This chapter contains sections titled: Poetry (Briefly) The Aesthetics of Fiction (Again) A Non‐Aesthetic Art? Fiction as Non‐Aesthetic.

It has recently been suggested that the type/token theorist concerning musical works cannot come up with an adequate semantic theory of those sentences in which we purport to talk about such works. Specifically, it has been claimed that, since types are abstract entities, a type/token theorist can only account for the truth of sentences such as “The 1812 Overture is very loud” and “Bach's Two Part Invention in C has an F-sharp in its fourth measure” by adopting an (...) untenable semantic claim: namely, that the predicates in such sentences, once applied to musical works, undergo a systematic shift in their meanings. This article is a sustained explanation of why our talk about musical works in fact provides no problem for the type/token theorist. First, we demonstrate that the aforementioned “meaning shift” approach to the sentences’ predicates is well motivated and very credible. Second, we explain how the type/token theorist can adopt the best available version of an alternative, generic quantificational approach to such sentences. Third, we establish that other semantic theories, presented as undermining the type/token theory by giving us a reason for adopting eliminativism about types, are much less theoretically virtuous than the two theories that a type/token theorist can freely adopt. (shrink)

I want to concentrate on two kinds of talking about the arts. One concerns those aspects of the language of philosophical aesthetics in which generalisations about ‘art’ and ‘the arts’ are made. The other concerns the language of the critic in so far as it can be stated as having a very particular aim: ‘the stimulation’ ‘of interest and the heightening of insight and the education of his ability to make his own appreciative judgments (...) from direct experience’. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Reviewed by:Transforming Music EducationCarolyn LivingstonEstelle R. Jorgensen, Transforming Music Education ( Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 2003)Estelle Jorgensen's vision of the transformation of our profession is lofty but not ostentatious, exacting but not rigid. The dream she unveils in her latest book, Transforming Music Education, "challenges music educators to raise their expectations of themselves, their colleagues, their students, and their publics; to look beyond the ordinary; and to aspire (...) to distinction in every facet of its enterprise" (145). A powerfully convincing writer, Jorgensen, author of In Search of Music Education, begins appropriately in her preface by detailing the reasons why music education needs to be transformed. Many of her students and former students at Indiana University are not only satisfied with the status quo in music education, but demonstrate reluctance about even considering the need for change. Others, she has found, long for improvement, having encountered paternalistic administrators, loneliness, fear, and a loss of enjoyment in teaching and in music. Although the author is happy for the former group, she empathizes with the latter. "Gone are the hope, joy, and love of connecting with students or of the art that led them to teaching in the first place," she writes. "In their place I hear the voices of weariness, discouragement, and ennui" (x). [End Page 211]In addition, Jorgensen has observed the anti-intellectualism abroad in education, evident in a variety of symptoms. One of the most troubling is the idolization of scientific research resulting in a loss of interest in philosophical and historical inquiry. She decries the "declining regard for the long and distinguished narratives of education and for the critical insights that would help guard the profession against repeating past mistakes and making ill-conceived plans. Pretentious jargon invoked by educational scientists and theorists often cloaks a paucity of ideas frequently unintelligible to the teachers it is supposed to benefit, and few teachers read it," she asserts (x).Pointing out that we have lost much of our culture other than that promoted in the popular media, Jorgensen reminds us that, after graduation, high school students no longer play their instruments and that some churches now project words to hymns on large screens for parishioners no longer willing or able to read from a hymnal. She is as appalled as the rest of us by restaurant employees' attempts to sing "Happy Birthday" to celebrating patrons, and she notices that even consumers of culture increasingly rely on media opinions for assistance with choices about art exhibits, books, recordings, and performances.The resegregation of schools, the "back to basics" movement, and public apathy about education are other indicators that transformation is needed. If these reasons are not enough, Jorgensen states that ongoing renewal will always be a necessity for education. Since education is often defined as the process by which culture is transmitted, musicians and artists, as purveyors of culture, Jorgensen believes, can create a humane and holistic music education to serve as a model for education in general. "To conceive of music education as enculturation... requires placing culture at the heart of education," she states. "Regarding music along with other arts as important manifestations of human expression suggests that they should be central and essential to a complete education" (9).The purpose of each chapter is clear from its beginning, and the chapters are concisely summarized. The first, "Setting the Stage," discusses several problems of our present society as they affect education. Jorgensen considers possible resistance to transformation and the need for support from organizations like MENC and NASM. She maintains that transformation can only be achieved through the cooperation of many groups and individuals. One of the most difficult problems would seem to be the one that occurs when groups who have previously been oppressed, such as members of female, economic, ethnic, racial, religious, or other minorities, achieve a measure of power and then begin to behave toward others as their oppressors behaved toward them. She cites the work of Paulo Freire who believes that this phenomenon can only be eradicated through emancipatory education.Jorgensen gives homage to past and present music educators who have already recognized the need for change. She makes the point... (shrink)

An engaging argument about what experimental music can tell us about being human. -/- In Experimenting the Human, G Douglas Barrett argues that experimental music speaks to the contemporary posthuman, a condition in which science and technology decenter human agency amid the uneven temporality of postwar global capitalism. Time moves forward for some during this period, while it seems to stand still or even move backward for others. Some say we’re already posthuman, while others endure the extended consequences (...) of never having been considered fully human in the first place. Experimental music reflects on this state, Barrett contends, through its interdisciplinary involvements in postwar science, technology, and art movements. -/- Rather than pursuing the human’s beyond, experimental music addresses the social and technological conditions that support such a pursuit. Barrett locates this tendency of experimentalism throughout its historical entanglements with cybernetics, and in his intimate analysis of Alvin Lucier’s neurofeedback music, Pamela Z’s BodySynth performances, Nam June Paik’s musical robotics, Pauline Oliveros’s experiments with radio astronomy, and work by Laetitia Sonami, Yasunao Tone, and Jerry Hunt. Through a unique meeting of music studies, media theory, and art history, Experimenting the Human provides fresh insights into what it means to be human. (shrink)

INTUITIVELY, WE RECOGNIZE at least two broad ways in which we talk about musical performances. On the one hand, we talk about them as lasting twenty minutes, having a tempo of 120 quarter notes per minute, being a string quartet, loud or soft, sounding like a trumpet rather than a cornet, and out of tune. These descriptions refer to the nonaesthetic properties of musical performances. On the other hand, we talk about musical performances (...) as being expressive of sorrow, sounding thematically unified, having a swinging rhythm, portraying the harshness of living under economic distress, representing the howling of a wolf, and placid. These descriptions refer to the aesthetic qualities of musical performances. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:The Journal of Aesthetic Education 37.3 (2003) 21-40 [Access article in PDF] Unifying the Curriculum with an Art Exhibition:In the American Grain Terry Barrett This is an account of a whole-school faculty designing and teaching a five-month whole-school curriculum based on an exhibit of modern American art, In the American Grain, in a public school in the Pacific Northwest, grades 6-12. This account is a case-study of a successful (...) attempt of teachers, students, and administrators at one school, in one time and place, unifying the whole curriculum by having an art exhibit at the center of learning. The account is given through many voices, especially those of the students in the school who participated in the curriculum, and the teachers who invented it. I served the school as a faculty advisor and thus the telling is in the voice of a participant-observer but I rely heavily on the experiences of the participants and their ways of telling. The students and teachers are unabashedly enthused about what they were able to accomplish in teaching and learning, and are eager to share their experiences with other learningcommunities. This account begins with a short history of the recently founded school and an overview of its curricular mission. It proceeds with students telling about projects they did and their experiences of the curriculum, which evolved around In the American Grain; teachers talking about their experiences with the curriculum; and the founding principal's responses to the curriculum. It ends with my observations and conclusions. I hope that this account might encourage other educators to initiate their own attempts at school reform by placing the arts at the center of the curriculum. The School Vancouver School of Arts and Academics opened in September of 1996 with 525 middle and high school students (grades 6-11 with 12th grade added the following year) in a renovated building originally constructed as a high school in 1928. 2 The school has a new theater, recording studio, rehearsal rooms, and art studios. The school is dedicated to "the dual mission [End Page 21] of academic rigor and artistic excellence," with an evolving curriculum in which all areas of study (math, science, language arts, and social studies) and a full spectrum of arts disciplines (music, theater, dance, moving imagery, literature, and visual arts) are focused around artistic themes taught through interdisciplinary approaches. 3All students attend the school full-time. The mornings are devoted to "academics," subjects that are team-taught to "core groups" of students of combined grades (6-7-8, 9-10, 11-12) and the afternoons consist of three hours of arts instruction in elected classes of mixed-age students. There are four teachers for each core of about 100 students. Teaching and learning is project-based, interdisciplinary, on an art-centered school theme pre-selected for the year by the faculty. In selecting its theme for a year, the faculty follows the state of Washington's pattern for social studies concentrating one year on world history, the next on United States history, and the next on state history. The faculty also privileges an art form for the year: year one is visual arts; year two, music; year three drama; and so forth. Theme-related projects are conducted by students working individually or in small groups of two to three, and are usually teacher-suggested at the junior high level and student-initiated at the senior high level.Students enroll from all areas of the Vancouver school district and neighboring districts. 4 Students and their parents are interviewed and students are selected for the school on the basis of a demonstrated interest in the arts, not on portfolios or auditions, nor on the basis of special designations such as "gifted and talented." Most of the students are from working-class families, and most students graduating from the school go on to college.All faculty members applied to teach at the school, and all have personal interest and expertise in one or more art forms. For example, Mr... (shrink)

Stephen Davies taught philosophy at the University of Auckland, Auckland, New Zealand. His research specialty is the philosophy of art. He is a former President of the American Society for Aesthetics. His books include Definitions of Art (Cornell UP, 1991), Musical Meaning and Expression (Cornell UP, 1994), Musical Works and Performances (Clarendon, 2001), Themes in the Philosophy of Music (OUP, 2003), Philosophical Perspectives on Art (OUP, 2007), Musical Understandings and Other Essays on the Philosophy of Music (...) (OUP, 2011), The Artful Species: Aesthetics, Art, and Evolution (OUP, 2012), The Philosophy of Art (Wiley-Blackwell, 2016 second ed.), and Adornment: What Self-decorations Tells Us about Who We Are, (Bloomsbury Academic, 2020). (shrink)

continent. 2.3 (2012): 224–228 Introduction Jamie Allen Thierry Geoffroy’s conceptual, event- and environment-based art practice has generated over two-decades of definitional activity around what he terms “format art.” The works re-galvanize the energies of a syndicatable, open and atmospheric arrangement, of varying specifics dependent on context, participants and environment. With formats like the Emergency Room, Biennalist, and the Critical Run, Geoffroy endeavors to imbricate art and artist in the most exigent and current of social, political and mediatised spectacles. The result (...) seems to plant us at a triangulation of the configurations proposed by Alan Kaprow, Andrea Fraser and Alan Abel. Geoffroy plays up a guileless innocence (at times sporting the “Naive Blue Helmet”) as he interviews spectactors at the 2012 dOCUMENTA13 exhibitions in Kassel, Germany. What he evokes is a declamation of the appropriative, unenthusiastic, cool inclinations of the mainstream art festival, the profligate biennial (triennial, quadrennial, etc.) circuit and national and global ideological cultural-engines. In propositional artifacts, definitional articles and direct transmissions from Geoffroy’s Emergency Room field office at dOCUMENTA13, the masking of an emergency is here questioned: Can an art show like dOCUMENTA be dangerous? —JA Is dOCUMENTA designed to make people cry about something and not make them see something else? Is the contemporary a distraction from the present? Can art in delay have any impact with today? Do we learn anything by seeing art shows reflecting on history? Could 860,000 visitors have been intoxicated by an apathic gaze than keep them away from reacting? Why is dOCUMENTA proud of having recieve no critic? Why is proximity less important? Why was dOCUMENTA in Kabul? Can weapons designed to kill protesters sold to a repressing regime be contradictory to the support of the Arab Spring? Is the contemporary like a flea market to avoid to debating the important topics of today? Can art be in advance of the broken arm, and avoid accident? Is the goal of dOCUMENTA to create a revolution or to entertain? Is dOCUMENTA betterly done than Disney Land? Is it better to watch Fox News for two years or to go to dOCUMENTA for two days? If a curator, curating a contemporary art show about war, forgets to debate about the weapons factories next door, should it be considered as a professional mistake? Is it OK to employ philosophers to promote vodka? Is navigation a threat? Can an art show like dOCUMENTA be dangerous? Thierry Geoffroy / Colonel author of the month Global Art and the Museum @ZKM: " THE NEXT DOCUMENTA SHOULD BE CURATED BY A TANK " Link to Emergency Room Dictionary < /a> "COOLNESS" from the EMERGENCY ROOM DICTIONARY by COLONEL MUSIC Biennalist at dOCUMENTA 13 "TIRED" from the EMERGENCY ROOM DICTIONARY by COLONEL MUSIC Link to " APATHY " (from the Emergency Room Dictionary ) AWARENESS MUSCLE [fr. muscle de la conscience ] In the same sense memory can be trained, an awareness muscle can be developed by an effort. To develop the awareness muscle, the artist has to reduce his gesticulations. When an artist is busy the artist is not very aware the artist is occupied. A daily training is necessary But how to train? Scanning the news in a critical way could be one exercise. Daily debating politics with others could be another. Looking at other point of views usually produces significant improvements. Fighting prejudice is an excellent exercise. Many other forms of training could also produce beneficial effects for the awareness muscle. Continuous and daily training is important. For instance rewinding and slow motioning what has been absorbed getting away the sugar from the propaganda machines talking to everyone excercise comparatif critical run. If not daily trained the awareness muscle can degrade into atrophy To develop the awareness muscle requires will-power Thierry Geoffroy / Colonel. (shrink)

This paper outlines three broad conceptual schemes currently in play in the sciences concerned with explaining cognitive abilities. One is the anthropocentric scheme – human cognition – that dominated our thinking about cognition until very recently. Another is the cybernetic-computational scheme – cybernetic cognition – rooted in cognitive science and flourishing in such fields as artificial intelligence, computational neuroscience, and biocybernetics. The third is an evolutionary biological scheme – phylogenetic cognition – that conceptualizes cognition in terms of the phylogeny-based (...) approach we take to all other traits of evolved organisms. It shows how these conceptions ground different research questions and methods, and how their relationship is still in flux. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:The Journal of Aesthetic Education 37.2 (2003) 19-30 [Access article in PDF] Bugged Out:A Reflection on Art Experience Christopher Perricone I used to enjoy art. Not all the arts equally. Overall literature spoke to me most clearly. I am not sure exactly why. I guess some combination of inborn and learned dispositions. Whatever is the case, my enjoyment of literature always seemed natural to me, since literature was (...) of a medium I already knew, the vocabulary and grammar of my own language. But I enjoyed paintings and musical pieces as well, some of which I shall never forget even though they have virtually faded from my life, from what I have become.I cannot say that I ever had a favorite artwork. I have always thought the idea foolish, reminiscent of children who think often in terms of favorites, whether colors, candies, or friends. However, there are some works that do stand out in memory, even though, as I say, I cannot bring myself to enjoy them now. They are ghosts whose forms are discernible, but whose flesh is long gone.I had read lots of literature. I even enjoyed the act and the atmosphere of reading. I remember the chair I sat in, the lighting, the room. I also used to love to wake up on weekends, eat a leisurely breakfast, and then get back into bed and read until noon. Of course the setting itself of reading was ultimately not crucial, it was merely a pleasant means of facilitating one's excursion into another world. It was the other world that counted. So many worlds. Of course, I entered joyfully the worlds of Shakespeare and Dante, which Harold Bloom recently has judged at the center of the Western canon, but I entered also lesser but personally not less significant worlds to which I was drawn. 1 I needed some tutoring in Shakespeare and Dante because they did not quite speak my language, my twentieth-century American tongue. I had trouble negotiating their worlds. However, I had none whatsoever when it came to the worlds of James Joyce, Wallace Stevens, William Carlos Williams, Graham Greene, Walt Whitman, T.S.Eliot, Herman Melville, Emily Dickinson, or Joseph Conrad. I was at home in these worlds, different [End Page 19] worlds, but nonetheless home. I loved Conrad's the "Heart of Darkness." For me this was one of the truly haunting tales. After my first reading of the "Heart of Darkness," I can honestly say, my life was changed. I neither talked nor walked the same. I moved among and around people and things differently. I saw myself differently both among others and when I would stand before my mirror alone. And subsequent readings brought about further changes, changes of my comportment in the world. I imagined that I saw, heard, touched, tasted, and smelled the details from the beginning of that story to its very end. I sat on the deck of the Nellie with Marlow, Conrad's character narrator, and his listeners. I watched with them as the sun went down over the Thames. I followed Marlow as he told the story of how he had "set off for the center of the earth," up the Congo perhaps where in his mind all human life had its source; how as he came closer to the center facts became less straightforward, the greed for ivory, the "flavor of mortality in lies," the hollowness of Mr. Kurtz, the final horror of it all. I sweated in the heat of the "Heart of Darkness." Like any experience of a masterpiece, the "Heart of Darkness" was a visceral experience for me. After such experiences one feels emotionally and physically drained. One feels comfort in thinking, as with a dream, it was not real. And yet there is a lingering discomfort: as it were no mere fantasy at all.I often had feelings of the same intensity and profundity in respect to painting and music. They, too, were worlds for me. I enjoyed the varioustouches of the painters. In particular, I enjoyed the gold, the... (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Reviewed by:What's so Important about Music Education?Leonard TanJ. Scott Goble, What's so Important about Music Education? (New York, NY: Routledge, 2010)In What's so Important about Music Education, J. Scott Goble proposes a new philosophical foundation for music education in the United States based on the theory of semiotics by American pragmatist Charles Sanders Peirce. Following a brief summary, I will note several merits in Goble's book (...) before sketching four recommendations for future editions.In Chapter One, Goble notes how the inclusion of non-Western musics in the public schools as espoused in the 1967 Tanglewood Declaration has raised two crucial questions: "Whose music should be included in the curriculum?" and "What is the role or social importance of public school music education in the United States as a postmodern society?" Noting that music education was established in the United States during the modern era, and that the Tanglewood Declaration did not account for vast differences in beliefs about music, Goble argues that there is a need to establish a new philosophical foundation that can accommodate the varied beliefs and practices of diverse cultural groups in postmodern United States.In Chapter Two, Goble sketches and critiques five cultural anthropologists. Of the five, he singles out Clifford Geertz's conception of culture as "semiotic [End Page 201] webs" (p. 20) as the conceptual foundation that is appropriate for this study. He then links Geertz's notion of culture to the semiotic theory of C. S. Peirce which is to become the theoretical underpinning of the book. Subsequently, he unpacks many key Peircian themes: human conceptions are maintained not individually but collectively in cultural groups, provisional truth (as opposed to absolute Truth) is relative and dependent on conceptions of communities, and the scientific method is the sole mode of inquiry by which people in communities may use to satisfy their doubts to formulate beliefs. Most importantly, Goble expounds the "pragmatic maxim" that since humans live in communities united by common beliefs, "the 'clear' meaning of an idea held by a member of the community will almost inevitably stem from the beliefs—or ways of understanding—held by members of that community" (p. 30). Goble concludes the chapter by presenting the Peircian semiotic system of cognition which posits that a "sign" is conceptualized in a triadic relationship: the Sign or "Firstness," the Object or "Secondness," and the Interpretant or "Thirdness" (p. 33).In Chapter Three, Goble considers how music is a sign based on the theoretical framework laid in Chapter Two. Drawing on the work of ethnomusicologists, anthropologists, psychiatrists, and a neuroscientist, he formulates a Peircian pragmatic approach to musical practices which posits that "the musical practices of different cultural communities represent a diverse cluster of community-specific ritualized behaviors involving sound" (p. 252). Furthermore, each of the musical practices "serves those persons who meaningfully participate in it as a means of psychophysiological, psychosocial, and/or sociopolitical equilibration relative to the worldview—or ordered conception of Reality—they tacitly share" (p. 252). For Goble, this pragmatist conception of musical practices is neither ethnocentric, universalist, nor relativist, and can serve as a conceptual framework for all diverse musical practices in postmodern United States.With the Peircian pragmatic conception in mind, Goble examines historical factors that contributed to current conceptions of music in the United States in Chapter Four. He laments that as a result of European Enlightenment and three socio-political phenomena in the United States (the separation of church and state, promotion of no other worldview than democracy, and adoption of democratic capitalism), music is no longer pragmatically oriented but trivialized and pursued by self-serving musicians.In Chapter Five, Goble traces the philosophical justifications for music education throughout the history of the United States. While the sign "musical practice" was conceptualized as "worship" in colonial America, the sign "music" was conceived as "art" during the age of Enlightenment, and as "product" during the age of science and technology. Noting that Bennett Reimer's music education as aesthetic education is limited in its Western focus on music as works [End Page 202] of artistic objects, Goble aligns his Peircian conception along praxial lines—in particular, with... (shrink)

There is no question, of course, that music is a temporal art. Stravinsky, noting that it is inconceivable apart from the elements of sound and time, classifies it quite simply as "a certain organization in time, a chrononomy."1 His definition stands as part of a long and honored tradition that encompasses such diverse figures as Racine, Lessing, and Schopenhauer. Schopenhauer, putting the case in its strongest terms, remarks that music is "perceived solely in and through time, to the complete exclusion (...) of space," thus making explicit the opposition between time and space and ruling out the latter as a possible area for legitimate musical experience. Yet anyone familiar with the philosophical and theoretical literature dealing with music must be struck by the persistence with which spatial terminology and categories appear. Indeed, it would seem to be impossible to talk about music at all without invoking spatial notions of one kind or another. Thus in discussing even the most elementary aspects of pitch organization—and among the musical elements, only pitch, we should remember, is uniquely musical—one finds it necessary to rely upon such spatially oriented oppositions as "up and down," "high and low," "small and large" , and so on. Space, then, pace Schopenhauer, apparently forms an inseparable part of the musical experience. · 1. Igor Stravinsky, Poetics of Music in the Form of Six Lessons, trans, Arthur Knodel and Ingolf Dahl , p. 28. Robert P. Morgan is active as both a music composer and theorist. A professor of music at the University of Chicago, he is currently composing a concerto for flute, oboe, and string orchestra to be performed at Swarthmore College. His previous contribution to Critical Inquiry, "On the Analysis of Recent Music," appeared in the Autumn 1977 issue. Anthony Gilbert responds to the current essay in "Musical Space: A Composer's View". (shrink)

From its dissonant musics to its surrealist spectacles (the urinal is a violin!), Modernist art often seems to give more frustration than pleasure to its audience. In Untwisting the Serpent, Daniel Albright shows that this perception arises partly because we usually consider each art form in isolation, even though many of the most important artistic experiments of the Modernists were collaborations involving several media--Igor Stravinsky's The Rite of Spring is a ballet, Gertrude Stein's Four Saints in Three Acts is an (...) opera, and Pablo Picasso turned his cubist paintings into costumes for Parade. Focusing on collaborations with a musical component, Albright views these works as either figures of dissonance that try to retain the distinctness of their various media (e.g. Guillaume Apollinaire's Les Mamelles de Tiresias ) or figures of consonance that try to lose themselves in some total effect (e.g. Arnold Schoenberg's Erwartung ). In so doing he offers a fresh picture of Modernism, and provides a compelling model for the analysis of all artistic collaborations. Untwisting the Serpent is the recipient of the 2001 Susanne M. Glasscock Humanities Book Prize for Interdisciplinary Scholarship of the Center for Humanities Research at Texas A&M University. (shrink)

The research that I have carried out on the sense of hearing in the Aristotelian ambit is based on a personal interest in the medical aspects that can be found in the treaties of the Stagirite. If, on the one hand, there has always been very deep attention by the scholars to the phenomenon of perception, and still there is, on the other hand, although not ignored, hearing remains perhaps somewhat neglected or, however, not sufficiently investigated so far, despite (...) its importance; but, above all, the effort to consider all its various implications together and the whole Corpus Aristotelicum has not been accomplished up to today. This is the intent that I have purposed and which I hope to have at least partially achieved. Of course, it was a constant need to refer also to the other senses and, in general, to Aristotle's theory of perception; I have, however, tried to point out every possible aspects, which could explain the peculiarities of hearing. Without claiming in any way to draw up a rank list of the senses, since each of them, according to the different points of view, seems more or less to aspire to a kind of primacy, I was able to demonstrate the extraordinary importance of hearing and, within certain limits, his preferability. After an introductory chapter on the position of hearing among the other senses, I have proposed a rather long one, in which I more specifically dealt with the anatomical, physiological and pathological aspects (and, finally, even some physical-mathematical considerations, that I think of great philosophical and scientific relevance); then, it has been given ample space (and could not be otherwise) to the complex issue of the relationship between hearing and language, which made it possible to highlight, thanks to the comparative approach of the Aristotelian investigations in the biological ambit, the differences between sound, voice and speech, and to show the key role of hearing in order to learning (also animal) and intellectual development (especially human). In a final articulated chapter I approached what I consider the further possible implications of hearing, always clinging to the Aristotelian treatment: in addition to the physical phenomena of echo, roar, resonance and the psychophysicist ones of acoustic illusions, I could not exempt myself from talking about music, also in "technical" terms (as my limited skills in the field have allowed me to), but especially because of its educational features examined in the paragraph Emotions, morality and education, where hearing is reported as undisputed protagonist in the ethical, aesthetic, rhetorical, political ambits; the chapter, and the dissertation itself, are closed by some remarks about the relations of hearing with memory and recollection and with dream: apart from the latter, where sight seems to dominate, with the first two the auditory role is on the contrary of primary importance, despite still today people are often inclined to mention visual memory more frequently. Even from these few notes I think I can state that it was really worthwhile to dedicate a research to the sense of hearing, especially in regard to a Corpus so broad, rich, varied and complex, such as the Aristotelian one. (shrink)

Jeannette Pols and Tamar Sharon kindly reviewed my case study of the art of living with technology as an engagement with technomoral change. I am indebted to them for their careful reading and critical suggestions to further elaborate the project. In my response I focus on the question whose art we are talking about, while further elucidating the reflexivity addressed in my essay. I conclude with some remarks on what we can learn from micro studies like the one (...) presented for macro level thinking on the ‘art of becoming’ with technology in a surveillance society. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Buddhist-Christian Studies 21.1 (2001) 63-67 [Access article in PDF] A Buddhist Reflects (Practices Reflection) on Some Christians' Reflections on Buddhist Practices Grace Burford Prescott College A tourist lost in New York City asks of a passerby, "How do I get to Carnegie Hall?"The musically inclined informant replies, "Practice, practice, practice!" Often people who have just heard I am a college professor with a specialty in Buddhism ask me "Are (...) you a practicing Buddhist?" This question has always stumped me. My most common retort (it's not really an answer), "I keep practicing; maybe someday I'll get it right," both evades and critiques the question. As we use the term in everyday conversation, "practice" generally means disciplined repetition of an activity, usually in preparation for a performance of some kind. In relation to a religious path, "practice" usually refers to the integration of certain prescribed actions (practices) in one's life. My retort derives from the mixing of these two meanings of the word "practice," and the assumption that--for one reason or another--religious practice does not lead to a perfect performance in the spiritual equivalent of Carnegie Hall.The form of the question puzzles me. Why do they ask about my practice? Why not just ask me "Are you a Buddhist?" I think they expect to discover that I engage in a Buddhist equivalent of going to church. Maybe the inclusion of practice in the question indicates anticipation of some level of earnestness, of application of my self/energy/time in service of my religion--some outward, observable manifestation of my religious orientation, above and beyond just teaching college students about this religion. Perhaps they expect me to confess to being a vegetarian, or meditating, or chanting, or attending Buddhist services of some kind. Although I find the question somewhat intrusive, I understand that most often it arises from well-meaning curiosity, if not genuine interest, and I try to follow my retort with something more pedagogically effective.For most of my life, practice has been about music. I sang before I talked; I began to study piano at an early age; in elementary school I took up guitar and clarinet; in high school I started voice lessons. Learning to play all of these instruments required [End Page 63] practice. Recently, I took up the electric bass guitar, and I'm back to daily practicing. Practice does produce something; it is linearly causal. If I practice my instrument, I get better at producing the sounds I want to produce. Only a nonmusician would say this does not amount to a real accomplishment. At the same time, the activity one practices is the same activity one hopes to perform: I play the bass when I practice, in order to be able to play the bass. Still, I must practice--to get where I want to go, to improve the quality of my playing. After all, I first heard the Carnegie Hall joke from my guitar teacher, who told it both to amuse me and to inspire me to practice, practice, practice. At about the same time, author Catherine Drinker Bowen advised a group of us high school students that--based on her experiences growing up in a family full of musicians--the most effective way to learn an instrument is to fall in love with one's music teacher. In other words, desire serves the crucial function of inspiring one to practice. Yet I know that the same desire that motivates me to practice so that I can play more skillfully (as in "practice makes perfect") can hold me back if I focus on that future desired skillful playing (the "perfection") instead of the present moment of my playing. Further, I can practice to the point of technical expertise--I can accomplish that skill level I am aiming for in practice--and still not produce the musical quality I aspire to play. Practice does produce something necessary, but that something does not suffice. Musicians are no better at naming that other necessary ingredient than are... (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Music, Mind, and Morality:Arousing the Body PoliticPhilip Alperson (bio) and Noël Carroll (bio)I. IntroductionIf like Aristotle one agrees that the responsibility of philosophy is to offer as comprehensive a picture of phenomena as possible, then one must admit that sometimes the methods and goals of analytic philosophy stand in the way of getting the job done properly; they may even distort one's findings. This is not said in order (...) to eschew analytic philosophy. It is simply a reminder that sometimes we need to stand back and check to reassure ourselves that the tail is not wagging the dog.One example of where this danger looms is in the philosophy of art. In the eighteenth century the Modern System of the Arts was born.1 It included the practices that we think nowadays are the appropriate inhabitants of art schools and art centers and the legitimate beneficiaries of programs like the National Endowment for the Arts in the United States. These arts included poetry, painting, sculpture, music, dance, and sometimes gardening. These are what we might call the arts with a "capital A."This is a different way of understanding the notion of the arts and the nomenclature from which they derive in Latin and Greek. For Socrates, Aristotle, and Plato, arts were simply any skilled practice. Poetry, for Aristotle at least, was an art, but so were navigation, medicine, and statecraft. And there were, of course, the martial arts. What happens with the emergence of the Modern System of the Arts—otherwise known as the Fine Arts, or the Beaux Arts, or, for us, the Arts with a capital A—is that a subset of the arts in the Greco-Roman sense were selected out and christened as a class unto itself, [End Page 1] different from the other "small a" arts. Whereas once upon a time chemists and painters might have been grouped together in the same guild in virtue of the fact that both types of workers ground substances, such as pigment; with the advent of the Modern System of the Arts, chemists and painters became first and foremost categorically different.However, the consolidation of the class of Arts with a capital A demanded a theoretical answer to the question of what criterion an art form had to meet in order to gain membership in the Modern System of the Arts. The first suggestion was that a candidate practice had to possess the capacity to imitate the beautiful in nature. This was not a definition that had legs. For when absolute or pure instrumental music—or, as Peter Kivy calls it, music alone2 —took center stage as the most important form of music as well as the Art with a capital A to which all the other arts putatively aspired, the criteria for entry into the Modern System of the Arts had to be reconceived. Since music alone could not creditably be described as the imitation of the beautiful in nature (or, for that matter, the imitation of anything else), a new license for practicing Art with a capital A had to be found. And this has become one of the animating tasks of the analytic philosophy of art.But the analytic philosophy of art comes with a certain bias toward discharging this task. It is committed to finding an essentialist answer to resolving the question of what warrants citizenship in the republic of Art (with a capital A). That is, what makes something an Artistic practice or, for that matter, a work of Art such that it is different from other things? What separates the Arts and the artworks from everything else?Perhaps not surprisingly, one of the most popular and recurring proposals here is that the Arts are what are primarily intended to promote aesthetic experience where that has formerly been characterized as disinterested pleasure but, more recently, as experience valued for its own sake. Experience valued for its own sake, of course, is virtually by definition conceptually independent from any other end, whereas the practices that do not belong to the Modern System of the Arts are primarily devoted to securing other ends—useful or utilitarian ends, knowledge... (shrink)

ABSTRACTIneffability of musical meaning is a frequent theme in music philosophy. However, talk about musical meaning persists and seems to be not only inherently enjoyable and socially acceptable, but also functionally useful. Relying on a phenomenological account of musical meaning combined with a naturalist explanatory attitude, we argue for a novel explanation of how ineffability is a feature of musical meaning and experience and we show why it cannot be remedied by perfecting language or musico-philosophical (...) study.Musical meaning is seen as an experiential phenomenon that consists of layers, some recent, others archaic. As such, musical meaning is strongly characterized by asubjectivity. It is in-between, in a state where the division of subject and object is not yet valid or valid anymore. A naturalistic interplay of experiential layers in music brings about a non-reified dynamics driving for expressions, interpretations, engenderings of subjects and objects or even for political action. Generally speaking, the in-betweenness of musical meaning can never be universally reified or symbolic nor can it ever be “subjective,” “mine” or present “at the origin.”In this view, ineffability has two primary reasons. First, the criteria offered for defining musical meaning are often too strict, resulting in untenable pretensions of universality. Second, the processual and relational nature of the in-between keeps meaning in flux; any snapshot creates a new situation and new meanings. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:An Epiphany in Munich LINCOLN PERRY W hen I used to say the sentence (softly and to myself ) “I hate palms” or “Palms are not beautiful; possibly they are not even trees,” it was a composite palm that I had somehow succeeded in making without even ever having seen, close up, many particular instances. Conversely, when I now say, “Palms are beautiful,” or “I love palms,” it is (...) really individual palms that I have in mind. This quote from Elaine Scarry’s On Beauty and Being Just applies perfectly to an experience I recently had regarding a painting by an artist I had assumed I didn’t much care for. Perhaps it would be best to lead into my epiphany gradually, to recreate the preparation that might have been necessary to have my realization. Actually, I speak of a double epiphany, in that it was shared by the friend I was travelling with when we saw the artwork in question. He and I are both painters, and have much in common, both in terms of our own work and our voracious appetite for seeing museums, so when I planned a trip for late October 2018 to see thirty museums in two weeks in Germany and Austria, I knew just whom to call. David Carbone and I have known each other, and appreciated each other’s work, since leaving graduate school in 1975, meeting at the College Art Association held that year in Washington, DC, where people compete for jobs while trying to maintain a veneer of civility. David made less of an effort than most, and I vividly remember him in saddle shoes he had painted bright blue, wearing a tie featuring a burlesque dancer, sipping champagne in the garden courtyard of the National Gallery. All the nearby aspiring art historians were immaculately dressed and scrupulously behaved, but David finished his drink, and in imitation of a arion 27.1 spring/summer 2019 Russian toast, threw his empty glass against the wall, where it noisily shattered. I like this guy, thought I. Over the next few days, visiting DC’s museums together, I recognized the brilliance of his commentaries on the art we saw. And his wit: He told of studying with his painting professor, who became frustrated with David’s pace in painting and said “David, painting is really very simple!” The reply: “But, what if you’re not simple?” I can’t conjure a single artist about whose work we’ve disagreed in the course of the fortythree years we’ve known each other. Meeting often in New York, where he lives with his wife Donna (who, like my wife, is always perfectly willing to let us go museum schlepping without them), we’ve also travelled in central Italy, and even flew to Fort Worth to see a show of the Le Nain brothers. A very sweet guard there asked us, “Who ARE you?” and when we said we were painters, she said, “Oh, because I’ve never seen anybody look at paintings this long, or talk about them so much!” Berlin is a treasure trove, where we visited ten fine museums, then flew to Vienna, which was hosting an extensive exhibit of Bruegel’s paintings, though feast might be a more apt word. A visual feast, but one that didn’t leave one sated, jaded, or bloated, but rather improved, made less ambivalent about membership in a questionable species. Yes, the viewer consumed a meal of war, famine, foolishness, and pride, but the chef made it not just palatable but beautiful, thought-provoking and humorous. Bruegel and his contemporary Rabelais seem kindred spirits, skeptical but amused, bawdy but tender, creating not just works but micro to macro worlds, an alternate world view, in fact. Each painting mesmerized anyone looking long and carefully enough, discovering that a tiny girl on a sled is able to get a purchase on the ice not just with her diminutive sticks, but by the miniscule iron nails in which they end, painted with a one hair-brush. From this minutia we graduate to a wider and wider view, one that comes to imply infinity. Bruegel’s brilliant guidance doesn’t confront us... (shrink)

continent. 2.1 (2012): 40–43. Lance Olsen is a professor of Writing and Literature at the University of Utah, Chair of the FC2 Board of directors, and, most importantly, author or editor of over twenty books of and about innovative literature. He is one of the true champions of prose as a viable contemporary art form. He has just published Architectures of Possibility (written with Trevor Dodge), a book that—as Olsen's works often do—exceeds the usual boundaries of its genre as (...) it explores his interests in narrative theory and pedagogy. The book is a kind of “anti-textbook;” a performative polemic against the stale, conservative and monolithic conception of the literary that so often dominates institutional discourse around creative writing. The following interview takes the occasion of AoP's publication as a chance to speak with Olsen about the book itself as well as to engage with larger, unanswerable, questions about the futures and intersections of literature and education. —Ben Segal INTERVIEW: 1) First, I want to start before the beginning, with the title. I’m really fascinated by the concept it conjures. Can you say something about innovative/experimental/(choose your adjective) literature in relation to both ideas around architecture and possibility? Innovative or experimental are tremendously fraught adjectives, needless to say. But for the purposes of my book, they modify a fiction concerned with the questions: What is fiction? What can it do, and how, and why? Now, of course, what looks “innovative” or “experimental” to one at 17 may not be what looks “innovative” or “experimental” to one at 27 or 57, and what looks “innovative” or “experimental” in 1812 may not be what looks “innovative” or “experimental” in 2012. A certain existential and historical perspectivism is always at work. But I think it’s fair to say that innovative and experimental usually refer to a narrativity that includes a self-reflective awareness of and engagement with theoretical inquiry, concerns, and obsessions, as well as a sense of being in conversation with fiction across space and time. One can't create challenging writing in a vacuum; it has to challenge in relation to something. So contemporary writers interested in the subject are not only in pursuit of the innovative, but are also always-already writing subsequent to it—writing, that is, in its long wake. Architectures of Possibility conceives of creativity as a possibility space, a locale just outside our comfort zones where we can and should take multiple chances in order to imagine in new ways, explore fresh strategies for finding and cultivating ideas, re-view what it is we’re doing and why, better understand what Samuel Beckett meant when he wrote: “Try again. Fail again. Fail better.” It reminds us that there are other ways of narrating our worlds and ourselves than those we have inherited from the entertainment industry, the government, academia, previous writing, and so on. 2) AoP seems to be directed at several audiences (and purposes) simultaneously. What I mean is that it seems at times a polemic in favor of innovative literature, at other times a creative writing textbook, and still other times a guide to the network of publishers, journals, and programs that make up the current world of non-mainstream literary art in the U.S. In my mind, Architectures is a theorized anti-textbook about writing. Most textbooks on the subject (think of Janet Burroway’s Writing Fiction: A Guide to Narrative Craft , taught in most creative-writing classroom across the country) orchestrate how to construct conventional stories. They instruct from a place of power how to generate familiar stories that are repeated so often that many of us begin to take them as the primary model for narrativity, if not unconsciously as a kind of truth. The result, as Brian Kiteley points out in 3 A.M. Epiphany (one of the only other alternative textbooks about innovative writing around, by the way, and a tremendous repository of exercises), is merely competent texts. Architectures problematizes that gesture by outlining what conventional narrativity looks like, urging writers to think about its ideology of form as well as content, and invites them to imagine writing, not as a set of relatively stable conventions, but, rather, as a possibility space where everything can and should be thought, tried, challenged. It thereby rhymes with Roland Barthes’s definition of literature: the question minus the answer—which is to say Architectures poses complications to the act of writing rather than solutions. 3) One of the most notable things about the book is the use of interviews. This is also one of the reasons that I think the book works so well for a variety of audiences—that anyone with even a passing interest in the state and future of literature will have an interest in your conversation with people like Ben Marcus, Samuel Delany, and Lydia Davis. I was hoping you could just talk a little about how you chose these subjects to interview, how you edited the interview material, and which answers you received struck you the most. Experimentalism , like realism , wants to appear in the plural. The idea of gathering more than forty interviews (with the help of my awesome collaborator, Trevor Dodge, himself a fine innovative author) represents an attempt to suggest that: the wide, rich, exciting opportunities inherent in the term. There are interviews with younger writers, elder statesmen in the field, publishers, editors, hypermedia artists, comic book makers, and so on: Joe Wenderoth, Carole Maso, Scott McCloud, Nick Montfort, Kathy Acker, et al. Trevor and I decided to do flash interviews: short, concentrated Q&As, each focusing on a particular troubling of writing. We only lightly edited the results to match the manuscript’s overall style, and every interview arrived as a surprise housing several unexpected insights. Three brief examples: Michael Mejia, when asked about what he dreads when setting about writing: “Dread is an interesting word here. I associate it less with loathing or aversion, I suppose, than with a kind of productive fear. Do I dread a project’s failure? Sure, who doesn’t? Who wants to waste time on something that comes to nothing, or is unreadable? But then, what do these terms mean, and who or what defines a work as a ‘failure,’ as ‘waste,’ as ‘unreadable’? Should a work actually try to interrogate and exceed these conceptual limitations? My tendency is to write into dread in order to reveal to myself, as much as to any reader that may come after, the varied complacencies that make other, mostly more conventional writings, readable. It’s at the frontier between readability (security) and unreadability (terror) that I want to live creatively.” Carole Maso, when asked what she’d like a sentence to accomplish: “I think a sentence can if allowed carry emotional and intellectual states as they flee, as they come and go, an escaping essence difficult to hold in other ways. In this way I think the sentence can work as a phrase of music does, sounding something large and elusive in us. Alternatively it can provide sometimes a stability, an essence, a moment of being. Unlike music the sentence also of course carries language with all its potential for meaning making and memory traces and association with it as well. I probably love the accretion of sentences most—those patterns, that shimmer, that resonance.” Shelley Jackson, when asked what is innovative about the innovative: “The purpose of the innovative is, I think, to wake us up. We are not quite alive, most of the time; we occupy a sort of cartoon version of our lives, its lines made smooth by repetition. Writing can open the seams in that world, reintroduce us to the real lives that we have forgotten. Maybe all good writing is innovative in some sense, in that it shows or tells or makes you feel something you never felt before—something for which you have no cartoon ready.” 4) You talk a little about N. Katherine Hayles’s concept of Media Specific Analysis and propose the supplemental notion of Medium Specific Generation—basically taking Hayles and applying her thought from the perspective of the writer. I’ve been trying to develop somewhat related theoretical frameworks, so I was really excited to come upon this section of the book. I’m wondering if you can talk a little more about this idea and, in general, about the potentials that you see as being opened up by writers engaging with and exploiting different media as literary platforms? “Lulled into somnolence by five hundred years of print,” Hayles urges in her (at least for me) transformative 2004 essay, “Print is Flat, Code is Deep,” “literary analysis should awaken to the importance of media-specific analysis, a mode of critical attention which recognizes that all texts are instantiated and that the nature of the medium in which they are instantiated matters.” She goes on to argue critics should learn to become more attuned to the materiality of the medium under investigation—which is to say a story isn’t a story isn’t a story. Rather, the “same” story remediated through film is intrinsically different from that story remediated through conventionally printed books is intrinsically different from that story remediated through hypermedia. “Materiality,” Hayles goes on, “is reconceptualized as the interplay between a text’s physical characteristics and its signifying strategies, a move that entwines instantiation and signification at the outset.” My point in Architectures is simply to emphasize Media Specific Generation: the idea that when writing you should be cognizant, not only of the thematics of the text you are working on, and, as it were, the internal components of its narrativity (character, language, plot, etc.), but also of the material embodiment those components take, and, perhaps more important, the material embodiment those components can take. The idea that the way texts matter matters isn’t something usually addressed in any significant way in creative-writing classrooms and textbooks. It may almost go without saying such experimentation with typography, layout, and white space has a long tradition—certainly one that tracks back at least as far as Guillaume Apollinaire’s early twentieth-century Calligrammes , Laurence Sterne’s textually ribald eighteenth-century Tristram Shandy , although one could arguably plot a hypothetical trajectory that reaches to ancient Greek romances like Achilles Tatius’ second-century Leucippe and Clitophon . Experiments into atomic materiality and digital immateriality bracket the definition of “book” at the same time they highlight Michael Martone’s prediction of its present future as increasingly viral, collaborative, and ephemeral. Or, as Matthew Battles points out: the future of the “book” has already arrived, and it is “ethereal and networked” rather than “an immutable brick.”While conventional writing and reading practices are conceptualized as private, individual, relatively fixed experiences, many of the new forms indicate that writing and reading—from production through dissemination—are rapidly becoming public, collective, incrementally unfixed experiences. That strikes me as an astonishing set of opportunities for a writer to investigate. 5) Another concept you elaborate in AoP is that of limit texts, basically texts that, once you read them, change what you imagine as the shape/horizon/potential of literature. You provide a fantastic reading list of limit texts at the end of AoP. I was hoping you could talk about a few of them in terms of how they specifically operate as limit texts for you—how they expand your understanding of what literature could be or do. Karl Jaspers coined the word Grenzsituationen (border/limit situations) to describe existential moments accompanied by anxiety in which the human mind is forced to confront the restrictions of its existing forms—moments that make us abandon, fleetingly, the securities of our limitedness and enter new realms of self-consciousness. Death, for example. Limit texts are a variety of disturbance that carries various elements of narrativity to their brink so the reader can never quite imagine them in the same terms again. Once you’ve taken one down from the shelf, you’ll never be able to put it back up again. They won’t leave you alone. They will continue to work on your imagination long after you’ve read them. Simply by being in the world, they ask us to embrace difficulty, freedom, radical skepticism. One of the most important for me is Samuel Beckett’s The Unnamable . Instead of establishing conventional setting and building traditional character, from its first words it unsettles both: “Where now? Who now? When now?” That first trio of question marks broadcasts the thematics of the writing (“novel” may be too strong a word) that will follow: it is all about a voice (or, perhaps, voices, about the grammatical mistake of the first-person pronoun), a consciousness (maybe, again, too strong a word), often genderless, removed from place and chronology and socioeconomic reality, hovering in a state of perpetual aporia. All it knows is what it doesn’t know, and its not-knowing is blackly, sardonically comic. The Unnamable is the embodiment of an unreliable narrator—a subject position that can’t trust itself, let alone be trusted by a reader. It contradicts, takes back, digresses, undoes what it just did, forgets, lies, hallucinates gloriously. The language is abstract, disembodied, devoid of sensory data, grayish rather than painterly in texture. Without knowing this passage is from a novel, a reader might well conclude s/he were reading a patch of (anti-)Cartesian philosophy. It might be helpful to conceive of what Beckett is doing as post-genre writing, then, or perhaps what Raymond Federman referred to as critifiction—a mode that blurs conventional distinctions between theory and narrative. In completely different register, and much more recently, Anne Carson’s Nox blew me away. It takes the form of an elegy for her older brother, whom she didn’t know well and who died unexpectedly while on the run from the law in Europe. The thing itself arrives in a box that simulates a thick book, as well as the brother’s textual coffin. Open it, and inside you discover, not a codex, but an accordioned series of “pages” that folds out into an arrangement that suggests an ancient scroll (Carson is, perhaps illuminatingly, a professor of classics) made up of shards of her brother’s letters, old photographs, tickets, Carson’s observations, Catullus’ poem 101 (the one addressed to the Roman poet’s dead brother, a doubling of Carson’s situation), and extensive dictionary entries on all the words that compose that poem. The aggregate produces a collage about the impossibilities of aggregates, the impossibilities of understanding fully, of capturing absences in language. At times Nox feels less an example of what most readers consider a book than something closer to a three-dimensional work of assemblage art. It’s a beautiful mechanism for contemplating Media Specific Analysis, for urging us all to be more extreme. 6) Finally, I want to talk a little about pedagogy and institutions. I’m less interested in questions like “Are MFA programs good for writers?” than in questions about how your role as teacher informs your understanding of literature and your writing practice. I’m also very curious about your take on how commercially marginal literary art is largely patronized by large state institutions and at the same time often imagines itself as a critical and even possibly revolutionary practice. How have your own positions within universities and university-affiliated organizations shaped your thinking about them and about innovative literature? I can imagine in many ways it might make you even more critical. And (I know, another ‘and’...) how does AoP (especially given its relation to Rebel Yell , your previous text on creative writing) reflect your personal history and experience as a teacher and member of communities that are largely defined by institutions? In the classroom, I try to generate the pedagogical field I would have liked to have inhabited as a student, but didn’t. Roland Barthes has a lovely line about this: “We need to substitute for the magisterial [classroom] space of the past (the word delivered by the master from the pulpit above with the audience below, the flock, the sheep, the herd)—a less upright, less Euclidean space where no one, neither teacher nor students, would ever be in his final place.” Easier said than done, of course, but an important life project for all who think of themselves as educators. My own classroom, my own writing, and Architectures of Possibility itself attempt to create the sort of possibility space where, as I mentioned at the outset of our interview, everything should be thought, tried, challenged; where everything rhymes with Roland Barthes’s definition of literature: the question minus the answer. I’m not sure I could write what I’m writing now without the conversations I have almost daily with my students, the conversations they have with each other, the conversations we all have with the texts we study. Especially in light of the paradigm shift over the last, say, quarter century from academia as intellectual exploration to academia as McDonaldized trade school, the irony isn’t lost on me concerning the discrepancy between the safe harbor innovative authors find there and the cultural critiques those authors launch through their writing and pedagogical work. In 2001, I quit my full professorship at one institution precisely because of my disappointment over what had happened to the learning environment there. I had no intentions of reentering the field. In 2007, however, the University of Utah approached me, and I found myself in an environment much more hospitable to the sort of work I want to do—teaching experimental narrative theory and practice. It isn’t by any means a simple irony. One could easily argue innovative writing and pedagogy represents the trace of the paradigm Barthes suggests, and that trace is tremendously productive in all kinds of ways. Innovative writing has never and will never change the world in any large, macrocosmic way. But we’ve all had our lives changed, one by one, by an encounter with a difficult, rich, resonant piece of prose, poetry, music, art, you name it. We’ve all had our lives changed at the ahistorical, microcosmic moment by a class we’ve taken, a teacher we’ve studied with, to such an extent that we became, quite literally, different people. I just came across a stunning set of sentences from Derrida on the topic: “What is education? The death of the parents.” That’s what we’re all up to in the innovative, be it in written texts or the texts we call our classrooms or the texts we call our politics: trying to disrupt what both can and can’t be disrupted, trying to undo what both can and can’t be undone, continuously. (shrink)

The essays in this collection, which were written by European and North American specialists, position intermediality as a praxis of interpretative analysis in order to show how intermediality challenges our notion of art. The writers examine the various intermedial relations between the arts, which may take the form of reference to another form of art, a combination of two or more forms of art or a generic transformation from one form of art to another. In such cases, an intermedial (...) approach helps us to grasp the changing relationship between the arts, which affects our reception of experience. Intermediality has profoundly changed our understanding of interdisciplinary relations, formerly examined in the field of interart studies. By introducing a medial aspect, intermediality has succeeded in making a "leap" from past practices of artistic interrelatedness to our contemporary medial age, in which literature along with other arts may be understood as a medium. This ambitious undertaking has contributed to the liberation of literature and other arts from an isolated position in the established scholarly landscape with its clear-cut borderlines between disciplines. The essays in this collection are a valuable contribution to this on-going discussion about the relationships between the arts. The variety of essays published in this collection makes it an excellent introduction to academics and university students in such disciplines as literature, music, theatre, art history and media studies. Due to its clarity - which does not sacrifice philosophical depth concerning the role of intermedial studies for several forms of art - this book will also be of interest to academics and students who are currently working at advanced level art schools. (shrink)

Since 2008 I have been closely following the conceptual/performance/video work of Daniel Peltz. Gently rendered through media installation, ethnographic, and performance strategies, Peltz’s work reverently and warmly engages the inner workings of social systems, leaving elegant rips and tears in any given socio/cultural quilt. He engages readymades (of social and media constructions) and uses what are identified as interruptionist/interventionist strategies to disrupt parts of an existing social system, thus allowing for something other to emerge. Like the stereoscope that requires (...) two identical images to create an illusion of a three-dimensional image, Peltz sometimes visualizes two separate elements to create an object or moment that requires space and depth to focus on its varied layers. They say your brain has to process and make meaningful sense out of all that visual information before it can accept the illusion. I say your brain has to do a similar thing when looking and seeing the divine, magical, and faithful (social) art making of Daniel Peltz. Daniel Peltz is Associate Professor of Film/Animation/Video at RISD. He divides his time between Rhode Island and Sweden and is currently at work on an exhibition at Botkyrka Konsthall, Stockholm opening February 2013 and a new project to be included in the IASKA: Spaced Biennial (Australia) in 2014. This interview took place on Skype and is part one of a two-part interview. Feliz Lucia Molina: Are you in Providence, RI? Daniel Peltz: I’m at my house in Providence. I’ve been back for six days teaching winter session at RISD and doing this workshop series—these investors’ drum circles with a group of wealth managers. a client of the firm, 2013, photo Shirin Adhami FLM: The wealth managers were all drumming together? DP: They were all drumming in response to the performance of their retirement portfolios. FLM: Is this part of the “Unrealized Gain/Loss” piece? DP: Yes, it’s part of a show I’m working on in Sweden. I can show you because it was just today. I’ll show you some of this. Lets see—share screen [click, click, click]. This is the room. I’ve been using the camera system that’s already installed in the conference rooms to record them. So the video is being recorded directly by the wealth management office’s tech staff. These are the people I worked with in the last workshop. This conference table is less wondrous. They’ve been learning to drum in response to their retirement portfolios. I started by bringing in my little bit of wealth for them to propose a management strategy, I came to the follow-up meeting with a counter proposal, which was this workshop. So they agreed to do this series of workshops instead of managing my wealth. FLM: Does everybody in the room manage your wealth? That’s kind of a lot of people. DP: That woman in the back there and Craig —they handle new client business. So when you come there with your wealth, they sit down with you and suggest to you how they would manage it. They’re very nice, responsible people. FLM: And where is this? DP: This is in Providence and the one I was showing you is in Waltham, where I was today. Then I’m going to Newport for the last one on Friday. So I will have done four of them. This is the group in Waltham that I just played with today. I played directly with the two groups in Providence and I’m working with an ethnomusicologist at Brown, Asha Tamarisa, who is facilitating the last two. She’s helped develop the workshop in terms of figuring out how to train a group to do this and thinking about the compositional challenges of working in response to retirement portfolio data. FLM: Screensharing helps me to figure out tiny bits here and there about the project. DP: I might even be able to play you a little of the audio I’ve also been working with a group of professional percussionists on what will become a quarterly public investors’ drum circle event. Their stuff was really nice, but I want you to hear what we sounded like in the workshops. They’ve all been recorded by the a/v system in the offices. We use a simple structure where the drummer investors interpret the sensation of gain or loss as embellishments to a base heartbeat rhythm. The group holds the heartbeat and, as each person experiences gain or loss, they embellish that rhythm. "Screensharing helps me to figure out tiny bits here and there about the project" FLM: Is the process all very spontaneous? DP: Its actually quite structured. We produce a custom stock ticker that shows the performance of their collective portfolios. In advance of the workshop each participant submits assets in their retirement portfolio. Then we make a stock ticker that shows the real-time performance of their assets so that they can respond to almost live data. FLM: Are they reading the stock ticker projected up on the screen in the room? Do people drum in correspondence to the visual live data of the performance of their assets? DP: Exactly. They’re looking at the stock ticker as opposed to each other, so it’s a slightly shifted drum circle. They’re looking at the ticker but they’re listening to each other—that’s what we’re practicing. For example, NVO—the price is 172.08 but it’s down -1.16 and as that moves across the screen, the person who’s retirement is invested in that asset starts to embellish when that arrow first appears, based on their experience of loss. They stop when it exits the screen and return to the heartbeat. You could have one ticker for each retirement portfolio, but the way the workshop is constructed is that we just isolate one asset from each person’s portfolio so that everyone in the group is represented in a single ticker. So they’re drumming and looking at the ticker, but they’re hearing each other experience gain and loss. We’ve removed direct visual engagement from the social structure of a drum circle but the oral engagement is still there. FLM: So they had their own sound interpretation of gain and loss? DP: Yeah and that part is quite spontaneous as you were saying. In some of the preparatory exercises we’ve been working to give the participants more strategies for interpreting the sensations of gain and loss. We’re trying to develop their capacity to embellish a heartbeat or base rhythm but I’m not invested in having a melodious result. I’m quite curious about what this kind of structure will result in without any desire for a particular result. FLM: For context, can you talk about the project you did a couple years ago in Bali, “Unrealized Gain/Loss” in relation to this current wealth management project? DP: The workshops I’ve been doing use a similar strategy to the other components in this project. It started in Indonesia on my sabbatical and I was really trying to understand where I was physically and where I was being on sabbatical—this kind of strange jubilee structure where every seventh year you’re supposed to renew your self. And it was around the time of the global financial crisis. I was on sabbatical for the global financial crisis. I remember watching my father, in particular, respond to the financial crisis by monitoring his retirement portfolio and trying to make sense of it. I realized on a visit to their home that he checked his retirement portfolio every single day and I was really struck by that because in some way our parents are mysteries to us as children, especially their moods. We know how important their moods are but we don’t know what governs them. And somehow it was like I’d figured it out, it’s the performance of the DOW! So I think there was something in that. Then I was in Indonesia and I had been drawn there by an interest in their highly ritualized Hindu culture, where so much of life is driven by a ceremonial calendar. I was interested in Bali as this predominantly Hindu pocket within a predominantly Islamic country and life there being organized by this ritual calendar functioning as a kind of resistance to the dominant global religion of free-market capitalism. So I started to explore that correlation between the ways in which this culture that I was living in was sort of “living for the afterlife” and this idea within certain segments of American society of “living for the afterwork life”. The idea that your wellbeing in the “afterwork life” is tied to forces that are unseen and largely beyond your control has strong similarities to many religious understandings of the universe. So I started to explore that and the crafts and materials that were around me were primarily Batik and percussion. Percussion is a huge part of daily life in Bali. These gamelan troupes were everywhere. And I also happened to be there for Nyepi, the day of silence, which is preceded by a very elaborate procession and construction of demonic statues. These were the things that were around me and I started studying Batik with one of the Batik artists there and also started a conversation with two master Batik artists, one who is American and her Indonesian husband. I developed these patterns that were based on symbols from the performance of my retirement portfolio and worked with the batik artists to produce two sarongs. d. peltz - 2012 In producing the designs, I treated the performance of my retirement portfolio since my arrival at RISD [7 years] as a significant interval and then I looked at the ways in which decisions are made within retirement portfolios as having an extension outwards from the individual assets that underlie the retirement portfolio, which are kind of like the base elements of the retirement world. Then there’s the allocation of your assets, which is a global way of understanding an individual according to typologies, which are often referred to in terms of risk—this notion of a ‘risk profile’. What type of ‘person’ you are is determined by your attitude towards risk, or potentiality, and I found that to be a really fascinating way of understanding the universe. I remember looking at the tabs in my retirement portfolio and finding this one for viewing ‘Unrealized Gain/Loss’ and that’s often how I work—is just going through the Cambridge Parking Code, for example, and finding this section of the code that was called ‘Crossing Non-Signalized Locations’ and just feeling “I can’t do any better than that,” you know? That’s what I was talking about in terms of ready-mades that exist in the social sphere. So I found that tab, actually, a long time ago, and I pulled it out of a journal when I was there [in Bali] working on these pieces and I wound up making these two sarongs and later on a series of porcelain vessels for holding one’s unrealized gains and losses. At the time, I knew that I wanted a performance to come out of them, but I wasn’t sure what it was. I was inspired very much by this sort of thing: Pulls out a TIAA-CREF brochure with a man in a suit seated at a table. This guy is probably an actor, and [the brochure] says “TIAA-Cref announces “Individual counseling sessions at the Rhode Island School of Design. Individual counseling sessions at no additional cost to you. You can discuss your personal financial situation with an experienced TIAA consultant on a confidential basis. We are available to help you discuss how to achieve your financial goals by investing in financial solutions such as mutual funds, brokerage, life insurance, and annuities...etc....What retirement benefits best fits your situation?” Often I encounter this and I think O.K., this is one way to prepare for the after-work life and it seems inadequate to me. But, I also find it really inspiring. I really like the visual language of it. I kind of want to be that man. I’d like to see if I could maybe buy his clothes. FLM: What it is about the man on the brochure that interests you? DP: He’s offering personalized objective advice and a detailed evaluation of everything you need to know and do. Who wouldn’t want that? But he’s also something of a contemporary priest or priestess, mediating between the unseen all-powerful universe of global capitalism and the common worker. So I started off developing Unrealized Gain/Loss directly from the charts that represent the performance of my retirement portfolio. Then I came home and I wanted to use those. I had this word in my journal “unrealized gain/loss vessel.” I had this notion of vessels that would contain unrealized gains and losses. That felt really important to me that they would have somewhere to go. I had been thinking a lot about altars and making offerings—that somehow this really fickle, massive, difficult-to-comprehend-universe of the financial world—that somehow it might be nice if you could making an offering to it. [In Bali] they made such beautiful elaborate offerings. So I studied offering making as well with one of the women there and she taught me some of the standard forms created by folding leaves and the significance of the floral arrangements. I started working in clay and then moved to porcelain and I made these unrealized gain/loss vessels. I made a few of them, they have holes on either side that you can’t get your fingers in. But something can go in there and something can go out of there. It’s a nice size for putting on an altar. Then I got this commission from Artists in Context who was interested in my doing something for this project “Artists Perspectives for the Nation” project. I proposed initiating these investors’ drum circles as a new public performance form. I’m interested in bringing together those two symbols—the symbol of the djembe and the drum circle. unrealized gain/loss vessel - d.peltz - 2012 FLM: I can imagine the public digital stock ticker performing like a soft fleeting stream of information, a kind of (meaningless) illusory comfort blanket. DP: In some way you have to understand its relevance outside of the obvious, right? Because the obvious is illogical. Nobody is actually using that data to day trade, for example. People aren’t sitting there with their computers watching the market data in Times Square or setting up an outdoor office and being like “OK it’s up 3 points or it’s up 1.56, trade! Ok now buy, Ok now sell!” That would be a kind of a nice performance, actually. But actual day traders would want more up to date data than that. To understand what that data is doing is really important. And that’s something I’ve realized—that I’m interested in a particular kind of data visualization, which is not about what data can tell people, but what data can tell people who are visualizing it. For example, in the Cambridge Project “Crossing Non-Signalized Locations” I was interested in the 10,000 excuses archive of data recording five years worth of excuses for why people thought they shouldn’t have received their parking ticket. I was not interested in making that excuse wall so that the public could see and understand this data. Inevitably the data will be seen by others but I was really interested in what the action of visualizing the data told those who were visualizing it. The parking attendants themselves were writing those excuses on the wall—I was interested in what that kind action of writing the excuses on the wall told them about the data. Similarly, I’m interested in designing a way to allow people to pass this data from the unseen universe of the market, through their own bodies, which happens through the merging of the drum and the stock ticker. I’m interested in those two also as symbols; the drum as this symbol of the earth, the body and a pagan counterculture, and the stock ticker referring to the ethereal world of global markets—bringing those two together and making them dependent. I’m often drawn to conceptual propositions that I become invested in testing in a sincere way—at first they often they sound humorous to others, but I have to remember that there is humor in them. I don’t sit around and laugh about these things. I stop finding them funny at all. I’m interested in the proposition that we could know something about the after-work life by drumming in response to our retirement portfolio. So then I become really interested in how to craft that into a viable performance form for myself and others. FLM: The aspect of using sound in “Unrealized Gain/Loss” as a way of embodying the information to the asset holder is really intriguing—using sound as a means of embodying the asset data. Was sound a medium that made sense to use immediately or were you considering other means of attempting to embody it? DP: Well I do use other mediums within the project like textile, ceramic, and batik patterns. I was first drawn to the history of Batik patterns as a socio-economic stratification system and the vessels as a way of embodying or manifesting this data of unrealized gain and loss. My first approach was to work with meditation actually—a meditation workshop with my colleagues. I was going to offer this “Unrealized Gain/Loss” workshop where you would explore the sensations of gain and loss by adapting the way yogi-nidra brings you into contact with your physical surroundings and stretches your perception. FLM: At Naropa University there are/were business & compassion workshops—a sort of mash-up of business and compassion and how compassion could be incorporated into a business model. This process and engagement of “embodying data” also has to do with “Participatory Democracy and the Future of Karaoke” you created at the DNC in Denver in 2008. DP: That kind of appropriation and instrumentalization of spiritual practice could be disturbing and thus compelling as a strategy. For various reasons, I’ve come to be drawn to both the form of a quarterly public performance and the established performance form of a drum circle. Its something I’ve seen myself do before, that is to mess up a really good functional social system like a drum circle or karaoke. I remember I was developing language for the karaoke project and started calling it “Participatory Democracy and the Future of Karaoke” and one of my assistants on the project, who’s an incredible artist, said, “but don’t you think the future of karaoke is guitar hero?” and I realized that maybe he thought I was trying to improve the form. I’m just trying to get people to have this shifted embodied experience, I need to craft the performance context so that they can do that. In the case of the karaoke project, for example, what did I need in order to be able to do this [a person to stand up in front of a bar and deliver a karaoke speech]? I realized that the body is very vulnerable so I built a podium so that the speaker can feel secure enough to do this, otherwise you couldn’t get to this state achieved by passing these speeches through the body. Then I was, like, well you need to be able to practice the lyrics because you don’t know all the “songs” by heart, which became an insert to the massive track books carried by most karaoke VJs. And then sometimes the crowd in the bar isn’t there with me, so I needed to extract the voice of the crowd cheering from the original venue and I needed the local audience to cheer if they wanted to. I’m interested in both where the form succeeds and fails. In particular, one of the most interesting things is this auditory gap between the space where you are, the reduced scale of applause in your own little bar, and this grand scale of applause at the convention center where the speech was originally delivered. FLM: How did the concept of “Participatory Democracy Karaoke” come about and why did you use karaoke as a means of engaging what was happening at the DNC in 2008? DP: I was looking at a lot of different readymade media infrastructures within the city at the time. I was interested in the emergency broadcast systems and I developed a proposal to repurpose that system and karaoke became an important symbol because it was this populist form that was already engaged in exploring the sensation of celebrity but also visualizing the gap between ourselves and those with more power and influence. So it had this readymade capacity to play with power and celebrity and I felt like the Obama presidential campaign, the first one in particular, had some very curious overlaps with this culture of celebrity. Obama of course rose to power partly based on his oratory abilities and I was interested in how karaoke as a vehicle was so adept at offering people all that was left of authentic expression in a political speech. Managing a politician and constructing their identity is such a developed practice that it becomes, kind of automatically, a metaphor for the way that our own identities are constructed. Of course the Obama campaign was very hip and savvy and deploying this notion of grassroots. It was really pioneering in its use of social media and this deployment of notions of populism. I was interested at that time in the capacity of karaoke to track speech patterns, precise tempos of anyone’s delivery, and that to me was a way of thinking about what might be left of the authentic self. I was interested in karaoke’s capacity to extract that authentic component and offer it to others. So not just to stand up and be them, but to [literally] pass their speech patterns through your own body. A long time ago, it started to strike me as odd that one would make media at all. It struck me as a kind of un-contemporary way of going about making art in an age of media overflow. That logic extended into my thinking on delivery devices and installation as well. Why would one buy a screen or even set one up when there are so many out there? And the way in which these media displays function in karaoke bars and bars in general is very interesting to me. I’m drawn to this passive consumption of media where your primary social interaction is with the bartender or a few other individuals but these screens are around you and your attention is shifting back and forth between these spaces. So much political rhetoric is spoken to a half-listening audience. I was interested in what was happening in the slippage and that karaoke was a kind of slippage amplifier. So if you put people in a bar and they are delivering a Kucinich speech and Kucinich comes up on a screen then your getting a sound bite of Kucinich and an image of Kucinich and your friend is talking to you— FLM: A kind of magic takes place in that incongruency between sound and image and the karaoke participant who’s relaying the speech-text at the same time. DP: Exactly and there’s some kind of truth in that experience of reality. FLM: Yeah, there’s something uncanny about seeing the body close-up like that as though it can’t lie to you in that moment or context. It’s a weird moment of luminous clarity. The work you’ve done and all of what you’re saying about karaoke is so very interesting to me. Growing up, my dad and uncles sang karaoke a lot (and still do) and being first-generation Filipino American is a different cultural subtext entirely. I’m also seeing it from the position of witnessing family members who are carriers of these stories and songs. And seeing them cherish these Tony Bennett, Frank Sinatra, Elvis Presley songs so much, I also see how their bodies are literal vessels of popular music that signifies something greater—it signifies their cultural and socioeconomic place in the world. The way that they cherish these American 1950s and 1960s pop songs is similar to having a certain kind of reverence for their spiritual faith or Catholicism. It’s a similar kind of care, focus, and attention exerted in karaoke and Catholicism—that these two structures and systems give something to focus on. Setsuko, Seiji and Hitoshi in Obama, Japan as Obama in Indiana — d. peltz — 2008 DP: Sure there something about the relationship we have to our candidate or the way we go about choosing a candidate, which is very similar to a deity or idol. I learned a lot about karaoke culture through this project. I’d never done karaoke. I’d never been interested in it as a form and then I travelled to Japan as part of the project when I made “Setsuko, Seiji and Hitoshi in Obama, Japan as Barack Obama in Indiana” and it was quite fascinating because my image of karaoke had always been this very public forum in a karaoke bar and then I discovered there’s this whole other world of karaoke where people even go on their own, they go and rent a room or cubicle and sing, or they go on a date—just the two of them go and sit in a room and do karaoke together. FLM: I’m interested in issues that take place within or as a result of specific karaoke culture(s). In the Philippines within the last several years there’s been occurring the “My Way Killings” phenomenon. Apparently baklas or gay men are employed by karaoke establishments to help “smooth over conflicts over karaoke singing”—these social forms of conduct, or lack thereof that arise out of the infrastructures of this social sport. In this one rural part of the Philippines there’s a village karaoke machine that the whole village shares—the Aeta indigenous people have an appointed “keeper” of the karaoke machine. I also see karaoke as a proxy to the confessional box in Catholicism where one goes to pour out their sins (minus the penance and redemption). The karaoke machine enables one to literally sing out whatever’s going on internally, but through highly saturated popular song lyrics. While karaoke is a public and social sport, it can also be a private one. Karaoke is a means of communion with each other. DP: Right, this preference for this kind of mediated communication. In Japan I was trying to organize people to work on this project and I was talking about throwing a party and they were like, well, we have to rent a karaoke machine because what else are we going to do? And I think its kind of serving that function of surrogacy—emotional surrogacy. FLM: And karaoke tools can be read as ritual tools—the magic mic that holds everything. There’s got to be some overlap at some point—between religious ceremony and devotion to the karaoke machine. DP: The way I designed the piece was so that it could slip right on top of the ready-made karaoke infrastructure. There was a flat-packed podium and it was made of a single sheet of plywood with no fasteners that slotted into itself. Those were sent out to a network of karaoke bars that I invited to become “karaoke convention centers.” The local VJs downloaded our custom-made, speech-extracted tracks that were designed to play on their existing equipment. In this sense the piece is a permanent installation. If you go to Denver today, some of the VJs still have the tracks in their library of offerings, the Ramones and Romney. It was this notion of re-purposing readymade infrastructure to create a distributable populist form. Obama was coming and the convention was in the Pepsi Center and 30,000 people were coming including 10,000 journalists. The impetus behind the larger art project that commissioned international artists to make works in Denver, was that local people weren’t going to have much access to this convention. It was like an invasion, the city was being descended upon, but if you lived a block away from the site, you had the same access as people in Zimbabwe&mash;30 second media bits excerpted from the speeches. So it seemed to me that the fundamental gesture was how do I take that signal, which was travelling out of the convention center, and create a local interruption? FLM: Is that what you mean by ‘intervention’? The term is frequently used to help describe your work. DP: It depends on the day. Around that karaoke project I had a conversation with Krzysztof Wodiczko and he was proposing that maybe rather than intervention, we should consider the word interruption. Because intervention is kind of an overused term in the field of art and it has militaristic and therapeutic associations outside of the art context. Fundamentally, the idea of intervening speaks to the readymade social world as your primary material. So it’s basically suggesting a kind of subtractive process, which gets back to this question: what is the role of the contemporary media artist in a world that’s so saturated with media? You can’t work additively in a saturated field. If you want to make a visible mark you have to work subtractively. That’s what intervention is about to me, just another way of saying “to work subtractively.” FLM: So the interventions or interruptions aren’t necessarily adding or subtracting, but are they putting orange cones there? What are they doing exactly? DP: I think you’re right about that, they’re not really subtracting. They’re adding to the scope of possibility. I’ve been thinking (with this exhibition I’m mounting next month) about the work as explorations and expansions of social possibility. Maybe it’s more insertion. I started calling the pieces ‘insertions’ that I was making in Rejmyre—a small town in Sweden where I’ve been working for six years now. My favorite site to install there is the tourist bureau. I started calling the video pieces that I made for the tourist bureau, video insertions. This idea that you’re inserting something into the readymade media infrastructure of the world resonates with me. Insertion leverages a context, creating a possibility that the inserted object might be naturalized in the process — that someone can encounter my video in Rejmyre as tourist information. And then all of a sudden tourist information can include some American guy prostrating through town and it can include really bad relationship advice. Maybe insertion is a better word. tourist information – d. peltz 2009-present  . (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:A Response to David Carr, “The Significance of Music for the Promotion of Moral and Spiritual Value”Iris M. YobDavid Carr has addressed a question that has been lurking in philosophical literature for centuries and, I might add, in our collective intuition as well: Just what is the connection between music and the moral and spiritual life? And as we have come to expect from his work, he brings a (...) new perspective to this perennial question in his answer. First he traces a line of thinking since Plato about music and the ordering of the soul, he touches on the role of music and the other arts in exploring the complexities of the moral imperative as it is lived out in human lives, and returns at the end to give a new take on the old Platonic idea of ordering of the soul. Just maybe, he suggests, the detachment, however temporary, "from the trials and tribulations that beset us in the day to day rough and tumble of human practical affairs" "in the interests of some more balanced perspective" on spiritual and moral matters "might be easier to achieve in the contemplation and appreciation of great works of 'music alone.'"This conclusion does not lay claim to more than what is perfectly reasonable. Allowing oneself to be immersed in a great work of music or art or architecture or dance may very well provide that distance from every day life where one might [End Page 209] re-center and refocus, refresh and renew one's outlook on the world. Such an engagement with an artwork can interrupt the patterns of thinking and acting that might have become increasingly thoughtless and ego-centric. It can be a re-creation in the true sense of the word. Paul Tillich, one of the great twentieth century religious philosophers, tells of an experience he had during the First World War where he served as a chaplain in the German army. On a brief leave from the front he visited Kaiser Friedrich Museum in Berlin and stood entranced before Botticelli's "Madonna and Child with Singing Angels." The moment was spiritually transformative, he tells us, lifting his spirits beyond the mud and grime of the battlefield to contemplate life and meaning on a different plane altogether. The experience enabled him to return to duty with renewed inner strength and calm.1 I believe this is a rather powerful and compelling example of what Carr is talking about.In coming to his conclusion, Carr is relying on the particularly difficult case of "music alone," that is, music that does not have words, title, or any other kind of representative function. In other words his argument does not depend on any didactic nature or morally or spiritually directive intent of the music. Rather, it is centered on music that ostensibly is not about anything. This is musical sound composed and performed for the appreciation of what it is in itself. And yet, in providing distance from the every day world, according to Carr, it can give expression to "realms of spiritual experience that lie beyond the sensual and empirical." Here we enter the world of the metaphorical and symbolic, what Rudolf Otto would call the "irrational" or "superrational," or the realm of the Holy. While Carr does not state this explicitly I would go so far as to say that this realm of the wordless and sacred is where the spiritual and the moral are grounded and from where they draw their power.Against this background, I would like to ask how does "music alone," in the sense intended by Carr and Peter Kivy from whom he borrowed the term bring about this effect? We are unable now to ask Tillich what it was that gave the Botticelli its impact for him, but it is curious that what it did for him it most likely did not do for all the other soldiers from the front who happened upon it the way he did. Tillich would most likely explain its effect by resorting to his theory of symbols, because after all this painting does have a literal meaning that might very well have inspired him. But... (shrink)

Although the scientific method has reached deeply into our intellectual and social life, there are places where it stops short, where its limitations become evident to us all. In these cases we discover that science can go about its explanations in its usual way, but that it does not tell us anything very interesting, and especially not what we most want to know. Let us think of music and painting, drama and ballet. No doubt a scientific method can tell (...) us something about them, but nothing very important or enlightening, perhaps something about their acoustical or chromatic materials, or some sort of evolutionary background. The scientists who try to go further than that in their explanations of the arts have earned a reputation for being reductionist in the bad sense. It is also my view that the incompetence of science becomes evident when it is applied to the interpretation of law and religion, love and many other forms of human aspiration -- but I shall not argue that point here. For what I hope to show is that the study of an elementary, fundamental human experience, seeing, is best pursued by certain philosophical methods that are not what we call scientific. The same applies to hearing. Many scientific studies have been made of seeing and hearing, but in my view they have not succeeded in the way that philosophy has in revealing the true character of these experiences. I shall devote the first two sections of this paper to outlining one philosophical approach to seeing that I regard as successful -- an approach I develop by working through key sections of Heidegger's Being and Time -- and then, in the concluding section, I point to the defects that I believe mark the approach of psychology and cognitive science. (shrink)

The contemporary debate in philosophy of music about the ontological status of musical works seems sometimes to have little to do with actual musical practices and experiences. As Lydia Goehr observed (1992) the danger is here very high that the competing theories remain unrelated to the actual practices they should explain. It is difficult to understand why elaborating complex conceptual systems for answering the ontological question “What is a musical work?” is worthwhile, if, aside from discrepancies (...) between scores, which may be often rectified through philological examination, the identification of a certain performance as performance of a certain work is normally not problematic in the central case. Better and more interesting is to search for aesthetic reasons that can explain why, to which degree, regarding which aspects (and so on), a certain performance is good, bad, exciting, innovative, moving, insipid and so on, and to be preferred to other performances of the same work. (shrink)

Critical writing about music and music history in nineteenth-century Britain was permeated with metaphor and analogy. Music and Metaphor examines how over-arching theories of music history were affected by reference to various figurative linguistic templates adopted from other disciplines such as art, religion, politics and science.

The conversations generated by the chapters in Music's Immanent Future grapple with some of music's paradoxes: that music of the Western art canon is viewed as timeless and universal while other kinds of music are seen as transitory and ephemeral; that in order to make sense of music we need descriptive language; that to open up the new in music we need to revisit the old; that to arrive at a figuration of music itself we need to posit its (...) starting point in noise; that in order to justify our creative compositional works as research, we need to find critical languages and theoretical frameworks with which to discuss them; or that despite being an auditory system, we are compelled to resort to the visual metaphor as a way of thinking about musical sounds. Drawn to musical sound as a powerful form of non-verbal communication, the authors include musicologists, philosophers, music theorists, ethnomusicologists and composers. The chapters in this volume investigate and ask fundamental questions about how we think, converse, write about, compose, listen to and analyse music. The work is informed by the philosophy primarily of Gilles Deleuze and Felix Guattari, and secondarily of Michel Foucault, Julia Kristeva and Jean-Luc Nancy. The chapters cover a wide range of topics focused on twentieth and twenty-first century musics, covering popular musics, art music, acousmatic music and electro-acoustic musics, and including music analysis, music's ontology, the noise/music dichotomy, intertextuality and music, listening, ethnography and the current state of music studies. The authors discuss their philosophical perspectives and methodologies of practice-led research, including their own creative work as a form of research. Music's Immanent Future brings together empirical, cultural, philosophical and creative approaches that will be of interest to musicologists, composers, music analysts and music philosophers. (shrink)

Examining a series of modernist thinkers and composers who engaged with non-European cultures as they pursued pure sound as a privileged presence, White Musical Mythologies pairs Erik Satie with Bergson, Edgard Varèse with Bataille, Pierre Boulez with Artaud, and John Cage with Derrida to offer an ambitious intellectual history of the colonial roots of modernist musical thought. Each of the musicians studied in this book re-created or appropriated non-European forms of expression as they conceived music ontologically, often thinking (...) music as something immediate and immersive: from Satie's dabblings with mysticism and exoticism in bohemian Montmartre of the 1890s to Varèse's experience of ethnographic exhibitions and surrealist poetry in 1930s Paris, and from Boulez's endeavor to theorize a kind of musical writing that would "absorb" the sounds of non-European musical traditions to Cage, who took inspiration from Eastern thought as he wrote about sound, silence, and chance. Edmund Mendelssohn suggests that the Euro-American idea of "pure sound," and the twentieth-century quest to produce it, was premised on an assumed authority of "the West" over Europe's others. Intended for readers in philosophy, musicology, art theory, the history of modernism, sound studies, and postcolonial studies, this book demonstrates that we cannot fully understand French theory in its novelty and complexity without music and sound. (shrink)

Guy Rohrbaugh and Allan Hazlett have provided two arguments against the thesis that musical works are types. In short, they assume that, according to our modal talk and intuitions, musical works are modally flexible entities; since types are modally inflexible entities, musical works are not types. I argue that Rohrbaugh’s and Hazlett’s arguments fail and that the type/token theorist can preserve the truth of our modal claims and intuitions even if types are modally inflexible entities. First, I (...) consider two alternatives for the type/token theorist proposed in recent literature about the topic: the created types’ solution and the created abstract objects’ solution. I argue that none of them is attractive for the type/token theorist because they do not preserve the theoretical advantages of type/token theories to explain musical works’ repeatable nature. Then, I focus on the arguments’ common premise that musical works are modally flexible entities. A deeper analysis of musical practice will show that this premise is not true: our modal claims do not imply that musical works could have had different intrinsic but, instead, extrinsic properties. Finally, I show how the nested types theory may offer a satisfactory explanation of this fact and how it captures the truth of our modal talk about musical works. (shrink)

It is often taken for granted that music, whatever else it is able to do, cannot articulate ideas. This paper aims to refute that formalist claim and present an anti-formalist one showing why thinking formalism true is based on a fallacy and involves a misunderstanding of ordinary language. By ‘idea’ is meant a view, and reflection on that view, which in the limiting case may be a worldview, a Weltanschauung. That in this sense ideas are articulated in music is to (...) say that they are, among other things, presented, conveyed and considered. This goes well beyond the usual anti-formalist claim that music may express emotions. The paper goes on to show how ideas may be articulated in music. This follows from properly understanding how it is that any idea may be articulated. Without music being able to include articulating ideas, the high artistic and cultural value we place upon music, as well as the way people actually talk about music, while being compatible with music having other features that we value, is inexplicable. In this sense the question is raised as to how it is possible to articulate ideas in music. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:HIV, Art, and a Journey toward Healing:One Man's StoryJulia Kellman (bio)Some of the territory is wilder and reports do not tally. The guides are good for only so much. In these wild places I become part of the map, part of the story, adding my versions there. This Talmudic layering of story on story, map on map, multiplies possibilities, but also warns me of the weight of accumulation. I (...) live in one world—material, seemingly solid—and the weight of that is quite enough.1I have just reread anthropologist Ruth Behar's2 essay, "Anthropology That Breaks Your Heart." It started me thinking about several things—the outer limits of psychic pain, for example, or the relationship of the researcher and the researched, of bearing witness and giving testimony, and of the "ethnographic experience of talking, listening, transcribing, translating, and interpreting" that forms the core of enquiry about people and their lives.3 What can I say, I wonder, to touch readers in such a way that they see the indispensable truth in the individual stories that develop from such enquiries? How can my role as interpreter and witness lead to the understanding that the buffeting winds of lived experience (those of the researcher and of those who are researched) are not inconveniences but an essential quality of humanistic research? How can I use the accretion of stories that make up my research and my life (as if there were a difference), I muse, as I sit at my computer screen reading a text as "it in its turn reads me," as the writer Jeanette Winterson4 describes this experience. For over the years, I, too, not only have come to feel this pulse of the systole and diastole of telling and being told, but I have also used this alternating relationship to develop insight into the nature of the connection of researcher and researched, teacher and taught.There are two main narratives that form the core of this particular undertaking—one personal and the other the result of informal conversations, [End Page 33] formal interviews, casual interactions, social events, and interchanges during the art class for people with HIV/AIDS that I teach weekly at a local hospital. The stories both probe the mystery of disease, expression, and the search for coherence, and, in my case, the role of "the wild places on the map"5 where the researcher/writer adds her witness and testimony to the narrative to become part of the story.Individual ExperienceBefore we begin this discussion of individual experience, art, and illness, it is important to point out that there are only two general types of humanities enquiry: One enumerates, compares and contrasts, creates and tests hypotheses, reads literature, and/or examines the minutiae of materials or systems of one sort or another. The other is engaged in exploring the individual, the idiosyncratic, and the unique. Its subject is that which is particular. My research consists of the second type, qualitative to its core, and deeply sunk in the narrative, personal world of lived experience.The privacy of individual situations, our utter singularity, is one of the factors that most marks our lives as creatures. We can share our stories, describe our impressions, explain our sensations, but unless we participate in an actual experience in which our boundaries momentarily disappear, the most we can hope for is the simultaneous partaking of similar feelings with a sensitive, empathetic companion in what philosopher-sociologist Alfred Schutz6 describes as a We-relationship, an intersubjective experience that leads to sharing time, mutuality, and growing old together. Thus the ticklish nature of achieving actual interpersonal congruence makes enquiries into the specifics of actual lived experience difficult. If one is to learn anything useful from such considerations, one must focus on the individual and the story of his/her particular life journey in an intimate, extended, multifaceted manner and content one's self with the fact that all one will ever be able to report about in such an undertaking are discrete events and single people, never grand numerical accumulations or demographically significant quantities.Researcher's DisclaimerFor a reader to orient herself in... (shrink)

Musical genius, polemicist, explosive personality-that was the nineteenth-century German composer Richard Wagner, who paid as much attention to his reputation as to his genius. Often maddening, and sometimes called mad, Wagner wrote with the same intensity that characterized his music. The letters and essays collected in Judaism in Music and Other Essays were published during the 1850s and 1860s, the period when he was chiefly occupied with the creation of The Ring of the Nibelung. Highlighting this collection is (...) the notorious 1850 article "Judaism in Music, " which caused such a firestorm that nearly twenty years later Wagner published an unapologetic appendix. Other prose pieces include "On the Performing of Tannhauser, " written while he was in political exile; "On Musical Criticism, " an appeal for a more vital approach to art undivorced from life; and "Music of the Future." This volume concludes with letters to friends about the intent and performance of his great operas; estimations of Liszt, Beethoven, Mozart, Gluck, Berlioz, and others; and suggestions for the reform of opera houses in Vienna, Paris, and Zurich. The Bison Book edition includes the full text of volume 3 of William Ashton Ellis's 1894 translation commissioned by the London Wagner Society. (shrink)

Technological advancements often lead to revolutions in the creation of art; but, what is unclear is whether such advancements always correspond to revolutions regarding the artistic medium. The notion of an artistic medium is central to our thinking about, engagement with, and appreciation of art. Accounts of the interpretation, understanding, and experience of art must at some point grapple with the role of the artistic medium against such endeavors. Moreover, artists do not choose their medium by accident, but presumably (...) do so with an eye to the specific and unique affordances of their chosen medium. This chapter will explore the ways in which technology affects these issues. One question we could ask is, when does some technology itself become a new artistic medium? Some technological advancements result in the creation of a new artistic medium—like photography—while others do not—like procedural music. Finding “technology” itself to be too broad of a concept to define a distinctive and theoretically useful notion of an artistic medium, this chapter will examine generally what sort of barriers or challenges one might face when thinking of different technologies as themselves constituting an artistic medium. Specific attention will be paid to the notion of the medium and the theoretical and aesthetic work that such a notion plays in regard to works of computer art. (shrink)

The Logic & Structure project is about the language of mathematical logic and how it can be of use in the visual arts. It involves a conversation between a mathematical logician and a group of artists. The project is ongoing, and this is a report on its first two phases. This text has two parts. The first, “Logic”, is a short introduction to certain aspects of logic, as it was presented to the participants. The second part, “Structures”, describes (...) some of the outcomes.The inspiration for the project comes from modern model theory whose advances revealed the extent to which formal methods may be helpful in describing and analysing mathematical structures. While the structures that are studied are often immensely complex, the formal language in which their properties can be expressed is simple. Its syntax is precisely defined and well understood, and this understanding often successfully guides us in our explorations of the rich world of mathematical objects. Our goal is to see the extent to which a similar approach could be of value when talking about works of art as structures. To this end, one could try to describe existing art objects in terms of suitably chosen formal languages, but we follow a reverse route. The language is described first, and the participating artists are asked to come up with artwork in which formal elements and their relations are chosen in advance, making it easier to identify those features of the created pieces that can be formally expressed. In other words, we are not thinking of applying formal methods to create art; rather we want to begin with samples that can serve as material for discussion. (shrink)

This study introduces a music therapy project for young offenders through community collaboration and its efficacy through a mixed method. The project called Young & Great Music is carried out via collaboration among three parties, which are the educational institution, the district prosecutor’s office, and corporate sponsor, forming a tripartite networking system. In this paper, we present an efficacy evaluation of the project’s implementation with 178 adolescents involved with the juvenile justice system: 115 youth was on suspension of indictment and (...) 63 youth was under supervised probation. Quantitative and qualitative measures were collected and analyzed to examine the efficacy of the project. The music therapy program was developed for 15 sessions based on the use of music to prompt positive resources through music making and song writing. The efficacy was examined using three scales; self-concept, resilience, and stress coping skills. The paired t-test showed that there were significant improvement in all three scales respectively. In order to examine the group difference between suspended indictment and supervised probation groups, Welch–Aspin t-test was conducted due to unequal variance of the group. Results showed there was a significant group difference in self-concept and resilience. The study further examined participant’s experience of music and perceived benefits. Twenty participants had in-depth interviews about their music therapy experience which were recorded, transcribed and analyzed. Of the 109 statements derived from a qualitative content analysis of the interview transcripts, music making and song writing was repeatedly reported as helpful in gaining “new perspectives,” “courage to challenge and pursuit,” “perseverance,” and “self-acknowledgment.” The positive result of the study showed that the collaborative networking of regional and social resource to support for adolescents at-risk was successful. The results of this project are promising and suggest that other arts-based rehabilitation services and programs should be developed and implemented in juvenile justice system. For this, strategies for program sustainability for long-term facilitation are needed. (shrink)

This study explores the relationship between the poetic language of Donne, Herbert, Milton, and other British poets, and the choral music and part-songs of composers including Tallis, Byrd, Gibbons, Weelkes, and Tomkins. The seventeenth century was the time in English literary history when music was most consciously linked to words, and when the mingling of Renaissance and 'new' philosophy opened new discovery routes for the interpretation of art. McColley offers close readings of poems and the musical settings of (...) analogous texts, and discusses the philosophy, performance, and disputed political and ecclesiastical implications of polyphony. She also enters into current discourse about the nature of language, relating poets' use of language and composers' use of music to larger questions concerning the arts, politics and theology. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Music, Spirituality, and EducationDavid Carr (bio)Recent Interest in Spiritual EducationFew concerned with educational theory and policy could have failed to notice the recent upsurge of interest—not least in such economically developed democracies as the United Kingdom and the United States—in the notion of spiritual development as a possible aim or goal of public or common schooling. Indeed, in addition to the enormous growth of academic literature on this topic—including (...) the recent emergence of specialist journals and handbooks1 — official educational policy makers have devoted much explicit attention to this issue in the form of positive educational proposals and prescriptions.2 Elsewhere,3 I have speculated on the possible reasons for such increased interest, which seems to include interrelated concerns about (1) the instrumental trends and tendencies of much state schooling in developed economies; (2) the rise of materialistic and selfish individualism in such contexts; (3) the apparent decline of public morality and the rise of anomic and nihilistic behavior—particularly among youth; and (4) the need to find some politically and publicly acceptable substitute for the educational role that religion has often formerly played (at any rate in older Western European cultures) in the cultivation of moral and spiritual attitudes and values.One may, of course, respond to such concerns—and/or to the attempts to address them in terms of some notion of spirituality or spiritual education—in a variety of less than enthusiastic ways. For one thing, one may hold that the picture of Western selfishness, instrumentalism, materialism, immorality, impiety, and so on is somewhat overstated (and in any case, this claim would require the sort of empirical support that is seldom provided for such sweeping claims). For another, it seems rather paradoxical to cast spiritual education in the instrumental role of halting the instrumental [End Page 16] trends to which spirituality is proposed as a noninstrumental solution. On the other hand, one might accept that while there may be something to such points, there is nevertheless some educational warrant for trying to cultivate (perhaps at least partly in schools) noninstrumental attitudes or qualities of human engagement with experience of roughly the sort that the theoretical and other literature has associated with spirituality. That said, we also need to bear in mind—especially in what follows—that different approaches to spiritual education have identified somewhat diverse (and perhaps not always obviously mutually consistent) human qualities and benefits with spirituality.A more presently pressing question, however, is that of the pedagogical means by which theorists of spiritual education might cultivate any supposed spiritual qualities or benefits. If we are to take the idea of promoting spirituality seriously, how might we set about it? On what sorts of curricular or other resources might we draw in order to help pupils become more spiritual, to acquire spiritual capacities, or to have spiritual experiences? Here there is evidence of substantial agreement—even on the part of those who would regard spiritual education as a cross-curricular matter—that certain fields of knowledge or areas of the school curriculum are better placed than others to assist the cultivation of spiritual virtues, values, and attitudes. Of these, perhaps unsurprisingly, religious and/or moral education has often been regarded (rightly or wrongly) as synonymous with spirituality and spiritual education. That said, such identification is obviously—especially in culturally pluralist liberal democracies—rather educationally problematic. However, an area of the school curriculum that seems to be a close runner-up to religious education (RE) in the spiritual education stakes—notwithstanding any and all claims that various kinds of scientific study may conduce to environmental or nature-conscious spirituality—is that of the arts. Moreover, if it is widely assumed that exposure to various arts can have real spiritual benefits, it has often also seemed natural to associate music, of all the different arts on offer, with spiritual experience or growth.4 It might therefore be held to follow, if spiritual education is indeed a proper aim of schooling, that music education is a prime vehicle of spiritual education, and that music teachers might include the promotion of spiritual qualities among their educational aims.Clearly, however, none of these alleged conceptual... (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Philosophy and Literature 25.2 (2001) 368-370 [Access article in PDF] Book Review Skeptical Music: Essays on Modern Poetry Skeptical Music: Essays on Modern Poetry, by David Bromwich; xvii & 256 pp. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2001; $49.00 cloth, $16.00 paper. In his preface to this gathering of his essays and reviews on twentieth-century American and British poetry, David Bromwich regrets that it is "too late to suppress the (...) evidence of a critic educating himself in public" (p. xi). But even the earliest work reprinted in Skeptical Music--"The Making of the Auden Canon," published in the Times Literary Supplement in 1976, when the author was still a graduate student at Yale--hardly qualifies as juvenilia. Indeed, in Bromwich's case, evidence of a critic educating himself in public seems to have been suppressed from the start. No single explanation will account for an author's precocity, but the consistency of Bromwich's critical voice over the last quarter century is certainly related to his early preoccupation with William Hazlitt, the subject of his first book. In choosing Hazlitt as his model, Bromwich rejected what he took to be the legacy of systematic and professional literary theory extending from Coleridge to each new school of academic criticism. Bromwich's own development as a critic has therefore been subtler and more introspective than the critical retooling of so many of his colleagues. Although never far from the evaluative art of the reviewer, Bromwich has come to favor the more speculative dimension of his work. The more recent the piece, the more overt the attempt to imagine "what was in the poet's mind, or what was in the poem's mind, on the theory that certain thoughts and feelings are worth the trouble to characterize because of their strangeness and originality" (p. xi).Some of the most compelling chapters in Skeptical Music imagine what was in the poet's mind, or the poem's mind, by telling stories about complex relationships between poems by different poets--between the work of Marianne Moore and Elizabeth Bishop, or T. S. Eliot and Hart Crane. These are stories about literary influence, or deep temperamental affinity. As in Harold Bloom's work, the stories are grounded in close readings, usually of the passages the critic prizes for their aesthetic superiority.A related procedure is at work in "Stevens and the Idea of the Hero"--a long speculative piece on Wallace Stevens's transfer of allegiance, at a crucial moment in his career, from the pragmatism of Nietzsche to the pragmatism of William James. What Stevens found "most persistently attractive" in Nietzsche's pragmatism, Bromwich coolly explains, was "the suggestion that the good of existence is change" and that "our most vivid acknowledgment of that good comes from the ability to imagine a life wiped clear of ourselves" (p. 71). But the Nietzschean sublime proved insufficient for Stevens. During the Second World War, the poet was confronted by "the reality of American soldiers going off to fight... for a cause which, as Stevens saw it, they could only make true by their fighting" (p. 68). Stevens turned to James for "the less brutal idea of a [End Page 368] man or woman who is made great by an enterprise in which others have a part" (p. 78).Bromwich's argument that Stevens became a more valuable poet when he located heroism in human solidarity, not just Nietzschean contingency and self-creation, bears a family resemblance to the work of one of James's heirs, Richard Rorty. Like Rorty, Bromwich often feels the pressure to adjudicate between the claims of the individual artist and the claims of the community; and like Rorty, he makes his judgements on a case by case basis, without recourse to a set standard, rule, or theory. In the closing chapter of Skeptical Music--"Is Taste Moral?"--Bromwich directly addresses the tension between aestheticism and the social good, a subject that also surfaces at the close of his preface and at numerous moments throughout the book. But the claims of the community seem relatively muted... (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:The Journal of Aesthetic Education 38.1 (2004) 78-88 [Access article in PDF] Remembering Beauty:Reflections on Kant and Cartier-Bresson for Aspiring Photographers Stuart Richmond In the past few decades beauty has become something of an endangered species in the Western art world. Indeed, beauty has never been a central aim of contemporary art, which has tended to focus on meaning and politics rather than formal values, conceptual art being a (...) case in point. Feminist artists and critics, reacting to the objectification of women in society have rendered attention to women's beauty, especially the nude, impolitic. This is perhaps understandable given the persuasive emphasis on beauty in marketing, that many argue socializes an unhealthy self-image in young people and distracts attention from important social issues. As well, techno-global-business practices increasingly invade our lives and private spaces with a virtual culture of information and efficiency. We do not know how this retreat from the sensual, concrete present will affect human sensibilities and values in the long run, although there are some disturbing signs. Seen as un-cerebral and allied with pleasure, beauty and its alter ego, appreciation, have acquired a decided regressive air. Having said that, for many people at the level of ordinary life — in human relationships, arts activities, and love of nature, for example — beauty never really went away because beauty is a source of pleasure and well-being that we cannot help wanting. As Plato pointed out, beauty is the only visible quality that inspires love. 1 A life of beauty in a free and ethical environment is an invitation to a life worth living. Though I cannot pursue the matter here, it is noteworthy that we often call a person of courage, goodness, and humility, a beautiful human being. Around the world people find many paths to beauty and of late in the Western artistic and academic worlds, beauty seems to be making a comeback. But beauty is a difficult thing to talk about, partly due to its being an experiential concept, partly because it has a long and complex philosophical history, and also because there is the risk in analysis of reducing it to something small and formulaic. Words in the end cannot replace the experience [End Page 78] of beauty. Despite these concerns, however, I believe that now, more thanever in the arts and education, we need to develop capacities for creating and appreciating beauty, if only to bring us back into contact with what is sensual and intrinsically worthwhile after so much arid theorizing, conflict in the world, and technocratic obsession. Through beauty we might be able to regain a stronger sense of human values and pleasure in living. Therefore, my aim here is to re-examine beauty in order to strengthen its role in aesthetic education. I do not expect to develop any precise definitions but I shall aim for a few signposts. Background to the Concept of Beauty "Beauty," "beautiful," or "the beautiful" refer primarily to a quality found pleasing to the senses. Here I shall restrict discussion to the visual domain, and later principally to art. As noted, beauty has a long philosophical history but the concept remains vague. From classical times on, beauty has been defined or associated with such properties as symmetry, balance, variety, harmony, proportion, order, unity, and perfection. And indeed, these features have long provided normative guidelines for the creation and appreciation of beauty. Over time we have learned the shape and proportions of a beautiful pot or supporting column. The golden section, a ratio of 1:1.6, has been used to good effect in design for millennia, the Parthenon being a prime example, the 35 mm negative another. However, as is well known, differences in beauty in individual cases tend to elude definition on account of this or that property or collection of properties. Exceptions can always be found. A painting may be well balanced but lacking in a certain élan vital, or unbalanced but beautiful. The variability of beautiful things seems to rule out a... (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Teaching Musical FictionMarcin Stawiarski (bio)IntroductionGiven the increasing interest in musico-literary studies, I wish to examine some ways in which music can be used for pedagogical purposes in teaching literature. It has been widely recognized that music and poetry sprang from the common origin of chant or incantation.1 Throughout the ages, the sister arts sometimes went hand in hand and sometimes parted company, but since the end of (...) the nineteenth century musical aspects have been used quite extensively in literature, either as a subject matter or as a wellhead of structures. The number of musically inspired twentieth-century novels bears evidence to this strengthening of musico-literary relationships.2 Contemporary interactive, interdisciplinary, and multimedial works of art or artistic events also testify to a close sisterhood between the arts. This phenomenon has come to be called intermediality, which is defined as using more than one artistic medium in the creation of a work of art. But then, examining musical aspects in literature demands specific knowledge of the musical field itself, thus raising questions about the limits and the difficulties of using musico-literary materials in class. Suppose the student is not knowledgeable at all about music. What, then, can be the input the teacher can offer the student without necessarily inundating the latter with too much information? Is it possible to avoid generalizations in drawing comparisons or distinctions between music and literature? And, is it relevant to deal with music in teaching fiction?I wish to suggest that there are pragmatic elements of music that may be used in teaching music-related texts without previous skills in the musical field. In this respect, music may serve as an enriching and fascinating teaching tool. The point I would like to make is that quite often music leads the text to raise questions about literariness itself, so that it becomes possible not only to discuss musico-literary interrelations but to tackle the specificity of literature through the prism of intermediality. [End Page 78]This article will deal with two kinds of musico-literary phenomena appearing in fiction. On the one hand, I wish to examine the implications of the historical and cultural background in musicalized texts as an inherent aspect of many novels. On the other hand, I wish to broach the question of the musicalization of fiction, that is to say, the transposition or imitation of musical forms in literature.Literature Speaking about MusicThe Need of a ContextIn dealing with musical contexts of literary texts, the teacher may bring the student's attention to bear on the variety of ways a text may be related to music. A typology of different musico-literary interrelations has been established by such critics as Calvin S. Brown3 or Steven P. Scher. In Scher one will find a useful chart dividing musico-literary studies into two categories: literary presence within the musical field (explored by musicology) and musical presence within the literary field (explored by literary studies). The latter may be subdivided into word music, musical structures, and verbal music. This typology has been furthered by Werner Wolf in his critical work on the musicalization of fiction. Yet too detailed a categorization may seem difficult to put into practice in a classroom setting. Its principle drawback lies in the difficulty to sever one musical phenomenon in literature from the other. In numerous cases it seems impossible to drive an unequivocal wedge between (a) prosodic phenomena, appertaining to word music or musicality; (b) exclusively thematic or topical elements; and (c) specifically structural transpositions. Such an accurate classification, therefore, preferably would be used with more advanced students.The thematic or topical relationship I want to focus on in this section is by far the easiest to get across to students since it does not require musical skills. This approach is roughly tantamount to Scher's verbal music or Wolf's thematization,4 and it appears in texts dealing with music explicitly. Many texts resort to an extramusical (or paramusical) rather than a purely musical content. In other words, it is the critical or mythical context surrounding a given musical work that is often used in fiction. In reading Rose Tremain... (shrink)

During the last few decades, most cultural critics have come to agree that the division between "high" and "low" art is an artificial one, that Beethoven's Ninth and "Blue Suede Shoes" are equally valuable as cultural texts. In Who Needs Classical Music?, Julian Johnson challenges these assumptions about the relativism of cultural judgements. The author maintains that music is more than just "a matter of taste": while some music provides entertainment, or serves as background noise, other music claims (...) to function as art. This book considers the value of classical music in contemporary society, arguing that it remains distinctive because it works in quite different ways to most of the other music that surrounds us. This intellectually sophisticated yet accessible book offers a new and balanced defense of the specific values of classical music in contemporary culture. Who Needs Classical Music? will stimulate readers to reflect on their own investment (or lack of it) in music and art of all kinds. (shrink)

Like a number of other writers, [Gunther S.] Stent contends that in essential ways science and art are comparable. As he puts it: "Both the arts and the sciences are activities that endeavor to discover and communicate truths about the world" . Although one cannot but sympathize with the desire to bring the so-called Two Cultures together, a viable and enduring union will not be achieved by ignoring or glossing over important differences. Using the behavior of scientists, (...) artists, and laymen as empirical evidence, the first part of this essay will argue that Stent's union is a shotgun marriage, not one made in heaven, and that his attempt to wed different disciplinary species results not in fecund insight but barren misconception. In the second part, I will suggest that this misunderstanding arises because, like many scientists Stent fails even to recognize the existence of the humanist - that is, the theorist and critic of the arts. Yet the humanities must be included, and areas of inquiry within them differentiated, if diverse disciplines are to be related to one another in a coherent and consistent way. Leonard B. Meyer's most recent book is Explaining Music: Essays and Explanations. He is also the author of Emotion and Meaning in Music, The Rhythmic Structure of Music , and Music, The Arts, and Ideas, awarded the Laing Prize in 1969. See also: "Against Literary Darwinism" by Jonathan Kramnick in Vol. 38, No. 2. (shrink)

The Art Experience: An Introduction to Philosophy and the Arts takes readers on an engaging and accessible journey that explores a series of fundamental questions about the nature of art and aesthetic value. Three of these questions serve as the major sections for the book's 12 chapters: What makes something a work of art? How should we experience art in order to get the most out of it? And once we understand art, how should we evaluate whether it (...) is good or bad? Philosophical theory is illustrated with concrete examples: the paintings of Frida Kahlo, the music of Johann Sebastian Bach, the masks of the Nso people, and many others. Classic questions are balanced with cutting-edge challenges, such as Linda Nochlin's work on the exclusion of women from the artistic canon. The Art Experience presupposes no prior knowledge of philosophy or art, and it will be of interest to any reader seeking an accessible and engaging introduction to this field. Along the way, readers learn how philosophical theories can affect our real-world experiences with painting, music, theater, and many more art forms. Key Features Accessible for any college student and assumes no knowledge of philosophy, art theory, or any artistic medium Organizes topics conceptually, rather than historically, allowing students to more easily grasp the core issues themselves rather than tracing their historical evolution Offers readers a large number of contemporary examples and a consistent focus on the way theory can affect people's real-world experiences with art Explores questions about bias - for example, whether the artistic canon has excluded some groups unfairly and whether definitions of art are Western-biased. (shrink)

This comic, serious inquiry into the nature of art takes its technical vocabulary from Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland and Through the Looking-Glass. It is ridiculous to think of poems, paintings, or films as distinct from other things in the world, including people. Talking about art should be contiguous with talking about other relevant matters.