The Index

Before we forget the genesis of this, I'll recount the story of The Index. We were at the Marc Joseph artist's talk at Reed College for his New and Used show at the Cooley Gallery. He mentioned that our beloved Stephanie (Snyder) had used the term "index" to apply to his photos of used book and record stores, used books and record sleeves. I got really excited about the notion of an index. I thought that we could collaborate on an index, a comprehensive, far-ranging, idiosyncratic, highly personal, abstract index.

Two things: one, this gives us a great way forward (that we can collaborate on in a really healthy way), and two I then got even more excited about the fact that we'll be able to make such very interesting work based on our index.

Because the multiple meanings of index all come into play here...that list that you find at the end of the book that tells you what's in the book and index as general indicator (like a stock index). The following definition was lifted from hyperdictionary.com.


Webster's 1913 Dictionary


Definition:

\In"dex\, n.; pl. E. {Indexes}, L. {Indices}(?). [L.: cf.
F. index. See {Indicate}, {Diction}.]
1. That which points out; that which shows, indicates,
manifests, or discloses

2. That which guides, points out, informs, or directs; a
pointer or a hand that directs to anything, as the hand of
a watch, a movable finger on a gauge, scale, or other
graduated instrument. In printing, a sign [[hand]] used to
direct particular attention to a note or paragraph; --
called also {fist}.

3. A table for facilitating reference to topics, names, and
the like, in a book; -- usually alphabetical in
arrangement, and printed at the end of the volume.

4. A prologue indicating what follows. [Obs.] --Shak.

5. (Anat.) The second digit, that next pollex, in the manus,
or hand; the forefinger; index finger.

6. (Math.) The figure or letter which shows the power or root
of a quantity; the exponent. [In this sense the plural is
always {indices}.]
{Index error}, the error in the reading of a mathematical
instrument arising from the zero of the index not being in
complete adjustment with that of the limb, or with its
theoretically perfect position in the instrument; a
correction to be applied to the instrument readings equal
to the error of the zero adjustment.
{Index expurgatorius}. [L.] See {Index prohibitorius}
(below).
{Index finger}. See {Index}, 5.
{Index glass}, the mirror on the index of a quadrant,
sextant, etc.
{Index hand}, the pointer or hand of a clock, watch, or other
registering machine; a hand that points to something.
{Index of a logarithm} (Math.), the integral part of the
logarithm, and always one less than the number of integral
figures in the given number. It is also called the
{characteristic}.
{Index of refraction}, or {Refractive index} (Opt.), the
number which expresses the ratio of the sine of the angle
of incidence to the sine of the angle of refraction. Thus
the index of refraction for sulphur is 2, because, when
light passes out of air into sulphur, the sine of the
angle of incidence is double the sine of the angle of
refraction.
{Index plate}, a graduated circular plate, or one with
circular rows of holes differently spaced; used in
machines for graduating circles, cutting gear teeth, etc.
{Index prohibitorius} [L.], or {Prohibitory index} (R. C.
Ch.), a catalogue of books which are forbidden by the
church to be read; the index expurgatorius [L.], or
expurgatory index, is a catalogue of books from which
passages marked as against faith or morals must be removed
before Catholics can read them. These catalogues are
published with additions, from time to time, by the
Congregation of the Index, composed of cardinals,
theologians, etc., under the sanction of the pope. --Hook.
{Index rerum} [L.], a tabulated and alphabetized notebook,
for systematic preservation of items, quotations, etc.
\In"dex\, v. t. [imp. & p. p. {Indexed}; p. pr. & vb. n.
{Indexing}.]
To provide with an index or table of references; to put into
an index; as, to index a book, or its contents.
\In"dex\, n.
The ratio, or formula expressing the ratio, of one dimension
of a thing to another dimension; as, the vertical index of
the cranium.

Verse.Chorus. Bridge en Boite

It's a box. Magic Lantern-style. Kinetoscope with crank. Music-box mechanism. Images turn, frame-by-frame, of Verse.Chorus.Bridge corresponding to morse code (Golden), activating light on the top. How do we make it?

Use the Sifter, Wouldya? You're Gonna Get Lumps

Extrication, isolation (or distillation), extraction, a rare experience, focus.

Well yes, because one can feed back at same level of complexity or distill.

But then that's what every bird-on-the-fence-epiphany poem does, eh? The little lens bringing into sharp focus until whammo! the bright light turns on, serenely. Yech.

Let's bend the light rather than bringing into focus. REFRACT.

Hey, who turned out the....

p.s. Mina Loy, Yoko Ono.

New Year's Resolution

I don't want to engender, empower, validate or foster anything.
Let's embrace Das Ding an Sich.

Notes on Next

Some notions:


variations on theme. repetition is compelling particularly when it is spiced with unexpected variation. Yubiwa Hotel did a zillion repetitions of a dance routine from Band of Outsiders in their recent piece for PICA's TBA festival. When the pattern locked in, the deviations from the pattern became interesting. (long story very short).

the space between the performer and the audience. Deborah Hay's Whole Egg Theory...the notion of activating the space between the performer (yolk) and audience. shrinking that space or forging direct connection

all five senses...thanks Don Rood (and Jennnifer Munson's mint)

spatial variations, distance and proximity

confounding expectations...TdR's old thing about when he moves his stick toward the drumhead, people are expecting a sound. What if there were no sound but just movements.

palette...perhaps the next task could be to generate a juicy, chewy palette of words whose denotations and connotations might make interesting combinations and permutations.

&c.

Catch up: New Needs Need New

Two projects this year that have suggested new directions, reminded us of themes and strategies. For the Richard Foreman Festival we did a couple of firsts for us. First, TdR had no drums and I had no microphone. Second, Tim composed a beautiful, drawn out, Feldman-esque piece of music. After a long intro, we recorded a poem over it in Jason DuMars studio. We also constructed to telegraph stations and modified them to light rather than make a sound (yeah, Radio Shack!). The piece was performed in the dark, the only light being generated when one of us tapped out Morse Code, lighting the other station and so that operators face. It was a good still moment.

For Gallery Homeland's Scratching the Surface, we did verse.chorus.bridge., for which we gave ourselves the instruction, "Improvise a bridge between here and there." We chose sound as our first bridge material (me=poem tdr=drums), starting on the pier just north of the Hawthorne Bridge. Then TdR played a duet with a Morse Code recording of the word "golden" while I walked across the Hawthorne Bridge reading New Needs Need New into a megaphone. We ended signaling with white cloths on opposite banks, me doing semaphore, TdR playing his drums with white rags. (That was the best bridge, incidentally.) We did the piece two days in a row in 104 degree heat. The lemon footlights that TdR launched into the river to float away, weirdly stayed nearby, we saw them a couple of days later, still floating brightly.

Barely There

Had a conversation with artist and jeweler, Hazel Cox, about her recent works, one of which is the lightest spray of white on an olive ground. She talked about someone looking for an image in the piece, but that it was meant to be an image of water vapor. Specifically I thought of breath on glass (probably because her work is shown behind 1/2" thick perspex). She and I talked about the tinyest, found, stain on a white page...she said to her it was the most beautiful thing in the world, her favorite (if found) art at the moment. I thought of shadows, erasures, and coffee stains...of Oskar's white-ish t-shirt that had so many stains etched into it and bleached and Spray 'n' Wash-ed out again until it was a shadow collage of the life of a 7-11 year-old boy.

I wondered what this might be like in words. The first obvious thought being whispered words. But what else. What about incidentals, left-behinds, the indentations made by the pencil through to the page beneath (recall our piece for the Unreadability show), notes, lists. What about, performatively, space between, haphazardness, and yes, quiet.