posted
  • place: Golden, Colorado

work?

On another front:

When work-for-pay gets no appreciation, positive encouragement, engaged feedback; when personal meetings are replete with wide, open-mouthed yawning and off-topic noise; when there are no collaborative synergies, no facilitation of cooperation, what’s the point? The paycheck. That’s it. What a sad way of going. When management is absent: no thought to productively optimizing the particular talents of the employees, lifting everyone up in an engaged process. I admit, in the past decades, in most situations, I find that the people I chose to surround myself or collaborate with are proactive, positive, creative, and engaged. Here, the antithesis, everyone is so overtasked with multiple projects (in general) that collaboration is only an extra burden, and creativity is focused on how to keep nose above the flood of demands pulling from every side.

The CGS (Colorado Geological Survey) is barely holding on within its new context at the School of Mines. Knowing the Machiavellian politic of academia, I suspect that the organization will gradually be gutted. And, although it may not face a total demise, since there is a legislative mandate behind it, poor management will allow it to simply shrivel into an institutional husk. Prop 112, though, may deal the final blow. If it passes, oil and gas drilling activity will effectively cease in Colorado, and this means the Severance Tax receipts will go away, and that’s where 80% of the CGS budget comes from.

There is no creative spark built into its public face, and with a majority of employees skewed towards retirement, new ideas, processes, or innovations are frowned upon. Yet another human structure that does not reach its potential: on the same track as the wider empire-in-decline …

Days there are numbered, by choice, for several of the staff. Maybe not finger-and-toe digits, but numbered.

posted

stramineous

the earth

the ear

go out

uncover

the first initial

peal

furcate

pier pare n thetic

( thesis antithesis )

( strophe antistrophe )

labrys

masque

{ the early toque in cache }

{ latent galactation lagged }

( buoy beacon morning )

variant

the rigours of the sprays

humus

furrower

of shepherds purses

{ bowers }

{ blows }

naut nau

pistil stamen

( and before the beginnings )

allo

all within

the tropic of the tongue

***/~o

posted
  • place: Boulder, Colorado

event horizons

peristalsis. purge that machine could never achieve. only Light is left. full moon, pull neck back and gaze up. perihelion. azimuth. traverse no azimuth. an old phrase that crept into mind during the winter nights of Iceland. only words here, no blog. no trend-spotting, no riding choking waves of socialized enigma. only transience.

the governor of Colorado says that 300 million in state debt will come from higher education. (because the higher-education sector opposes his policies.) so, I begin to pack bags and chart routes to familiar and unfamiliar ports starting in July. Leubeck will be one stop. there will be many, as it was before. nomadism becomes a partner with networking. and the antithesis of successful integration into the system that I was programmed to perform in. outsider art.

letting notes get more and more cryptic and indeterminate. as a result of the floods of noise that arise when static social embeddedness increases. walk with the flux. feed on the flow, drown in the flood, speed up to “c,” and watch it all reduce to null. flatten and spread into a now of forever. and a place of only here. singularity. trip on event horizon, bruise the shin even as the Lights go out.

dream-forge. and the realization that only great loss, those shivering moments caught replaying between dream and dream, will transform, or, no, they will not. they will only amplify the emptiness. there is little left to do.

posted
  • place: Boulder, Colorado

mapping transitions

almost a month later. in the middle of a conference. mapping transitions. academic discourse. so. stream notes. what do pictues want? god is an artist. reductions (models, models, models, built on each other, intertwined. biocybernetics. science/technology making bio-sciences possible. cloning and computers. extended sense. political economy that runs the world. world of computer station, tangled wires. cybernetics: the steersman. kybernaut. writing as control system. not law, but the actual technologic/semiotic (phonetic) tools. (code writers). conflict of visual orgy and at the time of triumph of the digital (logos). analogical arguments. (dominant). terminator of liquid metal. ultimate simulator. academicians desperately searching for a label. an interpretive system to decode what the hell is going on. building a new model with old embedded pieces which have no inherent difference in structural predicate. sa-mo, sa-mo. formative paradigms are old. 1) copy original 2) artist and work (subject:object) 3) temporality (remember Virilio, huh?) 4) time of gain. uniqueness. copy has more aura than original.

enhancements of amplification (reproduction): are they qualitative improvements? reproductive cloning — an improvement?

actual and mediated. (electronic media is given a certain status of unprecedented power.) “new media.” participates in “massaged” production. mechanistic view. the aesthetics of digital media? (what about defining what the hell “digital media” is? (instead of defining it’s “fit” into the hegemonic/dominant worldview). hybrid aesthetics? why not just toss it out…? simulation. materialistic presence. current, seeking closure in the circuit. remix, unlocking input and output authenticity. (digital images and digital culture and rituals of new media). new vs traditional: imitations. virtuality. ontological status. proper character. procedural, conceptual (don’t fit…). anti-materialist. (medium is not the point). thesis-antithesis. we’re not allowed to make progress? hierarchies of form. perfection of expression. useful ways to talk about objects. (and subject experience). taste. rational cultivation. descriptive systems assume static forms of … aesthetics of change. mechanistic production. potential literature. procedural methods. with certain sensibilities. floods of wards. static bodies in space. reading texts. monolithic and reified forms of presentation. (any tweaking of of meta shakes the whole tree, gimme a chain saw). key forms of reference — generative: Pannini, Turing, Babbage, procedural, Stockhausen, and so on. iterative. new objects. rethink premises of knowledge production. aesthetics is about awareness. (iterative), step beyond — in flux. two feet in the mechanistic…

swarming

taking quantum to its conclusion — points to a movement from product to process to practice — (Saskia Sassen — the “meaning” of the activities in the digital sphere is the total accumulation of all practices that take place in that space … MAKE THE LEAP…

anthropological centrism. mapping transitions. (remembering the new world order is a limited access, top of a hierarchical high). indigenous technology. Inuit Broadcast Corporation. media-maintenance. next5minutes comes up, tactical media. good topic.

reproduction (gathering and redistribution of original energized event creates a pseudo-powerful illusion, but this is purely illusion based on the hegemonic (and static) position of the “reproducer” within an implied “global” order … the photograph in the world order (re-radiated Light from the self.) … some forms of hypertext with image are nice, but. just ’cause it’s horizontal?

Anyone who has common sense will remember that the bewilderments of the eyes are of two kinds, and arise from two causes, either from coming out of the light or from going into the light, which is true of the mind’s eye, quite as much as of the bodily eye; and he who remembers this when he sees anyone whose vision is perplexed and weak, will not be too ready to laugh; he will first ask whether that soul of man has come out of the brighter life, and is unable to see because unaccustomed to the dark, or having turned from darkness to the day is dazzled by excess of light. And he will count the one happy in his condition and state of being, and he will pity the other; or, if he have a mind to laugh at the soul which comes from below into the light, there will be more reason in this than in the laugh which greets him who returns from above out of the light into the den. — Plato’s Cave

caves, CAVES, and caves. technocracy. aristocracy of technology. networks of expensive, institution-oriented situations, (isolated from the Light, Light re-amplified, reflected, refracted, energized). “gotta have content.” flippant sycophant, mouthpiece of the complex. access. high-end polarity. slick-packaged technological. famous last words. manipulation and collaborative interaction. glib passing over any moral embeddedness of the power structure. fair use. attitudes of use.

posted
  • place: Boulder, Colorado

Snorri

networking for survival. looking to rise to the surface. but when it is the Word that still is the over-arching superstructure of the matrix, and it is that very word that is anathema. antithesis. how can it come to be. axe-wielder. Snorri struck down at the thermal pool, from behind, a swift stroke leaving him bleeding into the warm waters, flushing life-water into earth water, mixing Odin’s tears with the sharp stinging excreta of the forge that made Thor’s hammer. all the words on paper did not predict this moment.

the vitality of the country is not linked to the government at all. those who govern do so only of themselves and for other vain matters. the people come and go their ways, and from random collision comes many things. is it different than Europe? there is one mistake that Amurikans make: assuming some kind of homogeneity rules the rest of the world. as there is the media feed. Europe is 350 million anglo white people. bad approximation. it’s slipping by. going it’s own way. as the rest of the world. goes, in circles, in spirals, in the ether between the stars. it’s still there.

but the measure of flows that move us through our be-ing here now cannot be made. if we try to document, we are lost from the moment, not reflecting the brilliance of that revealing of presence in the present.

but is all of this talk, this writing here, these lectures, these speakings, of no value. what-so-ever. oh gee. what then? and anyway, here I cannot write anymore as a travelog. because my motion is only between close-spaced points, and I move by the strength of my own body most of the time. maybe once a week in a car, but otherwise, on a bike. microscopic travels, or maybe mediated travels. there has been a massive increase in email volume. but dislocation has ceased for the time.

posted
  • place: Trondheim, Norway

Iteration Two: Research Plan for Doctoral Studies at UIAH/TAIK

AIMS

The aim of undertaking Doctoral Studies at TAIK/Media Lab is to reflect on two deeply intertwined parts of my life and praxis — the first, 13 years of teaching the creative use of technology-based tools to artists and university-level art students, and the second, near 15 years as a networking artist. This period of intensive engagement has, for several reasons, not allowed for substantial organized research although it has been an exceptionally rich period of experience, exploration, and exchange.

Art, at its social and human core, is an action centered on the exchange of creative energies as they are attenuated by an infinite number of mediative (material) carriers. The artist is that person who seeks to engage in a dialogue of energies with an Other. These two proto-definitions are the basis of my praxis. The experience and wisdom gained in that praxis will directly inform my research.

Creative activities at the confluence of art and communication (science and technology) are taking on an increasingly important role in cultural production. The territory mapped by these activities, especially their impact on rapidly changing social structures and systems, is an area generally not well understood. Occupying the dynamic field of that intersection, while focusing on specific threads of interest, is a primary task of the doctoral research plan. more “Iteration Two: Research Plan for Doctoral Studies at UIAH/TAIK”

posted
  • place: Trondheim, Norway

Iteration One: Research Plan for Doctoral Studies at UIAH/TAIK

BACKGROUND

It is first pertinent to precede the research plan with a brief overview of my rather eclectic background.

My own relationship with technology was deeply influenced by my father who worked in various capacities for the US government and MIT’s Lincoln Laboratory as a telecommunications expert, operations analyst, and engineer. It received a firm grounding during a rigorous applied education in Geophysical Engineering with a specialization in Potential Fields Methods (Time-Domain Electromagnetics, Gravity, and Magnetics) at the top school in the world for that particular specialty. An unsatisfactory career as an international explorationist for a multinational oil company ended with my decision to pursue photography, a long-time personal avocation. After becoming a Master Printer (in black&white photography) in NYC and working in several professional photographic positions there, I returned to school and studied, notably, with the experimental film-maker Stan Brakhage. It was during these studies, concluding with an MFA in Photography/Video/Film that I began teaching and spending a significant amount of time in Europe, where I was frequently exhibiting my photographic work in Germany and France. I subsequently relocated to Reykjavík, Iceland where I started up a modest Photography and New Media program for students at the Icelandic College of Art. Since 1995 I have been working as a nomadic artist and free-lance educator teaching a range of workshops in 12 countries that orbit around the issues of networked computing, technology, creativity, dialogue, and personal activism. more “Iteration One: Research Plan for Doctoral Studies at UIAH/TAIK”

posted
  • place: Reykjavík, Iceland

word-dialogue-Light-revolution-action

I would like to dedicate this work, in retrospect, to Dan and Stephanie Gaetke, friends who contributed to the book, and who died on July 17th, 1996 when TWA Flight 800 exploded and crashed off of Long Island on its way to Paris. [ed: as of the day I found out of their passing from Leslee.]

This is the title of a 300-page photocopy edition (of 55) that was produced from visual and sonic work sent in from around 80 artists and others from 30 countries. The introductory essay describes the intent. The Museum of Modern Art in NYC just happens to groove on this kind of stuff for their Library collection, so they just acquired a copy for that very musty purpose of Archiving-the-Objects that are spawned from life/art. An earlier form of the essay grew out of a performance I did way back in 1989 entitled Antithesis/Dialogue. Included with the book is a 90-minute audio cassette of sonic material.

One might have put these words in a circle. That is, they form a cycle of active life: the active evolutionary life of the individual as a member of the human collective. As this is the title appearing on the invitations for this project, the assumption is that the works following somehow arise from the vital operation of this cycle. This book and cassette is about all five of these words — as they relate to carnate be-ing and do-ing and to spiritual development. Your reading of these Words constitutes a definite Action stimulated by Light, leading, perhaps, first to Dialogue, then on to Revolution!

The historical energy behind this project evolved primarily from the writings of Martin Buber and Paolo Freire, and also in part from: Yuri Olesha, J.M.G. LeClezio, Allan Sekula, Thomas Mann, Hermann Hesse, Lucy Lippard, André Malraux, The Bible, Amiri Baraka, Eugen Herrigel, L.S. Vygotsky, Fela Anikulapokute, Samuel Beckett, William Blake, Victor Burgin, Roland Barthes, Henry Miller, John Heartfield, August Sanders, Albrecht Dürer, Guy Debord, Amadeo Modigliani, Alpha Blondy, Edvard Munch, Snorri Sturlisson, John Coltrane, Bob Marley, John Lennon, Henri Lartigue, David Hockney, Tacitus, Miles Davis, Henry Fox-Talbot, Christian Boltanski, Stan Brakhage, Bruce Elder, Wassily Kandinsky, Simone Weil, Robert Frank, among many others. Energies in the present moment emanate from all of you who are in active contact with one another, sharing your creative spirits.

As an individual human, it is impossible for my contacts to span all human categories, but I feel that this project did cross over some boundaries. The idea of categories that control who-interacts-with-whom-in-life has always been a disagreeable concept to me. Why don’t scientists talk with artists, artists with workers, workers with non-workers — in fact, why do these categories exist at all? And of course, what about the most oppressive categories — those based on physical appearance, gender, genetic history, economic power, or intelligence — which limit free dialogue among the people in the world? I would not venture to explain here why human culture and behavior is what it is other than to observe we are a species on the brink of Something that we do not fully comprehend. We must, in the words of Martin Buber and without regard to artificial social categories, “enter into dialogue, into a genuine dialogue with one another” ! Direct, un-Media-ted contact! In concept this book&cassette works at creating a truly border-less community space wherein free dialogue might take place. But this kind of project is not an end in itself. The inherent success relies on a continuance, a continuity of living dialogue.

The way that Life is defined, created, and shared is a temporal and cultural reality. This cultural reality must be constantly confronted and critically examined so that both the culture and Life might evolve. By bringing our critical Life energies into productive, honest, and consistent Dialogue with the members of our community, we act as catalysts for cultural change and Living (spiritual) (r)evolution. We must begin to take responsibility for our human rights and obligations through this open contact with each other.

Dialogue stimulates genesis in the Language of Life — it is a revolutionary art itself when in critical juxtaposition to silence. Dialogue, as pure expression of heart and soul, is the core of all meaningful activism. Even as the literal and visual icons of culture carry dynamic social values, so Dialogue actively carries and transmits the social and spiritual consciousness. Dialogue is critical at all times — each coming day brings a new imperative for communication. It is essential that we be involved in this living Dialogue, this Logos, in order to catalyze Life on through the Modern Void of Spiritless Commodification, on to a higher plane of Being.

As with the first book project, there is a very special thanks to my partner, Magga Björg Jónsdóttir, for her expansive patience in listening to me complain about responses to my various mailings, and for her good loving. I would then thank those who had the time and energy to submit works for this project, as well as those who had the monetary capital to subscribe. It would have been my wish to simply distribute free copies to all contributors, but I neither had the capital to do this myself, nor wished to take the time and energy to find someone who did. Whatever, it is my hope that this book that you are reading has fallen into your hands at THE auspicious moment of your open-ness. Thank you, and Enjoy!

John Hopkins, 29 December 1991

there are 4 copies of the book left. If you are interested, I would pass one along to you for a cost of U$D200.00 plus postage via PayPal.

posted
  • place: Reykjavík, Iceland

word-dialogue-Light-revolution-action

A limited 55-exemplar edition 300-page photocopy book+cassette — word-dialogue-Light-revolution-action — was produced from visual and sonic work sent in from around 80 artists and others from 30 countries in response to this invitation (pdf). The introductory essay below describes the intent. The Museum of Modern Art in NYC just happens to groove on this kind of stuff in their Library collection, so they just acquired a copy for that very musty purpose of Archiving-the-Objects that are spawned from life/art. An earlier form of the essay grew out of a performance I did way back in 1989 entitled Antithesis/Dialogue. Included with the book is a 90-minute audio cassette of sonic material.

front cover, Xerox Book II, Reykjavík, Iceland, April 1991

One might have put the words in a circle. That is, they form a cycle of active life: the active evolutionary life of the individual as a member of the human collective. As this is the title appearing on the invitations for this project, the assumption is that the works contained arise from the vital operation of this cycle. This book and cassette is about all five of these words — as they relate to carnate be-ing and do-ing and to spiritual development. Your reading of these Words constitutes a definite Action stimulated by Light, leading, perhaps, first to Dialogue, then on to Revolution!

Cassette Side A

Vm
P
d

(00:46:16, stereo audio, 110.1 mb)

Cassette Side Z

Vm
P
d

(00:45:52, stereo audio, 111.1 mb)
more “word-dialogue-Light-revolution-action”

posted
  • place: Boulder, Colorado

(Polaroid) portrait, Jennifer

Polaroid portrait #8/42 (Jennifer), documentation from the "Antiesis::Dialogue" performance, April ©1989 hopkins/neoscenes.
Polaroid portrait #8/42 (Jennifer), documentation from the “Antithesis::Dialogue” performance, April ©1989 hopkins/neoscenes.

[ED: Apologies, this now-ancient analog medium, Polaroid, was tough to keep clean, not to mention these 4×5-inch prints were dragged around the world and sat in numerous storage units in a number of states during the intervening 30+ years …]

posted
  • place: Boulder, Colorado

AntiThesis: Dialogue notes

Typed notes from the first few days of the Antithesis: Dialogue performance:

I am sitting, awake, at my desk. Before consulting the Oracle, the I Ching I dream awake of you. What to say when you arrive. I dream awake of you. And thank god it is not long a time until you are here. And, I will speak with you well before you read this, so, I need not speak of news: with my performance beginning tomorrow evening. I have the desk in the gallery. A small old, battered desk, with a crummy chair and a telephone. And some maps to my apartment. And that is all. Much to think about. And I meet another well-known British-American artist, Sue Coe. She is great. Very cool. We speak about the revolution…
+++
Or. So. The next day, the Thesis begins. Phone calls all morning even though it has not officially begun. Friends in NY and Virginia. Cool, But my breakfast goes cold.
+++
Much later. Far into the next day. A quiet spell. After a very late night. I begin this performance with about ten good friends. Like it should begin. (including a renegade group: we named them the Minstrels of Distress, visiting with some madness for a serenade at 0200 this morning. It will be a long week, I can tell. And I am happy that there is a break here. I just wonder how many times there will be here. to sit in silence. Oh, yeah, I wish you were here in this box, and we could perform… It is strange to look out the window and see the outside. And not be able to go out.
+++
Later this same day. Pretty quiet. A few calls — a good friend, a Japanese painter — a true painter, one who lives to paint — calls to say that he is in town from LA for a few days, and so he will stop by later this week. Cool. And then, surprise, my Thesis Chairman calls and comes over: ends up staying for two hours, talking. We speak about many things, including this planned move to Iceland. Whatever, I am pleased that he comes by — and speaks so directly with me. And so it goes. But, now, I am alone again with my thoughts and reflections. I work on some slides (I think that I will not carry so much work to Europe this summer — rather carry slides of work. Much Lighter!). And that gets boring (and still eight days to go … The room looks different: it becomes a box in reality. Small, the outside seems further away. Night has fallen. The first twenty-four ours almost done.
+++
Up early, in anticipation of the first visitors. Glad no one is here yet. And glad no one came later last night. I have a strange sleep and strange thoughts. Moving in different spaces and so on into the night. I wake up. Thinking of you and where you are.
+++
Sitting still. Listening to birds singing outside. The clouds are always interesting here. And especially in the spring: one never knows what will be seen. Storms, bright blue sky, sun, and so on. Shadows cross the close hills. Black against the white clouds. Flat earth out one way — to the east — and jagged mountains to the west.
+++
Oh yes. I hope you don’t mind: this letter may be the only ‘real’ documentation of this performance. I have made a few Polaroid portraits, and everyone is signing the guest book, but other than that, there is not so much to worry about — this is one important point about the entire performance — that there will be no evidence to show off later. The only people that can experience this are the ones who come down and visit or call… (and you, since I am writing this).
+++
So, I shall put down here some of my impressions so far.
+++
Conversations. With one person, with two persons, with three persons, with four persons, with five persons. Different things happen. It seems that two or three is the limit for a conversation that begins to de-construct the barriers of the Ego. Not that this is a new idea — but I think perhaps that I should keep the numbers of people at any one time to 2 or 3. In the sense of keeping the intensity up. Although I have only two rooms here. And so on.
+++
What else? Well. I am stuck here. And I look at the grass lawn with some envy, the kids playing on it. Oh yes. I have decided to move out of this place on the 17th. Gees, so you won’t get to hang-out here for too long. And then we will be vagabonds on the road. Yes. In the Heart of Amurika. Shit. I can’t even imagine this summer. There seems so much to do.
+++
And I pace the house. And begin to watch a storm come in from the west. The clouds large and dark, edges soft and diffused against the sky. Listening to the mariachi music (‘e1 mexique). And, so, I will do a self-portrait for you right now, okay? I make it. It now dries. I look too serious. (the storm comes closer). But, on day two, this is what I look like.
+++
Frightening, isn’t it? Looking at photographs of someone. What are they. And I think into the future of Avantiere with Werner and the rest of the folks. That I may not make objects like the others do. I may end up working like Joseph Bueys. (the co-founder of the German Green Party. or something.) He was a true avant-garde and a true revolutionary. And that is where I am turning.

“The object of a great revolution is the attainment of clarified, secure conditions ensuring a general stabilization on the basis of what is possible at the moment.: 00 R. Wilhelms translation of the I Ching.
+++
And. Well. Perhaps this time in ‘cdsland will be a time to bring the forces of the revolution together, consolidate them, understand them, and then begin the action. Do you still want to sit in a box with me? And the next day arrives. The wind gets strong. And I wonder at my own writing, I am making some words from the special madness of this isolation. (Although I am glad that no one comes to the house now. And I get nervous just thinking about how many will be coming in the next days. Only about fifteen, well, twenty, and so many more. I will have information, just seeing ul whoulnone actually shows up, and who doesn’t. And, well. I just don’t know. Still, how this performance ul isulnone what it ‘means.’ and so on. I feel like I am shifting into and out of dreams every second, just following my mind to places here and places there. shit. and so on. Unable to focus on anything precise and sharp. No critical thinking. (the wind brings a bit of rain even with the sun still shining. And with watching the rain, mind drifts for many minutes. The background sound of the Latino radio announcer. A familiar voice from a Sunday morning show. He speaks about activities in the Latino community. (one storm has passed).
+++
I go to sit out on the Balcony. And read a pamphlet “Marxists and Christians” given to me by a Soviet friend: written in the USSR. It is very interesting and I have just written to the author. It will be interesting to hear from him — he has an extraordinary insight into the destructive phenomenon that so is a part of Western Culture these days. And on the radio, musik from the Andes (Peru). And my mind slips and falls. I sit down with a fat book, and begin to drum on the cover. Not sounding so well. Listening in my mind to your drumming. And feeling your energy. That it is night fall for you, after our small exchange of words. And this Madness continues, and only into the second 24 hours a bit. And much more to go . I do feel some creeping Madness, but a righteous Madness, a clear Madness. Leaving much open, and nothing closed. I do not know. And in this not-knowing, I think I shall find something. I find some changes in this thing in my throat. But do not still understand the destiny of all this. Jah Rastafari. King of Kings, Lord or Lords, Conquering Lion of the tribe of Judah. Jah. Ras Tafari Makonnen. And so it goes, love. I Chant Down Babylon here. In some way. Not anything else. As Babylon sticks into my throat. And so on. I change some way. But I do not know how at all. And might not know precisely until I may look back from some vantage in the Desert, this summer. In the blessed Desert, the High Mojave. some herbstalk. Deep in thought, deep in mind, wishes push into the body. To make all this a physical evolution. And not such a surficial thing. Substance. And, please, my love, here I drift in mind, if you wish to listen to me read this, that is what you should do, bring this with you and I shall read it in the dark of the moon in the desert.
+++
Another small storm tracks through, obscuring the sun for a few moments.
+++
Bright clouds, sun. Some Arab students bring family out to play volleyball in the park outside the window. A picnic. And all that. I go on.
+++
Vibrating in head. Hearing voices, my voices, in conversation with?
+++
Perhaps I should just hold onto this until you are here? There is so much strangeness, I do not want you to think that I am lost in space of thought. But just allowing some freedom of thought-to-thought, the untied movement of mind jumping, drumming into the soul. And all that. God, I wish you were here. And I also think about my EgoCentricity. How I am with all these people. Yet a good number of visits. And a few moments of silence here. Well, perhaps not silence. I look down at this machine, and begin to listen to the sounds around. First, the static clapping of this machine, this typewriter. Slamming letter to letter to word to sentence. Punctuation. Leaving spaces. Noisy spaces, spacing. But I listen to the sound purely, or, try to. When I pause to think what to write, the sound leaves me. Re-producing thoughts make sound. Make the energy of sound. When silent thinking, the silence is replaced by the Musik. As I have written in so many letters, in the mail, that I was grooving on some kind of musik when I was writing and thinking about what to write. What was on the radio or RayDeeOh, as I-and-I say. What was coming down and all that. I just still listening. To the musik, now, Burning Spear. A tape from some other day in some other space. Musik. And then behind all that, the noise of children in play. All expressions of life in that play (one wonders if the culture has yet begun its insidious action of destruction of play in these same children. One wonders. Whether the Ideologues have had some say in the living dreams these children live within. Turning the seeing into some only sight. Deducing, reducing, destroying that pure first sight. (one does not need second sight until, unless the first is taken away). Good god. And the sounds of the road, some motorcycles drive by loudly. You will hear them: yes, even the sounds will be different. Compared to Germany, it will be loud and crazy. People here do not hold back so much although in other ways, they hold back more (or, maybe it’s just me? But just a small military presence: like most of the world. Amerika exports arms so there will be no war here. Although you might see in the newspapers in K’f6ln, about the “drug-war.” It is a pure excuse to bring hard troops into enforcing the will of the government and the powers that control, or seek total control of the place, this USA. Amurika. I just don’t know.
+++
And so, this action goes on. Moving into 48 hours. Almost 200 to go. I wonder. I wonder. My brother calls from New York City. And we talk calmly. For a time. About “what’s happening.” And then when the call is done. I again (in retrospect), I feel I have not said enough. That in person I repeatedly do not exist in the fore-front of being. And that I am almost not “here.” I am somewhere else. Thinking ahead into the future, or reflecting some mythical past. But, what is the here and now? How does one exist in that place? It is terrible to overlook the development of the understanding of the here-and-now. Yet that is what I am left with. That I do not have an understanding of how to be here-and-now. Can I know this from clear dialectic examination (in the retrospect) of my actions? That I might improve the future actions? Or perhaps let go of this rational understanding and experience. I begin to see the pattern of incomplete action. Holding back. Some miserable exercise this “Dialogue” turns out to be. It merely points out my weaknesses, my lacks, my inabilities, my mistakes. A pointless exercise in self-critique. And continuously leaves me with no understanding of the change that needs to occur. And perhaps I have formulated a question for the I Ching in this. Yes. The I Ching.
+++
And in some ways it speaks. Fellowship. Possession in Great Measure. It leaves me with positive feelings and some understanding. Confidence. But is this the way just to earn confidence? Or does one push further? Interpreting the signs, the answers. Yes, is this non–reflexive state merely the pushing on? Just pushing on into the. As I have said in my writing. And so on. So it goes. And so. Und so. encore. Etc. I stop to make some postcards. (I get a couple postcards back from Mail Art places.) And wonder what all that is about. But push on into another place altogether. I keep writing. Like this is some thesis. But I would wish that I could make something of this. (vanity). And so on. Into the night. And the evening is quiet. I certainly wonder about the number of participants. Fear? of me? what Others might take away from this. Independent of my action or mis-action. Thinking of ways that I can be positive. But perhaps thinking too much. Just keep acting. And so on.
+++
But even the Dialectic is a constructed form. This check and balance and all that. Like, I don’t need to entertain the guest by entertainment. I must do my work. Process rather tan result. (this is the principle related to the dis-need for documentation). That documentation is another rational pitfall. Okay. So, the movement is cut off (the secret of the non-broadcast-audio-telephone conversations. One-sided.) I keep writing. While no one is here. And wonder about the success and failure of thin happenings like this. I may claim absolutely nothing. This is some modesty? No, not even that. (I interrogate meself): What is this for. ?
It is for nothing. (It isn’t for nuthin’.) It is. Uh. Well, long story.
Got nothin’ to do with, well, I just don’ know.
+++
No dialectic. Nothing direct. Not spontaneous, not unstructured. And boredom. The repeat visitors. And who they are. And that focus of uplifting. Not sure whether that attention is good or not. What of all the others that won’t come. And the fewer that show, the fewer that, well, the more typing that I get done. Shit, man. But silence echoes failure in the Modern part of my mind. (the “spiritual minarets” fall. are fallen, much before the Final Babylon.) And then I stretch not so much. I feel that some-one will come here soon. I feel the energy.
+++
And I am presumptuous. Not feeling true. I pace to and fro in front of this machine. Here into the third day of this. The time passes slowly. And few come. Going with it. Fuck, I just patter loosely. Dis-continuous. And that the conversation with self lags into more and more dysfunction. Each passing hour of confinement. That the confinement becomes more central. That I do not mind this space. For I have lived in Cities. In small spaces. And marked spots. Defined spaces of other’s lives. But here. Well. in my space. temporarily mine. Hah. Ownership. But I must remove the mask of confinement just as I put on the mask of ownership. And again, that Egocentricity. This is the hardest ‘ism to shed. Egoism. It is the heart of all exclusive ideologies.
+++
If the root be in confusion, nothing will be well-governed — says Confucius.
+++
Jesus. Motions , every one, affect the path. The path climbing treacherous cliffs. And sliding down smooth faces of relative curvature. And Quantum spaces. Words come to a costumed rescue. (getting lost in some place). I have much the otherwise. Directness. and more of this silence. The space changes with presence. The evolution changes with presence. But how? Is it forward motion. A do not wish to just explore and relate. Shit. More of the same to be stripped off. Better to ignore the past and the future, just exist in this room. Forward, backward drop away when there is no past or future. Progress and evolution, digression. they vanish. Into the silent explorations. The dis-documented.
+++
Who cares. Pen to paper. No-shows. What is all this. What is all this. I-and-I just doing the normal. The same. Not so strange or synchronous. Just reactive? Well. No. But I have not been able to cross that place.
+++
So, I ask dreams to mete some answer to the throat. I ask this outside the I Ching. But with the same. The same? And so I think to do work on what needs to be “done.” What of that. I think to edit contact sheets, to decide what needs doing, printing, for the future. But, I suppose I must avoid the trap of sameness, in difference. That I have nothing to offer. That explains the silence. But what to hold to. I go with no actions. No creations. And only the amigos, amigas. Some strangers, and I am a silent bidder. And Critical of all words. And persons. What is this. More verbiage. but not more understanding. Spring Break in Hell? What I did after I got back to School after Spring Break. Uh, titles. I sat in my house for two weeks. And not even my house, just my apartment. And got many phone calls or so. That people call sometimes. But here a silent night. I suspect that some might come here late. God, so, do I go to bed? Or just stay here at this infernal desk. That haunts. And I have not yet made much moves into the light.
+++
I dream of the landscape of my childhood in winter. Or, rather, I dream dreams set in the landscape of my childhood in winter.
+++
Far into the third day. Maybe pushing into the fourth or so.
+++
Musik. But pushing into some Lennon/Ono. Stuff. And different thoughts and juxtapositions. With not so much happening. In a way. And different than yesterday. I still write, though. And continue the experiment. Better than yesterday, in one or two ways. Like just writing here. With absolutely nothing to be said at all.
+++
I just write. Looking out windows and all that. Football players and Children. Like, I got nothin’ ta say.
+++
The next. Ex Post Facto. I continue the steps of the institution. And the Committee convenes. And that is over quick, with not so much dialogue. But over. Another hurdle. Gone by, another let-down of the system, I should not have expected as much, anyway. Perhaps I need a bigger system to counter. Yup. And so on.
+++
Mail pours in. Chris and Wendy bring …

(here the typing clatter-chatter ends, and the performance continues without remarking…)

… [here the typing clatter-chatter ends, and the performance continues without remarking and with minimal documentation] …

posted
  • place: Boulder, Colorado

AntiThesis: Dialogue essay

AntiThesis: Dialogue MFA performance, Boulder, Colorado, April 1989

ANTITHESIS:DIALOGUE
By
John Charles Hopkins
M.F.A., University of Colorado, 1989
A thesis submitted to the faculty
of the
Graduate School of the University of Colorado
in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of
Master of Fine Arts
Department of Fine Arts
1989

This action, Antithesis:Dialogue, was based in the principle that productive, dialectic contact between members of the human community is a prerequisite for cultural evolution. Formally, as outlined in the invitations, it was an action for communication between artist and community, for communication within the community, against the dialectic sterility of the Modern Art Gallery, where objects are worshiped and valued above human contact, against the predominant mentality of artist-hiding-behind-object, and against the consumerist commodification of art in America. The means for this affrontation of the traditional was embedded in both the form of the action and the function of the dialogue that ensued. The way art is defined, created, and shared — the role of art — is a temporal and cultural reality. This cultural reality must be constantly confronted and critically examined so that the culture may evolve to a higher state of understanding. One way to stress cultural understanding is by the conscious juxtaposition of new or different values or behavior patterns. As an artist, I have the opportunity to introduce new visions or new ways-of-being to my culture, moreover, I have the responsibility to do this. I therefore made the conscious decision to deviate from the normal behavior pattern in the execution of my thesis project, hence the title, Antithesis:Dialogue.

Antithesis:Dialogue was a continuous action that took place between the fourteenth and twenty-third of April, l989, in apartment number 3007, 1475 Folsom Street, Boulder, Colorado, United States of America. I was physically present within the confines of the apartment for the entire two-hundred-forty-hour duration of the action. Approximately one-hundred-seventy people took part in the action; one-hundred-twenty through direct attendance, and fifty by telephone (additionally, I conducted a half-hour lecture with an audience of sixty people in the Fine Arts Gallery by audio-telephone and I involved an additional seventy students from Mead Elementary School by post and telephone). On average, people stayed for about four hours, with a good number that stayed over a twenty-four hour period or visited repeatedly. An austere installation in the Fine Arts Gallery consisting of a small desk, chair, telephone, and directions to the apartment was aimed to attract interaction from the gallery-attending public. The installation also established the purposeful emptiness of the gallery: that is, a non-exhibition. Invitations were hand-delivered or mailed to over two-hundred people, with encouragement by word-of-mouth action. I required my regular students to come over and present some of their current work to whomever was present at the time in lieu of not having class. I made Polaroid portraits of a limited number of participants. Being acutely aware of the objectification that transpires through documentation of art, I avoided any systematic documentation except a personal record; having guests sign a guest book. I did not want the event to become the document of the event. more “AntiThesis: Dialogue essay”

posted
  • place: Boulder, Colorado

AntiThesis: Dialogue invitation

Following is the invitation to my MFA performance at CU-Boulder:

I had many things to write, but I will not with ink and pen write unto thee: But I trust I shall shortly see thee, and we shall speak face to face. Peace be to thee. Our friends salute thee. Greet the friends by name. — The Third Epistle of John 1:13,14

AntiThesis: Dialogue

a performance, Boulder, Colorado, April 1989

Invitation:
ANTITHESIS: DIALOGUE
A PERFORMANCE-ACTION WITH JOHN HOPKINS,
APRIL 14th – 23rd AT 1475 FOLSOM, APARTMENT NUMBER 3007,
BOULDER, COLORADO, USA

Meet a stranger. Say things to another human being. Be listened to. Engage in lively dialectic conflicts. Shoot the s__t. Blah Blah Blah Bla. Talk trash. Be quiet. Dig it. Write or call if you can’t come over. I read and answer all correspondence. (P.O. Box 2275, Boulder, CO 80306). You may wish to bring readings, objects, body, mind, spirit, friends, materials, thoughts, words, slides, actions, koans, food, drink, a sleeping bag, consumables, ideas, concepts, and your SELF. Open-ness is a primary concern. So, give me a call, drop me a line, stop by for a visit (I am approximately 10 minutes northeast of main campus). Anytime is a good time. more “AntiThesis: Dialogue invitation”

posted
  • place: Boulder, Colorado

to my thesis adviser

[ED: The following was written in March 1989 to the chair of my MFA thesis committee at CU-Boulder. It hints at the endemic bullshit that was going on in the Photography section of the Art and Art History Department at the university. The entire department went into academic receivership not too long after I graduated (successfully) and left the country. It also expresses additional background concerning my final thesis project “Antithesis Dialogue” that took place (successfully!) shortly after this letter was written.]

[Prof.] Alex [Sweetman],

It is not surprising that you are standing in adamant opposition to what I plan to do, claiming misunderstanding. It does not surprise me at all. In the two-and-a-half years that I have been here, it seems that the Photography area thrived on misunderstanding, miscommunication, and mistrust. An unfortunate state of affairs, but not surprising. Dialogue? What’s that? Sharing? What’s that? Favoritism? We know what that is. And so on.

All the while, you have claimed to encourage me to do “something different.” Well, it is happening, whether you regard it as a thesis or not. I just hope you begin to exhibit some of the openness that you profess to have. I am well aware that the contents of this letter so far are a serious indictment about the “situation.” But only because there is no relationship between you and me: only institution. Despite all those trips to my house for reasons unspecified*, there was never much dialogue beyond the barest surface.

And this incident with my grade form is so imminently typical. You act as though I have made no contribution to the program in the time I have been here, no volunteer assistance, and no effort to do the work that we agreed upon for the independent study. Not to mention the work of helping hang the show in Mackay Auditorium. Is this some kind of balance-sheet situation? For what it is worth, I believe that you agreed to this when we were in Barbara’s office? I certainly am willing to do work if I am given the authority to get to it—without this interminable “next week” syndrome. I don’t have the time to fool around. However, I would like you to fill out and turn in the grade form, as it has almost been a year.

The next day, I rest on my anger and let it pass. The trials of your system are not so important. I understand your level of attention to my work in how it is measured: lost assignments—handed in and vanished; letters misplaced and unread and unanswered—don’t speak to me about miscommunication. As for my thesis, following are points of importance to me and reasoning behind the exercise/activity:

1) Absence of objects. Our culture is a cult of the object: money being the epitome. I personally am tired of the consumerist aspect of art-object-in-Amurika. I know that hoarding and showing objects will not save me or anyone else. Although I am completely capable (both spiritually and physically) of making as strong an art object as anyone in this (non)community, I have decided that activity is best reserved for audiences (in Europe and privately) that are interested in that experience. This activity exists independent of your likes and dislikes.
 
2) The gallery in Amurika has become a dead space, devoid of dialectic interaction. So, I am not to be much of a part in it, by choice. The space of my artistic dialectic is beyond the psychic reality of [Victor] Burgin—and it crosses many physical and ideological borders. I have seen too many exhibitions come and go in the CU Galleries with the same crowd wandering in for the (let’s dress in Black!) opening. Yawn.
 
3) This action is a direct promotion of dialogue and direct contact between artist and community: I have seldom encountered in any way free exchange—I am open to interaction (as I also believe you are not—that you cannot even see what I am doing). The spontaneity of this type of dialogue is intimidating to many, and I believe it to be a loss to the community that dialogue such as this is a rarity—that most artists are cornered into the hole of (hide-behind-object) by a culture of Mass Media. I counter that directly in the entire way I work.
 
4) As for any record of the action: I will be logging all interactions. There will be a variety of scheduled events: everything from students having to present group projects (as I will be home the entire week) to a “panel” party with the subject of “the concept of dialogue.” I am receiving strong community support. I know the action will be a positive experience for all involved by word of mouth. I am not doing blanket TeeVee advertising or using the Goodyear Blimp. This is a community action in the true sense of community.

***
So, if you have constructive criticism as opposed to demeaning commentary and will engage in a dialogue, I am ready and willing to speak with you. I have contacted the other members of the Committee and have suggested that a reconvening is desired.
***
As for the independent study: I can live with it on my record; I really don’t care, especially after your attitude-attack on Friday. I don’t need bullshit like that, and I consider it a personal affront. I have always been willing to put my hands in positive activity during the time I have been a student (and even before).

I hope you made it this far and I hope that we will be able to resolve this conflict.

John

* scoring from and smoking pot with my room-mates…