bedia’s  work to become saturated, even a little bit, by his “Western ways.”

Mosquera’s ideas make me question my own authenticity. Am I making uterus pinatas because I’m Mexican and it’s “what we do”? Or is it just that I am using my ethnic identity as a necessary vehicle for the concepts I choose to investigate? I prefer the latter. But I am western so naturally I would think these things?

I think it’s a terrific idea to dream about the “possibility of a global dialogue among cultures.” The interesting part is seeing who monopolizes the conversation.

The video in association with the Adrian Piper reading from this week is right here. I found it helpful to watch it along with reading the book.

“And so we stare at the pit in the earth and think we both do and don’t know what sculpture is.”

My response to that is: why do we have to know? This urgency to categorize things, make them “official,” “authenticate” them, “verify” that they are what they claim to be seems a little counter-productive to me. It’s always been my feeling that the more we try to define something, the less meaning it actually has. Some examples: love, normalcy, comedy, art, appropriateness, God, ethnicity, and on, and on. It seems that when a definition is imposed on any of these, the definition’s unique purpose is to familiarize the unfamiliar. Or, as Krauss would put it, “reducing anything foreign.” It’s only for comfort. Because without the comfort the entity that has been defined can not exist peacefully in our world.

When explaining sculpture, Krauss demonstrates first that it used to be that the officiality of a sculpture was contingent upon it’s base, space, and purpose: “it sits in a particular place and speaks in a symbolical tongue about the meaning or use of that place.” During the late 19th C., that logic changed and gave sculpture some freedom. Sculpture was no longer site or purpose specific–it referenced itself and was autonomous. Further, it became “nomadic” and “transportable.” Krauss’ use of those two words was something that I really like because they indicate movement. For me, it indicates much more than physical relocation, however. The movement that is most valuable is progress toward something more truthful–what we’ve always been searching for.

That progress is diminished by categorization. The malleable qualities of sculpture (literally and otherwise) is hindered by the urgency to encapsulate it. Can we really know the truth about art (what it means, why we make it, what are its capabilities) if we force it to be separated into categories? This is similar to understanding people, and consequently, oneself.

This weekend I saw the exhibition Class Pictures by Dawoud Bey. (To view the pictures “enter” the website, go to “photographs” and then go to “class pictures.) Bey has been taking pictures of ordinary high schoolers because he recognizes their role as determinants of culture. Next to every photograph exhibited was a short story that the photographed teen wanted to share about him/herself. I looked around for 30 seconds and then heard voices coming from the corner of the adjacent room. A video was playing and it was being projected onto the wall. The video was composed of short clips of some of the photographed teens talking about their experiences. Most interestingly, the camera never strayed beyond the features of the face, only one or two features at a time. At first, it was strange because I felt aggravated that I could never see the persons full face as they were speaking. The experience, however, of viewing these moving images allowed me to focus on skin, flesh, muscle movement, textures and other facial features. This, coupled with hearing the person’s voice telling a personal story allowed me to identify more closely.

The video was more successful than the photographs–this is my point. The concept between the two (photographs and video) is similar: images, one hanging and one moving.  But the video was not technically the exhibition, it was a small complement to the photographs. The category was “photography” so the main attraction was the series of photographs. I sat in the little room watching the video but also watching spectators. Of the 15 people that were around at the time, 0 actually watched the video. There is always this insistence on formality in museums and galleries that bothers me. There is an urgency to hold onto what we “know” but still throw in something “exotic” for good measure. Where is the investigation in that? Where is the need to explore the capabilities of art? Are we listening to art or just looking at it?

What good is progress if it’s not constantly challenged? What good is being able to move if there are too many limits?

First, I want to say that these readings have been the most enjoyable and informative of all the readings we’ve done. Foucault gives examples of what he is talking about–a novel concept! His step-by-step (first principle, second principle) structure in Of Other Spaces and the question-answer structure of the interview with Mr. Rainbow (a great name) increased the fluidity of thoughts for me. I made more connections with Foucault’s works than I have with other documents. 

I’ve never really considered space in the way that Foucault introduced it to me. It came at an appropriate time, ironically, because I have been teaching “perspective and anti-perspective” for a week in 114. I brought in my conceptual understanding of what “space” is, influenced by Bachelard and the like, and asked my students to consider using a less literal understanding of what space is. Foucault’s understanding is the least literal and most significant understanding of space that I’ve ever understood.

The historical framework that Foucault uses to structure his argument is pretty magnificent. Somehow, it’s easier for me to understand ideas if I know what was going on at the time that they were born. Foucault states that post-18th C., “our experience of the world is less that of a long life developing through time than that of a network that connects points and intersects with its own skein.” In other words, we are less preoccupied with issues of expansion and more concerned with exploring the space which we do know. The connections and relationships within those spaces is what will ultimately yield the most significant information for us. We can understand ourselves, eachother, the world, the universe better is we focus on relationships between all those things. This relates very much to what is going on in art–the progress into an understanding of art as less technical, less sterile, less copied and more soul-ified, more invigorating, more inventive. Art is becoming less about showcasing a handsome skill set and more about investigating ourselves by making use of observational skills.

I loved Foucault’s transformation of space into something that is absolutely political. I am thinking about “political” the way Plato refers to in the The Republic and not necessarily how we understand it, especially in light of the up coming election. I am thinking about “political” as something that deals intensely, and by its very nature, with lots of people and the relationships between all of them. 

These ideas are especially interesting to me because I have this idea that our individual identities are actually reflections of each other’s identities. Picture a bunch of mirrors facing each other and then imagine the infinite number of reflections possible. This is how I picture us–except less exactly reflective, there are lots of irregularities and inconsistencies. I have this strong feeling that the community you belong to hugely influences what you become.

This is why, for me, the 2nd and 5th principles of heterotopias are most significant. They deal the most with invention (or at least the possibility for invention), which deals the most with art, then.

The 2nd principle of heterotopias states that  as time passes and it effects the structure of a given society, existing heterotopias take on different rolls. I thought immediately of our installations last year and how we transformed that Jacques Building into something that it was not before. Now, as it sits on State St., there is no more installation in it but it is never going to return to it’s “original” state.

The 5th principle of heterotopias is that they have a system of “openness” and “closedness” at the same time. I thought of galleries. Not everyone feels comfortable in them. Actually most people do not feel comfortable in them. Sometimes I do not, either. It’s funny because most of them are free but if you walk in there as anything but a buyer, most commercial gallery monitors are not fond of you. Galleries don’t always scream “accessible” to me. I have a problem with this because I think art should be accessible to absolutely everyone since art is about everyone.

I was waiting for a good time to show Swoon, probably my hero right now in art, at least. She’s part of the street art movement. One of the things she does is makes prints and wheat-pastes them onto street walls in her NY community. She’s not the first one to do this but she does it particularly well. The movement is dedicated to accessibility of art and reflecting urban communities onto themselves. The walls are transformed spaces, once simply giving structure, now serving as places to have an art experience.

Before Lacan, I’d based my ideas about “self-awareness” on the notion of Cogito-“I think, therefore I am.” That is, in order to “be,” one must be aware of his/her own awareness. I had always speculated that I had experienced my first taste of self-awareness when I was about 4 or 5. It was at this age that I recall asking myself, “Do other people see the same blue that I see?” This was literally the question I asked and I remember thinking about it often after that but never finding an answer. Every subsequent inquiry was made in terms of what “I” knew. Every answer to every inquiry was in relationship to what “I” was aware of.  I understood this: because I was thinking of an idea, I must exist. And that “idea” that I was thinking of (be it “blue” or “water” or “cold”) existed in relationship to me. If the answer to “Do other people see the same blue that I see” is “No,” then what ever “others” see is always in relationship to what “I” see. That’s a lot of quotation marks.

What Lacan is suggesting (well, more than suggesting) is that self-awareness goes further than just cogito. Lacan proposes that a child has his first self-encounters at about 6 mos. old when he recognizes himself in a mirror. In other words, the child understands that he is a visible thing: visible to himself and visible to others. He also recognizes that he is inside of his visible self. In other words, he is aware of himself as separate from everything else but not separate from himself. I think the “re” in recognize exists because the cognition is happening after the first time. The child must have already seen his arms and feet and probably already touched his face and stomach. But, for the first time, in the mirror he is aware not only of his entire physicality but of his very “being” in the ontological sense of the word.

One of the most solid points found in the text (there weren’t many) was the idea that “the mirror-image would seem to be the threshold of the visible world.” This is true both metaphorically and literally. The way one sees oneself informs the way one views the world and oneself in that world (AKA: Idenity). These ideas are particularly interesting to me given my interest in the concept of personal identity. I find that one’s identity is intensely determined by the community that one belongs to. In communities there are roles and expectations. There are hierarchies and politics. There are producers and consumers. Every person is subject to these. All of those relationships that determine one’s position/identity start with this initial self-encounter. BUT the process continues with additional encounters during one’s lifetime. 

The threshold is the entire framework for identity– the way you see yourself and the way others see you. Encountering oneself is kind of a rattling, jolting event.

About four years ago, I started having these experiences in the mirror that took what Lacan said and pushed it even further. If I stare into the mirror long enough, the physical awareness of myself begins to challenge itself. I can’t recognize myself anymore as that form that I see in the mirror. My physical, visible self separates from my internal self. It’s very strange and it’s a little like when you stare at the word BICYCLE long enough. After a little while, it loses it’s meaning. My point is that observation of the self, in an exploratory sense, leads to the shaping of one’s world. First you understand that you exist. Then, you understand that you exist apart from everything else. Then, you ask questions about everything and the answers are all in terms OF yourself. Isn’t this what identity is?

Now, I would like to refer to a clip from Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. Yes, we all know the story but I’d never payed enough attention to just HOW MUCH the Queen’s identity is determined by the mirror. First, she is anxious to make sure that she is the fairest. The mirror assures her, of course, that she is not. She feels compelled to change that and in the process she literally changes her identity to regain her ideal identity. Well, I thought it was cool!

I’ve never had the opportunity to read Freud too much in depth. In fact, I plead guilty to having associated the word “subconscious” to Freud. I felt called out on it in The Freud Reader on page 576, footnote 1: “{Freud virtually never uses “subconscious” or “subconsciousness.” But the term has retained its popularity. When it is employed to say something “Freudian,” it is proof that the writer has not read his Freud.”

The unconscious use of the term “subconscious” is extremely ironic! But I digress… My point is that I now know that my knowledge about Freud was crumb-sized. I have grasped the basic concepts of the Conscious and Unconscious (is anyone else having a lot of trouble spelling those correctly?) and the elements which revolve around the two: ego, id, superego.

Of course I don’t believe everything the man says (especially given our recent understanding that society is highly manipulated by itself) but Freud’s ideas do provoke me very much. Out of all the new and fascinating ideas my mind absorbed, I found that the notion of “superego” was most fascinating. I am really intrigued by the connection between superego and father figures. I also really enjoyed learning more about the Oedipus complex. I had to go back to the old files in my brain from sophomore year Lit. Trad. and Greek mythology. Overall, Freud’s emphasis on the idea of parenting, “father,” control, surveillance, supervision (and all matters superego) sparked an interest in the idea of creation and parenting.

Visual Art and Design involves the manufacturing of products– a creative act. We make things. Our products are realizations of our dreams, in many ways. In the same way that conscious thoughts are unearthed, topographically, through the links made between the unconscious and the preconcious, our products also progressively evolve into actualizations. In the same ways that the ego constantly moderates the id (whether consciously or unconsciously), we moderate our products. Our products, because they are created, have parents. But who is the parent?

If the ego is supposed to be the mental agency that supervises its own constituent process and the superego supervises that, then the superego chimes in like a parent (or father figure to keep it consistent with Freud). I understand that the way I execute my ideas both conceptually and formally are closely related to my unconscious desires. But now, I am questioning my incessant need for creating things. I know I have to create on a daily basis, but why? Is it because I enjoy what happens physically when I force the media (usually phallic-like) to invade the surface of the paper, a container?

Is it because I have, somewhere along the lines lost something and am melancholically trying to replace it? Are my products replacements for things I am missing? Do I feel an unconscious urge to control things that are much larger than I am?

Also, where is the superego in all of this? I feel sometimes that Purdue, as an institution, and, namely, this MFA program, along with all the “authority” figures can physically embody the superego that Freud refers to. 

Then I ask myself: am I staying true to my ID? If my work is supposed to be an extrapolation of my soul, shouldn’t it (the work) be uninhibited? The ego (me) and the id (exterior controlling factors) get in the way. In my work, I intentionally incorporate elements that seem uninhibited and natural. But in doing so intentionally, am I not defying the purpose? Am I, in attempting to control my passions, my my own superego, then? Am I my father? If not, who is?

I found this website a long time ago of found lists and I check it regularly and am consistently amused. It is interesting to post written documents that were not created for the purpose of observation. These notes and lists are records of an individual’s conversation with him/herself. We don’t know who they are and that is not even important. The important part, to me, is the illogical connections that people make in list-form. They are illogical, uninhibited, unafraid, and yet, they make perfect sense to the individual who created them. 

Here is one that I personally love:

Here is the website, itself.

In my terms, a spectacle is some event that is meant to attract a large number of people and is often performance-based. Sometimes, these events can be good: a show at a theatre. Sometimes, these events can be bad: a scene at a strip club (well, I guess that’s just my opinion). Some common phrases that we can relate “spectacle”to: “spectacular, spectacular!” and “stop making a spectacle of yourself.” The former refers to the specific type of show, generally taking place at the turn on the 19^th Century in Europe, mainly France, involving dancing ladies, bright lights, bourgeoisie anxious for distractions, and lots and lots of absinthe. The later refers to a type of human flaw in which the person that is making a spectacle of him/herself considers him/herself to be “center stage” and his/her behavior a “performance” being observed by innocent bystanders who can’t help but watch—“the audience.”

With relationship to the Fine Arts, I have always considered exhibitions of art to be spectacles, or spectacular. Exhibitions produce a gathering of people who are interested in the commodity of art. It is just interesting how studios themselves, the birth places of art works, are not as magnetic or attractive as exhibitions. You don’t really see too many artists paying lots of money to get post cards done for their studios. You don’t see crackers with Perrier  on a cute table outside of studios, either. Lighting is not really adjusted to produce any sort of visual experience for visitors. You don’t slip into fits of social anxiety and worry about your networking skills (or is that just me?). And the works themselves are certainly not hung “at eye level” or in anyway that would enhance the viewer’s experience. If exhibitions are spectacles, then what do those spectacles reveal about us as participants?

Spectacles involve the presentation of commodities that can be both qualitative and/or quantitative. The presentation itself involves consideration of the commodified, the audience, the potential buyer, the potential employer, the potential critic, etc. We think about appropriate space: ambience, lighting, accents. We think about surplus when we decide to make a delicious sorbet punch for the viewers to consume happily as they observe works. Oh, also the work has to be “good.” My point: it’s all staged to produce a sensation. The spectacle’s main purpose is to supply in large quantities what there is a large demand for—but it is executed in a sensational way. If this is not true then let’s all try to hold exhibitions at Forest Products.

I really, really loved two things about this reading.

1. No. 50, which likens the spectacle to a mirror (this is my metaphor) in that the “entire expanse of society is a portrait.” Here, I go back to thinking about why we choose not to exhibit in an alley or in our messy (rightfully) studios. The community of consumers (sometimes us and sometimes them) have their desired commodities. They also have a list of criteria of how they want to be commodified. The producer, through spectacle, uses his/her magical powers of manipulation to fulfill the criteria of the consumer. This criteria, and more importantly, this spectacle in its totality, reflects both producer and consumer very clearly.

2. No.43, which presents the irony of double standards in production and consumption. Debord points out that the laborer/worker is treated like a mere peon, drone, or an extremely dispensible “thing.” Suddenly, though, when the same worker steps foot inside a spectacle (I picture a fully equipped new car sales lot complete with colorful flaggies), that peon now determines the success rate of the producer. The tables turn. I have a lot of personal experience with this one. I can tell lots of hilarious stories about how my father, a factory steel worker in Chicago, was naturally “peon-ized” at work but absolutely loved shopping for things. He loved milking “the customer is always right” and he always won.

I am really excited to show you this commercial for “Eagle Insurance.” If you are from Chicago or lived there in the 90s, you probably recognize this commercial. It’s extremely crappy but suits its audience well and is, therefore, a spectacle. My little brother and I used to look forward to it so much. A side note: the channels on which this commercial was aired on is indicative or which specific audience the commercial was aimed for. Needless to say, you could never find this on ABC/NBC/CBS but you could always find it on UPN or CIU “the U,” or any other channel that was playing reruns of Diffr’nt Strokes or People’s Court.

Oh, good, another person who implies that contemporary art—what with all its reproduction-based functions—is poisonous to glorious tradition and destroys the notion of authenticity. I’m going to try hard to approach this in a positive way.

What I do like about Benjamin’s “The Work of Art In The Age of Its Technological Reproducibility” is that it is discipline-specific. He presents printmaking as the beginning of the end: the concept of producing and reproducing imagery to keep up with the fast pace of movable type. He moves on to photography, which keeps up with speech and leaves all the work to the eye, rather than the hand. This leads into film which he feels distorts reality  and misrepresents art. Benjamin wants to explain how reproduction effects tradition in a negative way. These are my questions: What are the characteristics of tradition, in the first place? Is authenticity even real? Why is progress (modification of tradition) so bad?

The following is me trying to stay positive: I found the concept of “historical testimony” particularly intriguing. For Benjamin, “what is really jeopardized when the historical testimony is affected is the authority of the object, the weight it derives from tradition.” This means that a work which has passed the tests of time, ex: Leonardo’s Mona Lisa, exercise dominance over works that are similarly executed but perhaps were not as well noticed.  The idea seems narrow but what would we be without “the canon” of artists that have been so emphasized in our education? Or is that something that we all of a sudden do not value?

Benjamin continues: “Replicating the work many times over, it, [reproduction], substitutes a mass existence for a unique existence.”  What I am about to say may sound shocking because I have been categorized as a “printmaker” and that must mean that I am in agreement with all things printmaking. I’m not, really. I don’t even believe in editioning–*Gasp!*. An edition is a number of impressions, all exactly the same, which are pulled from the original matrix. Say you have a litho stone with an image of a tree on it. You can pull hundreds of that exact image–100s of trees! This begs the question: what the hell for? Results of editioning: more ink, more energy used, more paper, more time, more impressions. Most of the time, printmakers just enjoy editioning for the sake of editioning. That is, it’s nice to be able to say, “I have done a good job because my skills have allowed me to pull 100 exact impressions of the original image.” The problem is I know too many printmakers who keep their editions packed away all together, destroying the potential that each print contains. That unique potential is what I think Benjamin was getting at.

 Printmaking has its historical origins in commercial distribution. When it comes to mass distribution of information, printmaking’s where it’s at, at least in the Fine Arts. Toulouse Lautrec revolutionized the concept of the poster at the turn of the century by giving attention to aesthetic as well as practicality.  His posters, often depicting female performers at the Moulin Rouge, were lithographs, beautifully made and infused with conceptual richness. At the same time the poster, geared mainly toward the bourgeoisie, became the main source to acquire the newest products and information. Consequently, the poster became a transitory entity, having a very short life (keeping up with the pace that Benjamin refers to) and only serving the immediate communicational needs between producers and consumers of products. It’s all balanced.

 For Lautrec, editioning worked out nicely. In his day, these posters were hot items because they were so beautifully designed and communicated information in a pleasurable way. But even so, Lautrec did not make use of each impression’s potential—its aura, its authority, its testimony.

 This week, I’ve really tried to stay positive and find something that I can whole-heartedly agree upon with the author. The idea that repetition (through reproduction) is dull and mechanical if it’s not used to produce unique experiences is something that I agree with.  Unfortunately, most of Benjamin’s ideas I find antiquated—hindrances to the universal language of art which is gradually developing and involves large amounts of progress and change.

I thought it would be fun to offer a special edition sneak peak into the insane world of printmakers and their picky notions of what constitutes “originality.” Warning: may cause dizziness.

Adorno’s “Aesthetic Theory: On The Relation Between Art and Society” and “Culture Industry Reconsidered” ask courageous, much avoided questions in regards to high art and it’s “enemy,” low art. We consider the purpose for creating art in the first place and what our hopes are for the work we produce. Then, we consider how culture industry, or that which is a poor substitute for art, pollutes the mind and destroys all hopes for intellectual development. Although they shed light on the corrosive forces of cultural industry, these articles don’t challenge artists to be more accountable for their products in their relationship to the consumer. Adorno, in short, does not bestow enough responsibility on the masses but condemns the industry, which sees a demand for “goods” and is simply supplying them in exchange for other “goods”. In response, the masses can and should exercise discernment when confronted with cultural industry.

He begins by encouraging the idea of art works having a life sui generis, that is, of its own. Works have an inner constitution, a soul—this is why they can exist on their own and produce infinite amounts of meaning. The life sui generis is evident in the way works of art can communicate what we, humans, simply cannot. A turn off to some, the idea that art works can “supposedly” elevate and do a bunch of other glorious things is difficult to understand because those glorious things are never tangible, verifiable, observational or empirical, as Adorno would say. Adorno offers this: “art seeks blissfully or unhappily, to seclude itself from the world.” The irony of art (and the reason why it is so incredibly beneficial to humans) is that it must remove itself from the realms of the rational and empirical, the real, to passionately dive into the deliciously inexplicable realm of unseen truth. It teaches us how to get the most out of existing in the world: we must stand back sometimes but also jump into the uncomfortable. In the end, we must have something to say. Art is subjective and objective at the same time.

Adorno brings up teleology, the idea that everything that exists, including humans and art, moves unconsciously toward an end at which self-actualization occurs. He explains that productive forces of labor and art have the same teleology, that is, they both move toward self-realization—a greater good. However, he continues in “Cultural Industry Reconsidered”, cultural industry acts as hindrance to that movement because it limits intellectual development instead of elevating it.

Cultural industry, what I understood to be the industry that responds to culture by accommodating its needs but not necessarily considering ultimate, teleological, goods, is bad, according to Adorno. It is bad because it brings up issues of efficacy, calculation and technique—all which, according to Adorno, dismiss all that is “good” about high art.  Adorno describes at great length the pernicious, abominable forces of  “pocket novels, films off the rack, family television shows, horoscopes,” etc.

While I agree that these exist and they do hinder our progress as a human race, Adorno’s comments are too all-encompassing and declarative.  At one point he announces that conformity, which he’s assumed applies to everyone, “replaces consciousness.” This is a bold statement considering that consciousness indicates awareness which is the basis for existence.  He is correct in pointing out the damaging effects that cultural industry has on art and humans but he does not mention our intellectual accountabilities. We have the ability, neigh,  responsibility, to discern.

We can choose what to absorb and what to reject. Adorno does not push for that enough. We are not as “condemned,” as Adorno describes because we occasionally watch a B movie, or momentarily dance to stupid music, or cease to live up to our intellectual standards for 15 minutes. On the other hand, we do have a responsibility to use our education to its full potential and exercise discernment and selection. And, yes, we should do it a lot more often lest “superman that hoe” becomes an acceptable idea and Soulja Boy’s dance replaces a potentially rich heritage and culture.

In case you are not familiar with Soulja Boy and his dance I have posted a video. Yes, Soulja Boy is actually a legitimate musical artist in his genre. More importantly, I thought it would be interesting for you to see how Urban Dictionary describes the phrase “superman dat hoe.” Urban Dictionary is an online, collaborative dictionary that defines slang terms that are not found in actual dictionaries. If anything, the information posted on this website reflects the intellectual activity of a great number of both educated and uneducated persons. Most 8 year olds that live in downtown Lafayette are familiar with this phrase and dance and it is frequently incorporated into their daily routines. By the way, this particular genre, is by no means the only genre that is guilty.

Crank That by Soulja Boy

Urban Dictionary

Historical background and personal experiences allow me to appreciate Marxism for its championing of the working class and its irresistible faith in change. A somewhat decent exposure to written materials about Marxist theory, coupled with extensive lecturing about the pros and cons of Communism during my childhood, inspired confidence in me upon approaching these readings.  Somehow, my positive approach resulted in a healthy but uncomfortable amount of confusion and a desperate need for clarification. The readings, when read in the following order: Ruis, Held, and Horkheimer, attempt to answer the following questions, respectively: “What is Marxism?” “How does critical theory assess Marxism?” and “What are those assessments good for, anyway?”  These fundamental questions informed my own concerns as an artist and human. Consequently, these new concerns have fueled a more intense desire to pursue change without radicalism—an issue that is pertinent to my work as an artist. I humbly present my findings:

Ruis’ Marx For Beginners greets you with a winking eye and a raised fist. First, I will say that the positive imagery and language in this piece make it difficult to think objectively. On the other hand, I don’t think I’ve ever had the opportunity to absorb an academic document so delightfully activated by imagery—it was enjoyable albeit distracting. Ruis provides basic information about the historical and social context, allowing us to clearly understand the background for Marx’s dissatisfaction and subsequent reaction. The relationship between the employer and the laborer is like the yin and the yang. Exhausting his physical capacities for the sake of supporting his family, the proletariat is easily dominated by his superior, the bourgeois. Without his employer’s monetary backing, the worker would not be able to  “sell himself by the hour.” In turn, the employer requires the willingness of the laborer if he plans on gaining profit from his exploitations.  Marx concludes that this interdependent relationship would be more functional if both party’s goods were equally valued in their exchange.  This is exactly the opposite of capitalism.

It would seem that throughout history, man has been motivated by greed, among other factors. We desire the best for ourselves and we exert ourselves until we obtain those goods. This desire is natural and nature has a selection process for distributing goods: the fittest win. Marx is appalled that capitalism is “incapable of solving the problems of humanity.” But capitalism does not attempt to solve those problems. If anything, it controls the problem of greed in that it creates a system, ugly as it may be, that is selective. In this system, only the greediest, or the most capable, have a high chance of obtaining goods. He proposes a new system that hopes to elevate the working class by eliminating the concept of competition, the driving force for an economy based on specialization and transaction of goods. It is obvious that Marx is exceptionally humanitarian but he assumes that everyone is just as interested in community as he is.

Shedding light on the intellectual response to Marxism, Held’s Introduction to Critical Theory presents the theorists: Horkheimer, Adorno, Marcuse, and Habernas. These four sought to promote the idea of a “true, free, and just life” by employing rational thought. Kantian, Hegelian, Freudian, and other influences allowed them to engage in investigations regarding the transformation of society: an understanding of the relationship between man, society, and nature. The theorists’ works were affected by inter-war events, having witnessed the oppressive destruction of inadequately composed Russian socialist movements. We become acquainted with the events in Germany that eventually led to Nazi rule and complete abolition of communist movements. These critical events inspire a more careful consideration of the role of critical theory. Lukacs and Korsch begin their re-examination, then, of Marxist theory and it’s realization in orthodox Marxism. They find several discrepancies, one particularly important. In the execution of Marxist thought, too much attention is given to the objective, not enough to the subjective. One must ask, though, if the theory in the first place lends itself to subjectivism considering that it set out to destroy all types of personal identity in exchange for a universal one.

It is important to consider Marx’s desperation: witnessing the trampling of helpless proletariat by the incessant, stomping, bourgeois. Marx valiantly proposed an idea that revolutionized the notion of identity within communities- a particular driving force in my own work. Although communists, in their execution of Marxist thought, may not have escaped the inevitable tendency to become ironically destructive, their philosophy certainly has a contemporary impact. Holkheimer maintains in his Critical Theory: Selected Essays, that theory is not only concerned with present matters at hand but also “with men and all their potentialities.”  Further, “interpretation takes place necessarily, not freely.” Thus, it is the triggering of thoughts, which result in a more contemplative approach to problem solving. The outcome is “knowledge” and man’s true “emancipation from slavery”—that which Marx so passionately sought. In short, what we take from theory and how we activate the potential of the intellect is what is most valuable.

To connect to this idea, I have posted a link to a very short but extremely valuable clip about Diego Rivera. A Mexican muralist and very much a passionate communist, he was a leader among other communist artists in the 30s who fought to publicize art in the name of communism. Communism set out to accommodate the less advantaged and to be able to provide the same amount of goods to them that the elite had. Rivera, among other artists who were employed by the Works Progress Administration, created murals in public spaces. In this way, they transformed spaces, making use of their specializations, maximizing their intellectual potential, and embracing their identity within their community. Some parts of Marxism worked out nicely.