How I feel when I write is how I felt in my very first typophoto: from the white chatter and turbulent swirl of life's stream, I emerge in stillness, calm. The air into which we are all dissolved is laden with our songs, crossing oceans to flow through us. In that moment of stillness I breath my song into that zephyr, and let if fly with the great harmony.
As you will see, I owe the shape of this epiphany to Justin Tan and Hanna. The premise is simple: we share photographs, we react, and then we write on them. I present for your edification some of my favorite typophotos. I'll let their words wash over you. Experience more of their work (or my own attempts) here.
Words: Hanna Photograph: Jordan Baylon
"Saudade" Words: Justin Tan Photograph: Marina Mayumi
And here are some typophotos I admire from frequent collaborators and friends of the project:
So I was at a concert, and it was phenominal btw... I came up with an idea... and as I tossed it around inside my head, thinking about how I'd represent it, I came out with a tryptich... kinda like last time in a sense... But I didn't have that in mind when it came out. Just coincidence I suppose. I came home and stayed up late to get it done; I was pretty excited about it. Anyways I'm excited to see your approach.
It's meant to be read in whichever sequence you'd like.
We'll talk tomorrow. I'm meeting up with Peter tomorrow for din and stuff, so it might be a bit later.
Hey bud. Here are a couple sketch-ups of the two ideas I was thinking of on how to arrange the text. The first image is to be paired with the security camera, and the second is to be paired with the pigeon. The third I'm still working on, but I wanted to see what you thought of these two panels. I'm trying define the 'field of gaze' in these two panels. I think the second one, for the pigeon, is kind of a narrative. But with both I'm suggesting a movement through space and the encounters within this space.
[In] the pigeon panel I was having a bit of fun with the idea of the lines, and how they intersect with the 'objects' within the field.
Mark: Do u think the tryptich is ready to be posted?
Jordan: I was going to ask you about that: what does the final post look like in your mind?
M: Hmm, I think it should be just the three panels laid out vertically. Perhaps we include the paragraph that has all the words together at the bottom. What do you think?
J: I agree [...] Also, I just want to recap w you what you think we are saying with this. Looking at the constituent parts, it’s easy to see comments about the nature of sight, perception, and subjectivity. But, especially w regard to the last image, what is the overarching idea? [...] It’s very strong, but even I’m trying to articulate it clearly. This one’s on you. Once we finish this we can talk about the Lisa’s Place piece that’s been put on the back burner.
08/28/2010
Mark (text): I wrote some notes on it in my sketchbook... It's more clear in my head, perhaps we can talk it out.
08/29/2010
Mark (email):
K, it's really raw, just thoughts put down:
First Panel: Surveillance
Finding order in disorder
Checks and balances
Significance of orange: a building (human construct) to which the camera attaches itself. In the city, one does not exist without the other. [The camera] watches for glitches in the pattern of the city.
Self-awareness, self-consciousness
Second Panel: Pigeon
Finding disorder in order
The pigeon follows it's instincts, a pattern that would be no different in nature. The pigeon calculates its next move by watching for things like a fallen crumb, an accidental dropping of a pizza slice... a ripped garbage bag... opportunities. The pigeon accepts the city and its inhabitants as part of the natural order. It adapts to us, and grows with us.
Complete lack of self-awareness- it simply exists
Third Panel: the Lens/Eye
Perception: defined vs. undefined purpose
We know that the commonality between [the camera and the pigeon] is that they both have an awareness of humanity, but for different reasons. One exists as part of and the other exists as separate from. The pigeon exists as part of and within. The camera exists as separate from and outside of. The camera lens represents self-awareness. The unseen eye above. Would there be chaos without it? What if we relied on the eye on the pigeon rather than the eye of the camera? We are a part of nature but we've convinced ourselves otherwise.
The Text
The text inside a result of the text on the periphery. The funny thing is that neither the lens nor the pigeon are necessarily conscious of these sensations, or able to acknowledge them. What's lacking is the human eye. Perhaps the two combined/overlapping can be said to represent the human eye.
K Jord, this still feels a bit mumbo jumbo, it's a tough one to unravel. I feel like I'm getting somewhere though, especially with that last sentence. I feel like it's a pretty tight visual though... I feel like it makes sense, but I can't explain it just yet. Hopefully what I wrote will stimulate some thought on your side and we can talk it out.
Jordan (text): Ok just read it. I'll email my notes in a lil bit. The destination looks good, but reconfiguring some of the ideas may help us actually get there. Gimme a bit.
...
Jordan (email):
Alright, these are my thoughts. Hopefully they stimulate a productive dialogue: in other words feel free to argue with me haha.
First Panel: Camera
While the camera's purpose is to maintain order, it does so by searching for disorder, or as you say "glitches in the pattern of the city."
Also, I find it interesting how you align it with the concept of self-awareness. A camera, in and of itself, is neither concerned or even aware of what it sees. It takes a person to interpret the data of the feed to determine what constitutes a disturbance or transgression of order. But consider the durable movie cliche of the security guard napping in front of a dozen surveillance feeds, only to perk up when an alarm goes off: the vast majority of what the camera "sees" is not seen at all. If nothing of interest happens or is noticed, the footage is deleted or stored in mouldy boxes. In reality, the camera functions more as a detterent: those who see it are told they are being watched, which stimulates an awareness of what they themselves are doing. Therefore, beinglookedatis more important than looking.
The camera is a non-participant or passive element in the city, standing apart from all action, never touching anything.
Second Panel: Pigeon
The pigeon is, as you point out, part of the natural order; but it too is searching for disorder. It must compromise by exchanging seeds, grain, and fruit for the left-behinds of mankind. But in doing so it has not compromised its nature (which is to forage), only the object of that nature (the type of food it forages).
I agree that the pigeon represents a complete lack of self-awareness, but so does the camera. What is important is that despite having no sense of self, it is searching actively for its goal, right under the noses of mankind, often completely ignored. So looking is more important than being looked at.
The pigeon is an active, even if unnoticed, participant in the action.
Third Panel
The camera is, as you point out, a necessary part of the city, but separate from the action that takes place in it. The pigeon does not belong to the city [naturally], but is a part of its ecosystem. And when we talk about the city, what we are really talking about are people. So rather than assigning each to one side of a rigid inside/outside binary, we should consider both the camera and the pigeon as metaphors for mankind, each one demonstrating a strange paradox of being bothinside and out, natural and unnatural.
On the one side, we have the pigeon which represents our animal nature, and the camera which represents our evolution from that origin (for better or worse). The pigeon searching single-mindedly for food, attempting at all costs to fulfill a biological imperative, is like the base impulses that drive us (survival, reproduction, etc). The camera watching but not seeing, expecting something that may or may not happen, is like humanity in its evolved state. Consider that for civilization to develop, humanity first had to develop a consciousness of the self. Once the former animal has this, it can look past its nature, accumulate knowledge outside of what has been programmed into its genes, and create tools, shelters, cars, and cities. Only the creature that knows that it will eventually die would have the forethought to make things to prolong its life. So the camera is the eye we turn towards ourselves, to make us mindful of our nature in the world, and to regulate our actions (of away from nature).
So to misquote you, humans are "a part of nature but also separate from it." Neither the former [condition] nor the latter can be removed without ceasing to define human beings. So while the pigeon is concerned with objects (nouns) and the camera is concerned with actions (verbs), it is only the human being, a combination of the two perspectives and thereby self-aware, that is concerned with emotions, qualities, and the essences of things (adjectives).
So what do you think? Did we unlock it?? hehehe...
(text)
M: Wow, it's what I was trying to say, it's so clear now.
J: Are you for real: you're not just kissing my ass or sparing my feelings?
M: No man, for real, it's sick.
J: See? You're the proof and I'm the pudding son hehehe That shit is undeniable.
M: Hi fives. Should this be posted? I think so.
J: Should what be posted?
M: Well, a version of it perhaps? The analysis.
J: Hmm, remember I've always been interested in showing our process in a piece... can that be done here do you think?
M: Dude, we'll talk about it tomo yah? In REAL LIFE. Sweet.
I always have to start the same way. I sit. I stare. I make little compromises with the moments. When my heart is full I speak. When I'm with you I always forget that I am 20 feet tall and that my voice can be oppressive; but how do I explain that the mass of being housing those words is just a cluster navigating the pull of the thing inside me, something I've hidden away and whose gravity I stand to, a stable anchor and the loneliest prison by turns? It is so small, but dense beyond the weight of my own life to ever mitigate it completely; for better or worse it defines me. I told you that if I dared to touch it, my world would change forever. And of the many scenarios it is not obliteration, but desolation that I fear, that there will be nothing to reflect colours and that in a barren apathy I will preside over the graves of the tears and the laughter. But there are flowers in Hiroshima.
We walk and we talk. We walk away and are drawn back again, orbitting the space we share. We vibrate and we echo over the shapes we pass. We walk down the street together, spending words thriftlessly, but there is the comforting stillness of the earth itself rooted to us. We alight upon a hill and sit, steeping in silence, and my new senses open to track the rush of soft orange light as it floods the rooftops, slides liquid under the stars and returns to wash and enfold us. At night the universe is unbounded, undelineated, and infinite; by its graces I cloak myself with it and clumsily map other people's dreams. But with you I get my own, and even with the fiery brand of the sun inscribing and defining everything, I find solace in the beautiful shadows we have secreted away. But I owe you what's yours, and if that could mean standing aside, there will be flowers in Hiroshima.
The above is my long overdue response to one part of a friendly debate Justin and I had, the second part of which pertained to whether I am justified in giving a swift rust-can kick to R2D2's goldenboy status in favour of the literally golden, erudite, and misunderstood droid that is C3PO. I think that it is a much needed addition of whimsy and fun to the corpus of this blog, though Mark doesn't seem to think that it qualifies as "lighthearted," perhaps because his definition of the word doesn't include verbal vitriol pasted to the face of an evil child; to each their own haha.
First, a tedious reminiscence: I remember my last spring in Japan. My craving for an A&W Teen burger was starting to manifest as a real physical pain, and only Krystel was capable of offering a possible remedy for my home-sickness: Filipino food. After assaulting her with much begging (broken up by intermittent tirades about her visiting Shirakawa without allowing me the courtesy of bothering her), I was invited for a wonderful dinner at her apartment in Takayama. To make the evening an embarrassment of riches, Justin and Marina were coming with some Brazilian food too. After spoiling me with a long overdue breakfast of longanisa and pan de sal, Krystel set me to work wrapping lumpia and to pass the time, we watched youtube videos. Long story short, Michael Jackson's video for "Rock with You" entered the rotation. As often happens to me recently, something that was old and familiar was suddenly becoming something that I was really seeing for the first time. Even though the majority of my rhythmic faculties were held in check by cold meaty filling clinging to my fingers, I was starting to lose my rolling discipline: Krystel's lumpia were appetizingly clone-like (a yummy quality conducive to binge-eating because it discourages counting), while mine were quickly looking misshapen and random as funk-induced spasms rippled through my frame. Consequently that video soaked into my subconscious.
Now, before I go on, I went to such lengths talking about food (as I often do), that I feel it is correct for me to conclude the thread regarding that evening's dinner by commenting that a) enjoying Krystel's adobo made me appreciate white vinegar and Japan's lack of it, b) Marina is herself a competent chef whose creamy stroganoff-looking dish allowed me to effect the greatest gut-density I have ever experienced, and c) Justin is an charming dinner companion even though he thinks Olivia aka thatssoraven was cuter than Rudy Huxtable. Phew, are you still with me? We'll get to the video in a second.
Now flash-forward a year: I'm back in Canada entering my third season as a volunteer complacency-expert. I cannot recall the exact date of my epiphany (because the days have been bleeding together for a while now), but I can say with certainty that like most mornings I broke fast alone with leftovers and worked through a crossword puzzle with Ellen and the Sopranos playing in the background (ps. that's not the name of another amywinehouse-esque soul nostalgia band; I hate commercials so I flip between both shows even though I'm not really watching either). Then at some point while vacuuming in my sweats, Mayer Hawthorne's "Maybe So Maybe No" gave way to "Rock With You," and what happened next is between myself and the hallway mirror haha...
...
I think the following picture will resonate with a lot of people:
You and your friends are out for So-and-so's birthday. So-and-so hedges their bets, chooses one of those lowest common denominator clubs with no sense of character or identity, trying to please everybody and succeeding with no one. The first thing everyone does is throw a shot of sourjacks or tequila down their throats so they can get through the night, then two more, then three. If your now rosily flushed collective manages to tiptoe down to the dance floor, it's only because the lazy DJ trusted you all to fistpump while insinscreaming "tonight's gonna be a good night" at each other, and he was right! Now you are all just riding that initial momentum, only slightly modifying your standing drunk-wobble into a feeble two-step, until finally dundundun you are all standing in a huge circle smirking pathetically at each other.
That was a little dramatic but you just felt a cold shiver didn't you? If you didn't and that's not a bad night for you, you are lucky so go on and enjoy yourself. But for those of you who feel shame or self-alienation whenever music demands its natural response, I'm here to tell you that in '79 Michael Jackson gave you a special gift.
We often remember him for the bombastic, spectacular aspects of his star persona; with respect to the music this boils down to crotch-grabs, moonwalks, and the most iconic dance choreography in pop music. The key-word there being choreography: during an entire career spanning the smooth Motown stepping of the Jackson 5 to the "Thriller" zombie-shuffles, only the Off the Wall videos show you Michael Jackson, the person, actually dancing. Now before I have everyone up in arms, let me qualify my definitions for that word: in my opinion there are two types of dancing. One is performative, in the sense that it demands a spectator. Whatever feats of rhythmic kineticism you get to witness, as a viewer your responses will more often than not polarize you from the performer. Take for example the crowd watching a breakdancing competition: arms are crossed and heads are bobbing only to mark the timing of the dancer. Whether they're giving props or boo-ing, this is a posture of judging. And for the dancers awaiting their turn to ignite the hardwood, one could argue that there is a competitive, if friendly, colouring to their perception of their peers. Or consider that same quality on a different scale: the audience of a ballet sits quietly in darkness viewing the spectacle on stage. Or even consider how it is that eyes work in the first place: the retina is just a mirror reflecting light, and as spectators we don't exist where the colour comes from, we are by necessity removed from it; we don't get to shine. In other words, while this type of dancing definitely constitutes an important aesthetic experience, it doesn't necessarily make you want to dance yourself. The other type of dancing does however.
Does anyone think that if they were so blessed to share the dance floor of a wedding reception with the real Michael that he would be "on" the entire time, spinning and kicking and smoothcriminal-ing for hours? I like to think that if Michael ever had the opportunity to share that moment of simple human joy with us, he would be just like how he is in "Rock With You". He would listen to the music, whatever it was, and let his body tell him what to do. Of course, when you watch the video he is obviously "performing" in the sense that he knows that there is a camera there, just like when you are busting it out on the floor you know that somebody's watching. But look at his face, does it look like he cares, or that any kind of scrutiny could deter him? And if the lyrics weren't clear enough, after seeing him (or anybody else for that matter) move so freely and intuitively, don't you want to move too?
To be fair, the video for "Don't Stop 'til You Get Enough" laid the groundwork for "Rock With You". It is similarly sparse in choreography, with Michael dancing and singing in front of vivid psychedelic backdrops. However ironic it may sound though, there is something mannered and restrained about MJ in the fly tux compared to the emotional honesty of MJ in a bedazzled sparkle suit. Consider the ethereal green glow, the laser halo, and the spotlight: that's how we should feel when we're locked into a groove so tight that we have to close our eyes and let the syncopation flow through us.
The best DJ's are the ones engaged in conversations with their audiences. Granted not everyone goes out to boogie (I love when Kweli says that "we used to use a club to hit and drag her by the hair / still use a club to get her a martini or a beer") and when a DJ plays the right set, he or she catalyzes an entire range of reactions from the people who are listening. But I can say with confidence that the most gratifying response for a DJ is dancing, when an entire room of people is united by nothing more than the overwhelming urge to react in their own way to the Pulse.
So don't just look at Michael; he's not going to wait for you. Move. And if you're going to do that, do it like it's just you and the Man in the Mirror.
We are always falling. Gravity is always pulling us down, the strength of its tug in proportion to our mass. This is a metaphysical truth too. We are born into the climax of our light and we learn to stumble often and well. As we age our light leaves us, and as we begin to ease into oblivion, the pull begins to ease as well. When we return to darkness, there is nothing left to pull.
Here I am on a mountain. I watch as we all climb to the top, brimming with potential and quavering with apprehension. Then we simply fall. Sometimes we proceed with finesse and play with the elements as they fall from us. Other times we forge ahead with vigour, our momentum meant as ambivalence to what surrounds us, the mountains and the trees. But we are always falling.
It used to be that the trees held us on our way down. For better or for worse, in help or in hindrance, our path necessitated their participation. But we have cleared them away, trusting in however our own mitigations may bring us to the end. Now they only watch, their solitary, un-moving mass contextualizing our reckless speed. I didn’t choose for them not to be there; now I just have to go down.
I stand at the top and I plunge forward artlessly, seeking the end and the receptacle of my memories. I grow anxious with forgetting and loosen my grip. Near the end the slope has lessened but I have lost everything. So I climb to the top again...
