First person [...] contains a contrivance central to its character that third person does not: audience. In first person, someone is addressing someone else, but absent narrative framing to position these someones […] we find ourselves in an inherently ambiguous space: to whom, exactly, is this person talking, and why? The uncertainty of this space, I would argue, is largely filled, intentionally or not, by the voice of the narrator, its presence and authority. Even if this narrator declaims her own uncertainty, she declaims it with certainty, and she declaims it toward an imagined audience, in a speaker/listener relationship. (¶7)
A third-person narrative […] is a thing to be inspected by the reader. It is, in a sense, a closed system (¶8)
The other common objection to third-person narration, and by proxy an argument for first person, also concerns the artificiality of the third person narrator, not in artistic but rather, experiential terms. This is the second prong of the naturalist argument: it isn’t a thing that exists. No one walks into a room and thinks of themselves, “he walked into a room.” Also, no one simply watches other people walk into a room without being aware of their own frame of reference.
[…]
While no one walks into a room and thinks, “he walks into a room,” it can be asserted with even greater force that no one walks into a room and thinks, “I walk into a room.” […] The experience of being a human is, in fact, an experience of dual consciousness […] an endless negotiation of the immediate, subjective perspective, and the greater objective context. (¶10-11)
See also: “Chronicling Life’s White Machine” on The Millions and Tumblr
“[... Writing] is the destruction of every voice, of every point of origin.
Writing is that neutral, composite, oblique space where our subject slips away, the negative where all identity is lost, starting with the very identity of the body writing. — Roland Barthes in Death of the Author
In a review of The Seventh Function of Language:
To give a text an Author is to impose a limit on that text, to furnish it with a final signified, to close the writing”; by contrast, to leave the Author for dead is to open “a multidimensional space in which a variety of writings, none of them original, blend and clash. The text is a tissue of quotations drawn from the innumerable centres of culture.”
[...]
If traditional criticism celebrates literary genius, Barthesian criticism should imagine the variety of agents—partial inspirations, unspeaking voices, confluent discourses, minor characters—that contribute to a text.
But, also: And besides, when I make phrases, is it really me who is speaking?
...with such anguish engendered in [Martha] Graham herself a fear of beginnings — fear of the unknown, the empty page or study, the inception of a new work: “the fear we all have, the fear of the artist, of a blank white page when writing a composition, the fear of the empty studio when starting a dance.” [...] Mallarmé wrote of his own trepidation in 1864 when he began writing: “With a sense of terror, for I’m inventing a language which must of necessity burst forth from a very new poetics, which I could define in these few words: paint not the object, by the effect it produces”. (79)
[Robert] Motherwell [...] wrote of his own response to the blank canvas that he needed to get it dirty before restoring “an equivalent of the original clarity and perfection of the canvas that one began on.” Barthes underlines the importance of the blank surface — and its sullying — when he writes that the elements in a Twombly painting “are separated from each other by space, a lot of space.” (80)
He's wearing a suit again, I don't know why he's wearing a suit, he doesn't usually dress like that
There is a a kind of stupefaction in seeing a familiar being dressed differently. (64) > cf. Adam Sandler’s character in Punch Drunk Love
Existence as a historiographic quantum state
In reading something related to On Kawara and the historicising function of the textual statement of a date, I had a notion that from historiographic perspective, a person’s existence might be said to occur within a kind of quantum state in which until it’s been observed recorded historicised it can’t be said, with certainty, to have existed // also cf. uncertainty principle
Thus the life of someone whose existence has somewhat preceded our own encloses in its particularity the very tension of History, its division. History is hysterical: it is constituted only if we consider it, only if we look at it — and in order to look at it, we must be excluded from it. As a living soul, I am the very contrary of history. (65)
I WAS HERE
It was as if I were seeking the nature of a verb which had no infinitive, only tense and mode. (76)
The effect it produces upon me is not to restore what has been abolished (by time, by distance) but to attest that what I see has indeed existed. (82)
[The photograph ...] is without future (this is its pathos, its melancholy. [...] I am alone with it, in front of it. The circle is closed, there is no escape. I suffer, motionless. Cruel, sterile deficiency: I cannot transform my grief, I cannot let my gaze drift; no culture will help me utter this suffering which I experience entirely on the level of the image's finitude [...] the Photograph — my Photograph — is without culture: it is painful, nothing in it can transform grief into mourning. (90)
★ THAT-HAS-BEEN
I call "photographic referent" not the optionally real thing to which an image or a sign refers but the necessarily real thing which has been placed before the lens, without which there would be no photograph. Painting can feign reality without having seen it. Discourse combines signs which have referents, of course, but these referents can be and are most often "chimeras." Contrary to these imitations, in Photography I can never deny that the thing has been there. There is a superimposition here: of reality, and of the past.
[... But in] the daily flood of photographs, in the thousand forms of interest they seem to provoke, it may be that the noeme "That-has-been" is not repressed (a noeme cannot be repressed) but experienced with indifference, as a feature which goes without saying. (76-7)
A resistance to believing in the past
Perhaps we have an invincible resistance to believing in the past, in History, except in the form of myth. The Photograph, for the first time, puts an end to this resistance: henceforth the past is as certain as the present, what we see on paper is as cerram as what we touch. (87-8)
But History is a memory fabricated according to positive formulas, a pure intellectual discourse which abolishes mythic Time; and the Photograph is a certain but fugitive testimony; so that everything, today, prepares our race for this impotence: to be no longer able to conceive duration, affectively or symbolically. (93)
I am the reference of every photograph
in each of which, my own death is contained
There is no shared, universal view of any photograph; each viewing opens up or occurs within unique pre- and post-histories. (Into every photograph "I project a troubling being, that of the lineage of which I am the final term (98)).
The date belongs to the photograph: not because it denotes a style (this does not concern me), but because it makes me lift my head. [...] I am the reference of every photograph. (84)
The only "thought" I can have is that at the end of this first death, my own death is inscribed; between the two, nothing more than waiting; I have no other resource than this irony: to speak of the "nothing to say." (93)
I read at the same time: This will be and this has been; I observe with horror an anterior future of which death is the stake. By giving me the absolute past of the pose (aorist), the photograph tells me death in the future. What pricks me is the discovery of this equivalence. (96)
There is no need to represent a body in order for me to experience this vertigo of time defeated. (96-7)
It is because each photograph always contains this imperious sign of my future death that each one, however attached it seems to be to the excited world of the living, challenges each of us, one by one, outside of any generality. (97)
“All photographs wait to be explained or falsified by their captions”
No writing can give me this certainty. It is the misfortune (but also perhaps the voluptuous pleasure) of language not to be able to authenticate itself. The noeme of language is perhaps this impotence, or, to put it positively: language is, by nature, fictional; the attempt to render language unfictional requires an enormous apparatus of measurements: we convoke logic, or, lacking that, sworn oath (85-7)
(Mélisande does not conceal, but she does not speak. Such is the Photograph: it cannot say what it lets us see.) (100)
In the image, as Sartre says, the object yields itself wholly, and our vision of it is certain — contrary to the text or to other perceptions which give me the object in a vague, arguable manner, and therefore incite me to suspicions as to what I think I am seeing. (106)
By nature, the Photograph [...] has something tautological about it: a pipe, here, is always and intractably a pipe. (5)
5 He Who is Photographed
Photography transformed subject into object (13)
In front of the lens, I am at the same time: the one I think I am, the one I want others to think I am, the one the photographer thinks I am, and the one he makes use of to exhibit his art. In other words, a strange action: I do not stop imitating myself, and because of this, each time I am (or let myself be) photographed, I invariably suffer from a sensation of inauthenticity, sometimes of imposture. [... The] Photograph (the one I intend) represents that very subtle moment when, to tell the truth, I am neither subject. (13-14)
7 Photography as Adventure
I quote Sartre: "Newspaper photographs can very well 'say nothing to me.' In other words, I look at them without assuming a posture of existence. Though the persons whose photograph I see are certainly present in the photograph, they are so without existential posture, like the Knight and Death present in Durer's engraving, but without my positing them. Moreover, cases occur where the photograph leaves me so indifferent that I do not even bother to see it 'as an image.' The photograph is vaguely constituted as an object, and the persons who figure there are certainly constituted as persons, but only because of their resemblance to human beings, without any special· intentionality. They drift between the shores of perception, between sign and image, without ever approaching either."
17 The Unary Photograph
News photographs are very often unary (the unary photograph is not necessarily tranquil). In these images no punctum: a certain shock — the literal can traumatise — but no disturbance; the photograph can ‘shout’, not wound. These journalistic photographs are received (all at once), perceived. I glance through them, I don't recall them, no detail [...] ever interrupts my reading”. (41)
22 After-the-Fact and Silence
“The necessary condition for an image is sight," Janouch told Kafka; and Kafka smiled and replied: "We photograph things in order to drive them out of our minds. My stories are a way of shutting my eyes.” (53)
Absolute subjectivity is achieved only in a state, an effort, of silence (shutting your eyes is to make the image speak in silence). (55)
23 Blind Field
Last thing about the punctum: whether or not it is triggered, it is an addition: it is what l add to the photograph and what is nonetheless already there. (55)
Both, he perceived, represent absent things as present, give us the appearance as the reality. Both produce illusion, and the illusion of both is pleasing. (vii)
[…] that in regard to the latter, therefore, poetry can come to the aid of painting; in regard to the former, painting to the aid of poetry, by illustration and example. (vii-viii)
the arts themselves differ both in the objects and in the methods of their imitation (ix)
I
Among the lost works of Sophocles was a Laocoon. If fate had but spared it to us! From the slight references to the piece in some of the old grammarians, we cannot determine how the poet treated his subject. (6)
II
Rage and despair disfigured none of their works. I venture to maintain that they never represented a fury. Wrath they tempered into severity. In poetry we have the wrathful Jupiter, who hurls the thunderbolt; in art he is simply the austere (12)
III
Since the artist can use but a single moment of ever-changing nature, and the painter must further confine his study of this one moment to a single point of view, while their works are made not simply to be looked at, but to be contemplated long and often, evidently the most fruitful moment and the most fruitful aspect of that moment must be chosen. Now that only is fruitful which allows free play to the imagination. The more we see the more we must be able to imagine; and the more we imagine, the more we must think we see. (16-7)
Again, since this single moment receives from art an unchanging duration, it should express nothing essentially transitory. (17)
La Mettrie, who had himself painted and engraved as a second Democritus, laughs only the first time we look at him. Looked at again, the philosopher becomes a buffoon, and his laugh a grimace. (18)
[Timomachus had] rare skill in selecting that point which leads the observer to imagine the crisis without actually showing it […] We anticipate the result and tremble at the idea of soon seeing Medea in her unmitigated ferocity, our imagination far outstripping any thing the painter could have shown us of that terrible moment. (18)
This wisdom on the part of Timomachus won for him great and frequent praise, and raised him far above another artist unknown, who was foolish enough to paint Medea at the height of her madness, thus giving to this transient access of passion a duration that outrages nature. The poet censures him for this, and says very justly, apostrophizing the picture, " Art thou then for ever thirsting for the blood of thy children? Is there always a new Jason and a new Creusa to inflame thy rage? To the devil with the very picture of thee!” he adds angrily. (19)
V
Different versions of Laocoon described on pages 33-5.
In poetry a robe is no robe. It conceals nothing. Our imagination sees through it in every part. (40)
VI
[The artist] followed the poet without suffering him in the smallest particular to mislead them. A model was set them, but the task of transferring it from one art into another gave them abundant opportunity for independent thought. The originality manifested in their deviations from the model proves them to have been no less great in their art than the poet was in his. (42)
VII
I acknowledge that when Juvenal compares an idle patrician to a Hermes-column, we should hardly perceive the point of the comparison unless we had seen such a column and knew it to be a poorly cut pillar, bearing the head, or at most the trunk, of the god, and, owing to the want of hands and feet, suggesting the idea of inactivity. (52-3)
VIII
To the artist they are personified abstractions which must always be characterized in the same way, or we fail to recognize them. In poetry, on the contrary, they are real beings, acting and working, and possessing, besides their general character, qualities and passions which may upon occasion take precedence. (58) // My painting is like this. It takes an image out to use to depict a certain thing (keywords) but abstracts it slightly so that this identification can not be made.
“the poet alone possesses the art of so combining negative with positive traits as to unite two appearances in one.” (60)
X
When a poet personifies abstractions he sufficiently indicates their character by their name and employment.
These means are wanting to the artist, who must therefore give to his personified abstractions certain symbols by which they may be recognized. These symbols, because they are something else and mean something else, constitute them allegorical figures.” (68)
They should not regard the limitations of painting as beauties in their own art, nor consider the expedients which painting has invented in order to keep pace with poetry, as graces which they have any reason to envy her. By the use of symbols the artist exalts a mere figure into a being of a higher order. Should the poet employ the same artistic machinery he would convert a superior being into a doll. (69)
XI
We weigh invention and execution in opposite scales, and are inclined to require from the master as much less of one as he has given us more of the other.” (72)
condemnation of mimicry on page 73
XII
This invisibility [of the gods in the battle of Troy] leaves the imagination free play to enlarge the scene at will, and picture the gods and their movements on a scale far grander than the measure of common humanity. But painting must accept a visible theatre, whose various fixed parts become a scale of measurement for the persons acting upon it. This scale is always before the eye, and the disproportionate size of any superhuman figures makes beings that were grand in the poem monstrous on canvas. (78)
Its chief superiority [that of the poetical picture] is that it leads us through a whole gallery of pictures up to the point depicted by the artist. (85)
XVI
I argue thus. If it be true that painting employs wholly different signs or means of imitation from poetry, — the one using forms and colors in space, the other articulate sounds in time, — and if signs must unquestionably stand in convenient relation with the thing signified, then signs arranged side by side can represent only objects existing side by side, or whose parts so exist, while consecutive signs can express only objects which succeed each other, or whose parts succeed each other, in time. (91) // words can be both; they’re side by side and (usually) consecutive
Objects which succeed each other, or whose parts succeed each other in time, are actions. (91) // reading is an action
Re: bodies “They continue, and, at any moment of their continuance, may assume a different appear- ance and stand in different relations. Every one of these momentary appearances and groupings was the result of a preceding, may become the cause of a following, and is therefore the centre of a present, action. // this is the image component of the my painting]
“Actions, on the other hand, cannot exist independently, but must always be joined to certain agents. In so far as those agents are bodies or are regarded as such, poetry describes also bodies, but only indirectly through actions.” (91-2)
By countless devices [Homer] presents this single object in a series of moments, in every one of which it assumes a different form. Only in the final one can the painter seize it, and show us ready made [my emphasis; cf. Duchamp] what the artist has been showing us in the making. If Homer, for instance, wants us to see the chariot of Juno, Hebe must put it together piece by piece before our eyes. We see the wheels, the axle, the seat, the pole, the traces and straps, not already in place, but as they come together under Hebe's hands. the wheels are the only part on which the poet bestows more than a single epithet”. (93–4) // strategy for abstraction
Similarly, “But what does Homer care how far he outstrips the painter ? Instead of a copy, he gives us the history of the sceptre. First we see it in the workshop of Vulcan ; then it shines in the hands of Jupiter; now it betokens the dignity of Mercury; now it is the baton of warlike Pelops ; and again the shepherd's staff of peace-loving Atreus.” (96)
“Not only when Homer's descriptions have these higher aims in view, but even when his sole object is the picture, he will yet break this up into a sort of history of the object in order that the various parts, which we see side by side in nature [as bodies], may just as naturally follow each other [as actions] in his picture, and, as it were, keep pace with the flow of the narrative.” (99)
“And thus, as I have said, the poet shows us in the process of creation, what the painter can only show us as already existing.” (100)
XVII
“the signs employed in poetry not only follow each other, but are also arbitrary; and, as arbitrary signs, they are certainly capable of expressing things as they exist in space (101)
How do we obtain a clear ideta of a thing in space ? First we observe its separate parts, then the union of these parts, and finally the whole. Our senses perform these various operations with such amazing rapidity as to make them seem but one. This rapid- ity is absolutely essential to our obtaining an idea of the whole, which is nothing more than the result of the conception of the parts and of their connection with each other. Suppose now that the poet should lead us in proper order from one part of the object to the other ; suppose he should succeed in making the connection of these parts perfectly clear to us ; how much time will he have consumed ? The details, which the eye takes in at a glance, he enumerates slowly one by one, and it often happens that, by the time he has brought us to the last, we have forgotten the first. Yet from these details we are to form a picture. (102)
Once more, then, I do not deny that language has the power of describing a corporeal whole according to its parts. It certainly has, because its signs, although consecutive, are nevertheless arbitrary. (105)
XVIII
The rule is this, that succession in time is the province of the poet, co-existence in space that of the artist. (109)
To bring together into one and the same picture two points of time necessarily remote, […] is an encroachment of the painter on the domain of the poet, which good taste can never sanction. (109) // sorry, Lessing, haha
Painting and poetry should be like two just and friendly neighbours, neither of whom indeed is allowed to take unseemly liberties in the heart of the other's domain, but who exercise mutual forbearance on the borders, and effect a peaceful settlement for all the petty encroachments which circumstances may compel either to make in haste on the rights of the other. (110) // haha
Re: Rapheal’s drapery and time: “There is a reason for all his folds, either in the weight of the material or the tension of the limbs. We can often infer from their present condition what they had been previously. Raphael indeed aimed at giving them significance in this way. We can judge from the folds whether, previously to the present posture, a leg or an arm had been more in front or more behind, whether a limb had been bent and is now straightening itself, or whether it had been out- stretched and is now bending." (110-11)
Re: translation, “The Greek joins the subject with the first predicate and lets the others follow. He says, " round wheels, brazen, eight-spoked." Thus we know at once of what he is speaking, and learn first the thing and then Its accidents, which is the natural order of our thoughts. (113)
Re: Homer, wanting to descibre Achilles’ shield in a way proper to Poetry, he describes its creation, making “use of the happy device of substituting progression for coexistence, and thus converted the tiresome description of an object into a graphic picture of an action (114)
XIX
This single moment he makes as pregnant as possible, and reproduces it with all that power of illusion which in the presentation of visible objects art possesses above poetry. (120)
But what is not actually in the picture is there virtually, and the only true way of representing an actual picture in words is to combine what virtually exists in it with what is absolutely visible. The poet who allows himself to be bound by the limits of art may furnish data for a picture, out can never create one of his own. (121) // cf. Barthes, Camera Lucida
When I read [Constantinus Manasses’s wordy description of Helen’s beauty] it is like seeing stones rolled up a mountain, on whose summit they are to be built into a gorgeous edifice; but which all roll down of themselves on the other side. What picture does this crowd of words leave behind? (128-9) // cf. absurdism
XX
Thus Lucian, to give an idea of the beauty of Panthea, points to the most beautiful female statues by the old sculptors. What is this but a confession that here language of itself is powerless ; that poetry stammers, and eloquence grows dumb, unless art serve as interpreter. (135)
XXII
Zeuxis painted a Helen, and had the courage to write beneath his picture those famous lines of Homer wherein the elders express their admiration of her beauty. Never did painting and poetry engage in closer rivalry. Victory remained undecided, and both deserved to be crowned. (140)
XXIII
But a misshapen body and a beautiful soul are like oil and vinegar, which, however much they may be stirred together, will always remain distinct to the taste. They give rise to no third. Each one produces its own effect — the body distaste, the soul delight. (149)
A Lover's Discourse > "a bible for the under-twenty-fives" (3)
Writing Degree Zero (3)
Mythologies "decodes the contemporary myths erected by the middle class to their own glory" (4)
Camera Lucida (37)* Ferdinand de Saussure, Course in General Linguistics > "a science that studies the life of signs within society" (5)
Raymond Picard, New Criticism or New Fraud, René Pommier, Enough Decoding, Rambaud and Burneir. _Roland-Barthes Made Easy _(20) > Are these even real?
François-René de Chateaubriand, Memoirs from Beyond the Tomb (36)
Roman Jakobson, Essays in General Linguistics (38, 105) > brief explanation of the functions of language on pages 105-8
Ovid, Metamorphoses (41)
Bernard-Henri Levy, _Barbarism with a Human Face _(48)
François de La Rochefoucauld, Maximes (72)
Plato, Phaedo (148)
Jean Baudrillard, The Beaubourg Effect: Implosion and Deterrence (214)
Michel de Certeau, The Practice of Everyday Life, Cioran, The Trouble with Being Born (215)
Georges Mounin, Have You Read René Char, Marie-Henri Stendhal, Racine and Shakespeare, Romain Gary, Promise at Dawn, Georg Lukacs, The Historical Novel,_ _Malcom Lowry, Under the Volcano, John Milton, Paradise Lost, François Rabelais _Gargantua and Pantagruel _(216)
François de Sales, Introduction to the Pious Life (226)
Michel Foucault, The Order of Things (227)
Umberto Eco, Lecture in Fabula (233)
Louis-Ferdinand Céline, Journey to the End of the Night (239)
Jacques Derrida
Of Grammatology (243) > "We don't need Derrida, we have Jimi Hendrix!" (245)
Cogito and the History of Madness, in which it's suggested that Foucault misunderstood Descartes (250) * Martin Heidegger, Being and Time (248)
Roger Vitrac, Connaissance de la Mort; Única Zurn, Dark Spring; Desnos, La Papesse du Diable (264) 
James Bond
the number 7 is "traditionally one of the most elegant numbers, a magical number charged with history and symbolism; but in this case, it complies with two criteria: it is an odd number, of course, like the number of roses we give to a woman, and prime [...] in order to express a singularity, a uniqueness, an individuality that confounds the whole expression of interchangeability suggested by an identification number." (27)
"Umberto Eco calls James Bond a fascist. In actual fact, we can see that he is, above all, a reactionary..." (28)
Cervantes
"among them [in the battle of Lepanto] the son of a debt-ridden dentist also here to see glory, as well as riches, a Castilian hidalgo, an adventurer, a penniless sword-wielding nobleman: the young Miguel de Cervantes." (302, chap. 84)
is shot in the chest and the left hand and "from now on will be known as the 'one-armed man of Lepanto' and some will mock his handicap. Incensed and wounded in body and soul, he will make this clarification in his preface to the second volume of Don Quixote: 'As if the loss of my hand had been brought about in some tavern, and not on the grandest occasion the past or present has seen, or the future can hope to see.'" (318)
tomb of Sebastiano Venier, hero of the battle of Lepanto (312)
Twombly, Lepanto series
Other
Plato's allegory of the cave "in reverse" (4)
Umberto Eco, "the wise man of Bologna" > "the wheel, the spoon, the book...perfect tools, unimprovable in their effectiveness" (6)
Eric Buyssens defines semiology as "the study of communication processes; in other words, means used to influence others and recognised as such by the others in question" (9)
"signs no longer need to be signals: they have become clues." (10)
"Don't forget that one interpretation never exhausts the sign, and that polysemy is a bottomless well where we can hear an infinite number of echoes: a word's meaning never runs dry. And the same's true even for a letter, you see." (29)
"Always to love, to suffer, to expire", Corneille (72)
"After all, it's all a question of method, and I know how to proceed: interrogate the witnesses, corroborate [etc.], confront these partial memories with the reality of history. And then, if need be... You know what I mean. There is more to be done with that day. 25 February has not yet told us everything. That's the virtue of a novel: it's never too late." (149-50)
Re: Derrida’s criticism of Austin and Searle, pages 271-275, chap. 75 > seems relevant to me.
Familiar beyond Recognition: Translation in Contemporary Abstraction, Simon Degroot
Introduction
thesis explores the difference between shapes translated from modernism into contemporary abstract painting (focussing on Russian Constructivism, Synthetic Cubism, Matisse’s paper cut-outs, Hard Edge painting, graphic design and computer desktop graphics, and shapes within the built environment) and considers how ‘translation’ might be used to “unpack” how contemporary abstract painting “makes meaning”
Paul Kremer, digital prints on canvas: http://imgsrch.tumblr.com > re: aa.still.matters
the process of interpretation and decoding is a “performative act” (3) // Hans-Georg Gadamer, “reading with understanding is always a kind of reproduction, performance and interpretation” Truth and Method, trans. Joel Weinsheimer and Donald G Marshall (New York: Bloomsbury Academic, 2013), 160
this perforamce is always “active and prejudiced” (3) // cf. The 7th Function of Language, p. 275: “To be understood, at least partially, by our receiver, we must use the same language. We must repeat (reiterate) words that have already been used, otherwise our receiver will not be able to understand them. So we are always, fatally, in some form of citation. We use the words of others. Now, as with Chinese whispers, it is more than probable – it is inevitable – that through repetitions each and every one of us will employ the words of others, in a slightly different sense to those others.”
Walter Benjamin, ‘The Task of the Translator’ (in Dropbox)
Panofsky used “pseudomorphosis” to describe “the emergence of a form A, morphologically analogous to, or even identical with, a form B, yet entirely unrelated from a genetic point of view” — Panofksy, Tomb Sculpture > Simon gives the example of Kasimir Malevich and Ellsworth Kelly’s respective black squares (4) // similarly(?), Borges’ ’Pierre Menard, Author of the ‘Quixote’
References Paul Taylor’s “second degree” and the relationship between Australia and appropriation as ‘natural’, given the that our experience of art is often mediated (8-9)
contemporary art as post-historical, citing Hans Belting and Arthur C Danto (9) > “[contemporary art] manifests an awareness of a history of art but no longer carries it forward” (Belting in Danto, After the End of Art: Contemporary Art and the Pale of History)
“appropriation needs to be redefined for contemporary practice as more accurately belonging to a process of translation” (9)
Derrida, The Truth in Painting, 1987
referencing Rex Butler, “a work of art does not record an original experience, but rather presents ‘a translation of this experience from one language to another’” (10)
