Wednesday, September 26, 2007

Peace On A presents: John Beer & Terry Cuddy (Intro)

Peace On A


John Beer & Terry Cuddy

Saturday, October 6th, 2007 8PM
recommended donation: $5

curated by Thom Donovan at:

166 Avenue A (btwn 10th and 11th)
NY, NY 10009

about the readers:

John Beer's poems and criticism have appeared in periodicals including
Another Chicago Magazine, Barrow Street, Chicago Review, the Chicago
Tribune, Colorado Review, Crowd, Denver Quarterly, Joss, Milk,
MiPoesias, MoonLit, Time Out Chicago, Verse, the Village Voice, and
Xantippe. With Max Blechman, he edited the special issue of Chicago
Review on Kenneth Rexroth (Fall 2006). He is a Ph.D. candidate in
philosophy and social thought at the University of Chicago.

Terry Cuddy is an artist, teacher, and curator who lives in upstate New York. He is a graduate of Alfred University's School of Art and Design as well as SUNY at Buffalo's Department of Media Study. He has had three residencies at the Experimental Television Center in Owego, New York, and was a New York Foundation for the Arts Fellow for Video Art in 1998. His work is in several collections and has been screened throughout the United States, Canada and Europe.

work samples:

Trapped in the Closet

I love you: the first lesson
gunplay teaches. I find my breath
under the table, a tourniquet
not needed at the moment.
I open my eyes and the wall bleeds you.

Everyone dreams big these days.
For instance, universal war,
or grab a massive advance
on a memoir about growing up
in a family of bankers,

trusting in quiet accumulation
of capital, as though that's
a natural fact. Was it really me
under the table? I couldn't be sure,
but I knew my leg hurt a hell of a lot.

Everyone dreams of love, why not?
I'm no different from you,
even if I take strange pride in my beard,
the way a couple of gray strands
seem to announce a certain challenge

met: we both made it this far.
Out by the beach the jets are keeping
us safe. It only burns for a second,
this composure, this disease
we accept as the cost of ourselves.
~John Beer

on Terry Cuddy’s *The Harriet Complex* (video):
Harriet Tubman escaped from slavery and personally led over 70 slaves to freedom. During the U.S. Civil War, she led raids, and served as a nurse, a scout, and a spy for the Union Army. After the war, she settled in Auburn, NY, where she founded and oversaw a home for the aged until her death in 1913.

The Harriet Complex is about the Harriet Tubman legacy in contemporary Auburn. Here elementary school students perform plays about Tubman while local officials debate whether her significance is worthy of a memorial highway. Her name can inspire pride, expose apathy, or provoke disdain. This phenomenon is dubbed “the Harriet Complex.”

The Harriet Complex combines documentary techniques with poetic devices to challenge viewers to engage history in an experimental way. Archived texts, photographs, recorded interviews, electronic maps, and theatrical performances are recomposed into montages. This is a re-imagining an American hero and the city she chose.

"There are still too many trees"
~David Hilliard quoted in Jean Genet's *Prisoner of Love*

The Course of Particulars: introduction for Terry Cuddy

Tell X that speech is not dirty silence
Clarified. It is silence made still dirtier.
~ Walace Stevens

This immediacy, in the fullest sense, of relation to artworks is a function of mediation, of penetrating and encompassing experience...
~ Theodor Adorno

Since I have known Terry Cuddy, his work has existed between design, the printed book, multimedia, video, site-specific installation, live music performance (including a rock opera, *Dr. Steadfast’s Last Migraine*), sound recording, and an ongoing investigation of sound and visual image, image and text. For anyone of lesser energy and commitment such a synthesis of approaches to making art would result in a dilletantishness. With Cuddy, his variety of approach seems natural, even necessary.

Cuddy’s practice is an intensely local one that nevertheless always touches problems of global importance. Minute particulars move towards universals, extending themselves as such, twisting like an arras in this extension. In this way Cuddy is a distinctly North America ‘nominalist’ (Emerson) during a time when it is most regrettable—ethically, politically, culturally—in many ways to be one. Like Muriel Rukeyser, William Carlos Williams, Wallace Stevens, Charles Olson, Susan Howe and other Modernists before him he represents a genius of place as the local always remains in relation to other localities and individuals in his work—a world at large more often than not constituted by incommensurability, contradiction and conflict if not also coevalness and multitude.

During a time of goth. revival, hyper-appropriation, virtual realities, and neo-psychadelia in popular visual art there is something unfashionable, and therefore difficult, about Cuddy’s commitment to a Modernist legacy indebted to traditions of film and video art (Hollis Frampton, James Benning, Tony Conard, Nam Juin Paik and others come to mind) as much to poetry and critical theory (Barthes, Benjamin, Adorno, Wittgenstein). After these confluent Modernist strains Cuddy returns compulsively to problems of representation, how sound, image and text synaesthetically mediate our understandings of the world as political, ethical and social beings; how, what’s more, we are hyper-mediated as citizens only provisionally “democratic” in an era of American democracy’s last gasps.

In a video from 2004, Cuddy poses as the host of a home improvement program. He explains that in last week’s episode he was doing some work on the basement of a house and now he will show that work to the viewer. When, in the next scene, we find Cuddy in the basement he explains the renovations. While Cuddy explains a box appears in the center of the room. The presence of this box is unsettling in its familiarity, a text-book example of the uncanny. Before Cuddy leaves the shot ostensibly to show the viewer another room of the house he explains that he will take a photograph of the basement to document the renovation. A hand appears in the frame of the video and snaps a photograph; the photograph takes unusally long to flash, producing a stroboscopic light effect. The hand of the photographer, ominously, is wearing a white glove. The hand looks official, authoritative—like that of a doctor, or inspector. There is the pervasive sense this hand represents the law, and that we have been at this scene of a domestic crime—a crime of interiority—many times before. In the following scene we are asked to compare the photograph just taken to another one. This later photograph is yellowed and pixellated, and shows the walls and ceiling of a room damaged by water.

When I saw Cuddy’s video for the first time I had not seen the photographs of Abu Grahib yet. I couldn’t bring myself to look at them, couldn’t make a “friend of horror” to quote Chris Marker after Marlon Brando’s Kurtz in *Apocalypse Now*. I sometimes wonder what my reaction would have been to Cuddy’s video had I seen it after encountering the Abu Grahib photos, especially that of the hooded man standing arms outspread with electric wires dangling from his chest. In the following scene of Cuddy’s video we see a television. While a program plays a hand begins to draw on the television screen with a magnet (a technique of vintage video art) slowly revealing the silhouette of the now iconic Abu Grahib prisoner. As the figure is gradually revealed a voice-over explains something about the relation between figure and ground; meanwhile the channels start to change, and eventually surf rapidly rehearsing a public amnesia for the tortured and elswhere suffering.

Through such forms of mediation—the parody of popular home improvement programs like *This Old House*, the use of historic video techniques, and appropriation of popular television footage—Cuddy fuses attentive and distracted attentions, diverging from both. The result is moral critique in the form of negative consciousness. The images we receive in the video are made things—that is, they are visibly produced—and Cuddy's viewer remains aware of this throughout. Beyond such awarenesses of form, Cuddy describes a haunted content. The memory of Abu Grahib as it is both affixed by indelible iconicity (the silhouetted image of the prisoner magnetized on the tv set) and erased by an attention deficient spectatorship (that of channel surfing and home–improvement programs both).

As we might also say after Chris Marker's *Sans Soleil*, Cuddy makes us see “the black” in lieu of deferred contentment--"happiness". Procedure creates a blindness the origin and termini of an imaginative-critical faculty (and this is the dream of an anachronistic Modernist aesthetic practice as it collides with politics, the socially ‘real’, to this day). Form renders its contents senseless, anti-mimetic, and so produces meaning, has effects, instead. What is at stake in Cuddy’s work is finally consciousness itself as a form of action. Historical mediation via 'intermedia' as useful, if not instrumental. Playfully instrumental. Creatively didactic. A moralism that hints and points and winks.

In Cuddy’s most recent video, *The Harriet Complex*, we move among a series of scenes informing a controversy about Harriet Tubman’s commemoration in Auburn, New York, the final resting place of Tubman’s body and incidentally Cuddy’s home town. The specificity, the concise localness of Cuddy’s video, which features children performing a play about Tubman’s life in a local grammar school, a town counsel meeting where arrogant counselmen (and they are all men) argue whether a highway that runs thru Auburn should be named after the seminal Abolition leader (in the end, an argument prevails the highway should not be named after Tubman since this would make race an “issue” in the town, and therefore divide the citizenry along racial lines), a beautiful sequence of animated topological maps tracing Tubman’s Underground Railroad routes, and synthesized video images of town monuments commemorating Tubman, as well as photos and other documents of Tubman’s person.

Memorably, in the final scene of the video, Cuddy’s friends, family and community read letters written by locals and published in the local newspaper concerning the naming of Auburn’s highschool after Tubman (a commemorative controversy prior to debates about the naming of the interstate). During this segment each shot presents a close-up of the speaker’s mouth. That one only sees the mouths of the speakers is estranging, and distances what is said from what is seen, image from voice, ventriloquist from that thrown. That the letters are spoken by people of all different ages, genders, shades of skin, etc. provides yet another degree of reflection. The content of the letters, in their sequencing, demonstrate racial antagonism as it occurs rhetorically through the typical “letter to the editor” forum. In the very words used to state the problem of commemoration, the often absurb and illogical rhetorical arguments against the naming of the highschool, racism is revealed as banal, an everyday evil. Unpressed by events more exigent than the seemingly apolitical decision to name a school or highway, racism remains unexamined critically and therefore unabated in the town.

Through a variety of techniques and tactics Cuddy consistently returns his viewer to the fact that something is being watched, and reproduced as such (if the viewer is in fact a coproducer of aesthetic objects, and not merely subject to a work’s or author‘s authority). While certain techniques of *The Harriet Complex* would appear in loving tribute to early video art—a moment Cuddy certainly feels himself located by, and to take-up—I think they also revitalize video art’s relation to content. The content in this case is racism observed at an extraordinarily local level while extending towards problems of global import: who gets remembered, and how so on the basis of their skin-color? At a micro-political level, Cuddy’s video contains many of the problems we must still confront if racial ressentiment is to be overcome.

The key to activating this overcoming, as Cuddy’s video substantiates, is not to make speech a dirty silence clarified (to paraphrase Wallace Stevens’ terminology), but to make silence “still dirtier”. That is, the more levels of mediation between a work of art and its content—the more semblance and the 'real' are confused by craft—the closer we may feel to the actuality of a social problem in all of its messiness, contradiction, and the different positions of its interlocutors and actors. Or, to put it in the terms of Theodor Adorno: it is only through the mediation of artworks that social contradiction will be presented as truth *beside* political actions, consequences and effects. I feel this being *beside* as I encounter Cuddy’s work again.

Anti Gone (II)

Alertings ached such demands fall in
A family war gains like my violin spell
In spring genome die hands or hostage
Such gestalt-hating dubs sighs allies.

That which we most are breathes instead
Of this a wind of sickness or the bug
Monstrous vermin big insect of what
Unworked sickness what voice was not

At home in us staring out separate
Windows in their hugeness bloated brown
And real stilled by our need to make

Anything stick rotten with the products
Of universality tidbits and littler objects
Of thought dirt pervades invades this space
Age this was for the face whistling with
A piece of platinum in the gums where once

Was the tooth a veil the skull vibrating
Moves plates in place of thinking felt
Shakes and also shifts pain is a morsel

Of this whistling in the bones pain was
A monument couldn’t actually be felt
All at once blood was a veil flush with
The head fresh with a sense of being made.

Another night of this no not now forever
You will bury your brother in a fit of logic
The anger of all men will collapse

Grace gives way to wax blood moons no
Sacrifice excepted no one allowed to live
Or die so undevoured to remembering.

That which knows the what but not
The who this arrow in time’s for you

Like a descent that must ascend like
That which is neither animal nor vegetable

Nor mercurial merely whose reward is boundary
Of undertakings committed in a field

Of force unforeclosed and disavowed
Fitted to a narrative of causes the tissue of which

In ritual the animal must give up the world
To gain anything stinking with names

For what they will do against all their purposiveness
Agape with will neither above nor below

Sewers fill with this misrecognition
The eyes of which are reeking wrecks.

The stones you experience
The suffering at your lips
The stain of conscience

Doubles death’s indifference
Contrives wisdom the stars
Before your very eyes those stones
You will never experience

The nothing that wasn’t flashed
In the different incommensurable
With any bled soundtrack.

Defines the whirlwind
Deifies the thunder
Defines the simple
The simple who

Will open a window
Will desire this particle anxiety.

That sex was not your self
Nor subject to death
Listen to this wind as it
Recedes an irruption of all

That is a double-death
With swiftness siting the stones
Ageless they will always be
For you but never for us

Who was of neither death
Nor life nor entirely of law
Life poured down what could
No longer be consumed

By fire for even the gods
Reject us this sense of conscience
This sense of where nothing
Will go wherever it is put

A type of third-sex the corpse…

When nothing takes fire
This is what is left
Of the fire our names were for
The taking unbounded on all

Sides by song structures
A dance is disaster to this
Numbers lay in wait
And wastes whatever we did.

“All pulcritude is relative”
Does is matter what Montaigne tells us is true?
All these texts are examples

So seldom to go
Back thru what we were

Chaos O which arrow
Was the case and how it drew

Flesh out of earth
How it swerving consecrated

No thing.

“Antigone dies because she’s just a girl and too proud…”