Wednesday, May 13, 2009

Ocean of Data

These unconscious ontologies that permeate my every aesthetic becoming are being remixed, postproduced and/or creatively processed by my body as part of some ongoing desire to philosophically speculate what it means to be human in digitally networked culture. It's as if I cannot stop myself from collecting the most heterogeneous source material available to me everywhere, all the time, i.e. the unobtainable sum total in formation.

The sum total of source material everywhere is never finally summed up as there is always the next instance or occasion of becoming that our bodies faithfully execute (remix, postproduce) without our even thinking about it even though an experiential version of the thought itself may cross our minds (and in crossing, layering our next inevitable becoming with more marked presence so that we can once again lose our creative selves in the process).

My practice-based inquiries into the philosophical nether regions of "wondering" seduce me into the adventure of ideas coupled with the lure of feelings that sweeten the pot while I bet my next reinvention of creative self as artist on a new direction I have yet to seriously pursue. This means that I must once again put my mind to it, but in doing so, embody the difference my next innovative performance is bound to become. Will I direct another formally experimental work of arthouse cinema steeped in the raw emotion of small yet personally significant gestures? Will I start my long-in-coming YouTube confessions? Or will I just finish the novel I started in 1998, the so-called Big Book, the one that details my quest for oblivion?

Everything feels awash in an ur-immersive mesh. I cannot secularize the elements of experience and thought that jab at me at from all sides any more than I can stop myself from remixing the various layers of intersubjective jamming I may have accumulated in the last 48 hours while conversing with 27 people who also tap into their own unconscious hauntologies while mediumistically rendering into vision all of their former, current and future creative selves. The formula I postulated last year still stands:

M = Many
One = Fluid Singularity
1 = Remix-in-process

and conclude

M = One + 1 (always becoming)

(In this scenario vectors gather strength
via an accumulation of causal feelings
+1 +1 +1 +1 +1 +1 +1 +1 +1 +1 +1 +1 +1
feelings relayed into ongoing throbbing intensities
between occasions of aesthetic experience
forming a pattern of energetic transmissions
between vibratory events)

This is why art after philosophy after art can exclude nothing. The network of prehensions will not allow the un- and/or en-folding to happen any other way. Philosophical speculation has no finality because the dreamworld within the world within which the artist as philosopher speculates has no finality. How else are we to innovate our creative selves into the flow of events if not via the postproduction of presence? Before any work of systematization can even begin, the creative process of remixology (of perpetually perishing while "making it new") requires the living organism to continue forging its ongoing aesthetic assemblage into the most unexpected configurations. For me, it's a kind of on-the-fly mash-up of collage technique with montage structure that uses the affective nature of hyperconscious dreamtime situations to filter specific “patterned contrasts” from the flow of assemblages that circulate both externally in my socio-cultural relations but also internally via the customized patches I parlay in my ongoing sequence of deep interior shots. The cinematic quality of the art/life blur is pronounced and at times feels like a remix of articulated theatricality, writerly choragraphy, aesthetically manipulated philosophical speculation, and hungry lust.

Deep inside the actor's studio, there is a swollen tongue flickering away the signifiers and further whetting already damp appetites. As repetition subsides, appetition takes hold and projects my experimental adventure on to screens and walls and bodies and inner corporeal nerve zones like never before.

Philosophy begins with wonder and even when the artist is done speculating and has turned the mechanism off so that their agency may finally rest, the wonder itself remains. It is this remainder that always re-minds me that I need to continue creating once I feign wakefulness and begin prehending the ocean of data that engulfs my inevitable next becoming.

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