Gilles Deleuze on D. H. Lawrence's Three Manners of Relating to the Sun

Enculage (A Portrait of Deleuze and D. H. Lawrence) 

(SA/2025) [1]

  

'Men should group themselves into a new order of sun-men ... 

walking each in his own sun glory, with bright legs and uncringing buttocks' [2]

 

 

I.

 

The first thing to say is that Deleuze's writing is not always easy to understand. 

 

Even the Google AI assistant admits that his work is difficult due to its density and the fact that he employs highly specialised language, makes numerous obscure references to other philosophers and disciplines, and rarely bothers to explain himself to the reader who is left to think through his esoteric concepts as best they can (filling in gaps and making vital connections as they go).   

 

However, as with other French thinkers of his generation, I think one is rewarded if one only makes the effort and puts the time in to read Deleuze, carefully, and with a certain generosity of spirit. Of course there will be times when he'll make you roll your eyes or sigh with exasperation, but so too will there be moments of joy and revelation.  

 

 

II. 

 

From November 1980 to March 1981, Deleuze gave a lecture-seminar series entitled Spinoza: The Velocities of Thought. 

 

In the 14th of these seminars (there were fifteen in total), he discusses the two definitions of the body given us by Spinoza: one concerned with the relation of movement (i.e., the kinetic understanding of the body) and one concerned with the power of being affected (i.e., the dynamic understanding of the body) [3]. 

 

Half way through the seminar, however, Deleuze digresses in order to consider writers and artists who share an obsession with the sun and asks how their solar-infused thinking might connect to the work of Spinoza. 

 

One of these writers is D. H. Lawrence and it's Deleuze's remarks on Lawrence - someone he names along with Nietzsche, Kafka, and Artaud as a true heir to Spinoza (whether he knows it or not) - that most interest me here ...

 

 

III. 

 

According to Deleuze, the body is composed not so much of organs, but of an infinity of extensive parts: 

 

"These extensive parts belong to me according to a certain relation, but these extensive parts are perpetually subject to the influence of other parts which act upon them, and which don't belong to me."

 

So, to give a rudimentary example, skin is something Deleuze considers his and which forms an important part of his body. But the solar energetic particles that act as heat upon his skin are external forces. Skin cells might act "according to a certain relation that is precisely characteristic" of his body, but SEPs "have no other law than the law of external determinations". 

 

Whenever one exclaims 'I'm hot!' one is admitting that an external body (the sun) acts on one's own body. To perceive that one's skin is beginning to burn is to become conscious of the fact that one inhabits a universe that is not mind dependent or under human control (and that one really should've applied some additional sunscreen).   

 

Okay: so far, so straightforward; but also, so what? 

 

Well, according to Deleuze, this example allows us to gain a concrete understanding of what is meant by pantheism - a concept found not just in the work of Spinoza, but also in the writings of D. H. Lawrence; an author who "constituted for himself a kind of English pantheism" and promoted his own form of sun-worship [4]. 

 

Deleuze wants to know how sun-loving pantheists like Lawrence live and feel and he posits that there are, "generally speaking, three ways of being in relation to the sun" ... 

 

 

IV.

 

Firstly, there's the wrong way: the way of the majority of modern holidaymakers. Those whom Lawrence thinks vulgar and contemptible; those who lie naked like pigs on fashionable beaches: 

 

"He finds that these people live poorly. There you have his idea. It was also Spinoza's idea that people live poorly, and if they are wicked, it's because they live poorly; fine. They live poorly, they dump themselves onto the beach, and they understand nothing about the sun. If they were to understand something about the sun, after all, says Lawrence, they would come out of it more intelligent and improved." 

 

As soon as they put their clothes back on, they are as grey and as filled with bitterness as before; "they lose nothing of their virtues and vices". Essentially, they remain at the most basic and naive level of knowledge and think of the sun as no more than some kind of tanning machine in the sky; or something that "makes the thermometer rise!" [5].      

 

 

V.

 

The second manner of relating to the sun is one that is a bit more knowledgeable, though not merely in a theoretical or abstract sense; these people have a "practical comprehension of the sun" and, at the same time, they know how to compose the relations of their body in greater relation to the sun.   

 

Such a person might be a 19th-century still life painter who goes out into nature:

 

"He has his easel; this is a certain relation. He has his canvas on the easel; this is another relation. There is the sun, and the sun does not remain immobile. Fine, so what is he going to do? What is it that I’m calling this knowledge of the second kind? He will completely change the position of his easel; that is, he is not going to have the same relation to his canvas depending on whether the sun is high, or the sun is about to set." 

 

Van Gogh is a good example of such (even if he was eventually driven a little crazy by the sun) [6]. 

 

It was by being out in the elements and by lying on the ground in order to get just the right angle to paint the setting sun that Vincent learnt how to compose relations and raise himself to "a certain comprehension of causes". And it was only at that point that he could begin to describe himself as a sun-lover (i.e., one posessing a genuine affinity with the sun, even if it leads to madness). 

 

This is the second kind of knowledge; a completely different state from the one in which the holidaymaker tans his hide in the sun:

 

"Here, at the second level, there is already a kind of communion with the sun. Peruse Van Gogh's letters; it's obvious that when he is painting these huge red suns, it's obvious that this is what he is. Not that the sun is brought down to him; it's he who begins to enter into a kind of communication with the sun."

 

 

VI. 

 

And what about the third manner of relating to the sun and the third kind of solar knowledge?

 

It's here that Deleuze turns to Lawrence's poetry and fiction in which the sun plays a central role and there is what might be called in abstract terms "a mystical union" between man and sun.  

 

For Deleuze, this union with the sun is not a religious metaphor and nor is it a question of identification, even if it allows one to affirm the sun as God and to become a sun-man or sun-woman, opening like a flower before the sun and able to announce: 

 

I am that I am

from the sun,

and people are not my measure. [7]  

 

Deleuze notes that only when one attains this third kind of knowledge, does one arrive at this mode of intrinsic distinction. And as a result of this: "the rays by which the sun affects me are the rays by which I affect myself, and the rays by which I affect myself are the rays of the sun that affect me". 

 

In other words, it's a game of solar auto-affection - not identification; "the internal distinction between his own singular essence, the singular essence of the sun, and the essence of the world" is maintained in Lawrence's work. 

 

Reading Lawrence's late texts on the sun, Deleuze informs his students, "can trigger an understanding of Spinoza that you would never have had if you had stayed solely with Spinoza". Which is why, of course, in order to understand any philosopher - not just Spinoza - one needs to read literature and study art and "accumulate a thousand other things as well that have value by themselves".      

 

VII.

 

And so, in sum ...

 

Van Gogh has unique experience with the sun, as proved by his paintings; and from Lawrence's writings we learn that he too had "a special involvement with the sun" (one that we might describe as  libidinal paganism).     

 

 

Notes

 

[1] Deleuze uses the term enculage to describe his preferred method of engaging with other authors. This is usually translated into English as buggery, though I think I would use the more contemporary-sounding (if more vulgar) assfucking:  

      "I saw myself as taking an author from behind and giving him a child that would be his own offspring, yet monstrous. It was really important to me to be his own child, because the author had to actually say all I had him saying. But the child was bound to be monstrous too, because it resulted from all sorts of shifting, slipping, dislocations, and hidden emissions that I really enjoyed." 

      Gilles Deleuze, Negotiations, trans, Martin Joughin (Columbia University Press, 1995), p. 6. 

 

[2] Lines from Lawrence's poem 'Sun-Men', in Pansies (Alfred A. Knopf Inc., 1929), pp. 149-150. 

      I thought they not only anticipated the text to follow, but also related to the sun-drenched portrait of Deleuze and Lawrence above, bearing in mind the title (explained in note 1 above) and Lawrence's use of the phrase uncringing buttocks.

 

[3] Gilles Deleuze, 'Spinoza: The Velocities of Thought' (Session 14, 24 March 1981), transcribed by Sandra Tomassi and Madeleine Manifacier, augmented by Charles J. Stivale, English translation by Timothy S. Murphy (for Web Deleuze); augmented by Charles J. Stivale. 

      All quotations from Deleuze in this post are from this work as it appears online. Click here to read courtesy of The Deleuze Seminars project, which aims to translate into English Deleuze's seminar-lectures given at the University of Paris 8 at Vincennes/St. Denis, between 1971 and 1987, and to make them freely available.     

 

[4] See my essay 'Sun-Fucked', which is available to read on James Walker's Digital Pilgrimage website under the title 'Sun-Struck: On the Question of Solar Sexuality and Speculative Realism in D. H. Lawrence' (14 Jan 2019): click here. 

      For those who don't fancy such a long read may prefer to see the two short posts published on Torpedo the Ark extracted from the above essay: click here and here.

 

[5] D. H. Lawrence, 'Oh wonderful machine!', in The Poems, Vol. I., ed. Christopher Pollnitz (Cambridge University Press, 2013), p. 554. 

 

[6] See the post written on Van Gogh's ear and the dangers of sun-gazing (25 Jan 2014): click here.  

[7] See the poem 'Aristocracy of the Sun', by D. H. lawrence, in Pansies (1929), p. 152. 

 

 

Reflections on the Summer Exhibition at Saatchi Yates: Once Upon a Time in London (2025)

Saatchi Yates: Once Upon a Time in London 

12th June - 17th August 2025 

 

 

I. 

 

Only a few days to go before the summer exhibition at Saatchi Yates [1] comes to a close. So, if you want to see it, you'd better get your skates on ...

 

According to the press release prepared by Purple PR, this group exhibition is a celebration of those British artists who, over the last 70 years, have called London their home and it draws upon the history, diversity and culture of a city that has been "a major artistic crossroad where artists have challenged conventions and redefined the artistic landscape" [2].  

 

Still, don't let that and further clichéd guff about the way in which London has "evolved but remains a constant beating heart of ground breaking art" - or how "the current community of London artists [...] create masterfully painted surreal portraits that delve deep into the human psyche in a post digital world" - put you off, as it was clearly written by an idiot (or perhaps, who knows, generated by artificial intelligence given all the right prompts). 

 

Never prejudge an exhibition by its press release: that's my advice; just go see things for yourself [3]. 

 

 

II. 

 

The problem with a show of this kind, in which very different artists from different eras, working in very different ways and with very different concerns, are placed side by side is that difference is often flattened out in the name of continuity, coherence, and the identifying of correspondences so as to open up a dialogue between past and present: Messrs. Bacon, Freud, and Hockney meet Jadé Fadojutimi and Olaulu Slawn.  

 

Maybe that's a noble goal which, if successfully achieved - and I'm not convinced this show pulls it off - allows us to see how one artist takes up the challenge or initiative of another, albeit in a new context and in a new manner, for a new audience (it's never just solely a question of influence and imitation):

 

"Many things change or are supplemented from one initiative to another, and even what they have in common gains in strengh and novelty." [4]  

 

Rightly or wrongly, however, I suspect that Once Upon a Time in London was conceived and curated more as an opportunity for the gallery "to show off their roster of emerging artists with Saatchi legacy artists as a backdrop" [5].  

 

     

III. 

 

Having said that, there were certainly artists included in the exhibition whose work I'm always happy to see; Francis Bacon and Frank Auerbach, for example. 

 

I particularly liked the latter's vibrant portrait Catherine Lampert Seated II (1991), a medium-sized, predominantly yellow coloured oil on canvas, which sold at auction to a private collector a couple of years ago for £630,000 [6]. 

 

There are other artists, however, whose works I could quite happily live without ever having to look at again; sorry Damien, sorry Tracey.

 

Hirst's Nothing Can Stop Us Now (2006) - part of his Medicine Cabinet series - may, as a concept, interest, but, unfortunately, as an object it bores after a few moments; much as Emin's neon heart - Wanting You (2014) - bores as soon as one has read its message (if not before) [7]. 

 

 

IV.

 

Ultimately, I didn't go to the Saatchi Yates summer show in order to see old works by artists I already knew and like (or knew and disliked), but new works by artists I didn't know of ...

 

Artists such as Benjamin Speirs, whose large porno-surrealist canvas, Metamorphosis (2025), certainly caught my attention when I first walked into the gallery. This was a painting which wouldn't have looked out of place at the Time to Fear Contemporary Art exhibition that I loved so much at Gallery 8 back in March of this year: click here.

 

The red-haired nude figure with a strangely twisted and elongated body was only spoiled for me by the fact she was wearing flip-flops: I hate flip-flops, for the reasons explained in an early post on Torpedo the Ark that can be accessed by clicking here.   

 

I was also quite taken with Danny Fox's Black grape vape, purple tape, Guaguin's cape (2024); a large canvas which not only referenced Guaguin, but also had elements that reminded me of Matisse. I would quite happily hang this on my wall, although if I'd been offered the chance to take but one picture home, it would probably have been Our Vegetative Virgin (2020) by Jadé Fadojutimi ... 

 

Why this one? 

 

Because of the title. Because of the lovely colours. Because I think this young woman (of Nigerian heritage who was born in London and grew up in Ilford) has real talent [8]; her work containing both abstract and figurative elements all cleverly orchestrated and full of a certain exuberance that is hard to resist.

 

I think this description from Rebecca Mead pretty much hits the nail on the head: 

 

"Amid vibrant gashes, iridescent arcs, and urgent lines, a viewer may discern the contours of leaves, flowers, butterfly wings, waves, or suns. But Fadojutimi’s swirling images seem to capture a state of mind as much as they do a state of nature - they are always energetic, and sometimes ecstatic, blooming into color and motion and light. [...] They are an alternative place to dwell." [9]    

 

Despite the obvious speed they are painted at, Fadojutimi's canvases allow one to breathe like little engines of fresh air.  

 

Top Left: Jadé Fadojutimi: Our Vegetative Virgin (2020)

Top Right: Benjamin Spiers: Metamorphosis (2025)

Bottom: Danny Fox: Black grape vape, purple tape, Gauguin's cape (2024)  

 

Notes

 

[1] An independent commercial gallery opened by Phoebe Saatchi Yates and Arthur Yates in October 2020, it is described by Dora Davies-Evitt as the buzziest gallery in London. 

       Since opening its doors five years ago, Saatchi Yates has become the place to be seen for a young crowd of glamorous gallery goers who know how to put the art in party. See 'Once Upon a Time in London: Saatchi Yates heralds a new chapter in British art', Tatler (11 July 2025): click here.

      The Saatchi Yates gallery is at 14 Bury Street, St. James's, London SW1. Visit the website by clicking here.      

 

[2] This from the press release written by Purple PR; a global communications agency who provide services including editorial procurement, product placement, and high profile event management for clients in the worlds of art, fashion, beauty and lifestyle. Visit the Purple PR website for more information: click here. 

      The Once Upon a Time in London press release can be read on the Saatchi Yates website: click here. 

 

[3] Obviously, as a writer trained in the art of the press release by the amazing Lee Ellen Newman, I rarely follow my own advice and usually go straight to any available literature about a show - both promotional and critical in character - in advance of actually looking at the pictures. But it's a habit I'd like to break if possible.  

 

[4] Gilles Deleuze, 'Nietzsche and Saint Paul, Lawrence and John of Patmos', in Essays Critical and Clinical, trans. Daniel W. Smith and Michael E. Greco (Verso, 1998), p. 37.    

 

[5] Nigel Ip, 'Review: Once Upon a Time in London - Saatchi Yates, London', blog post dated 7 July 2025 on nigelip.com: click here. 

 

[6] For more details see the Christie's website: click here. The Lot Essay, detailing the close relationship between Auerbach and Lampert, is particularly interesting. 

 

[7] I didn't realise until visiting this exhibition at Saatchi Yates just how much I dislike Emin's neon signs and the bullshit that surrounds her unflichingly honest and sometimes painfully initimate sculptures. Having said that, I do like her piece entitled My Favourite Little Bird (2015); but then this is a (slightly sentimental) figurative work rather than a conceptual (and confessional) work pushing an overt message. 

      For a far more positive reading of Tracey Emin's neon works, see the article by Erin-Atlanta Argun on myartbroker.com (31 October 2024): click here.     

 

[8] In 2019, Fadojutimi became the youngest artist to have a work placed within the collection of the Tate; I Present Your Royal Highness (2018).   

 

[9] Rebecca Mead, 'The Intensely Colorful Work of a Painter Obsessed with Anime', in The New Yorker (11 November 2024): click here.  

 

 

Notes on David Salle's Introduction to How to See (2016)

(W. W. Norton, 2016) [a]

 

 

I. 

 

As I've been looking at and thinking about art quite a bit recently, it seemed a good idea to read David Salle's essay collection How to See (2016); a book that comes with more accolades than you can shake a wet paint brush at (which is not something I approve of) [b]. 

 

Salle sets out his aim (as is only proper) in the Introduction: 

"The idea for this book is to write about contemporary art in the language that artists use when they talk among themselves - a way of speaking that differs from journalism, which tends to focus on the context surrounding art, the market, the audience, etc., and also from academic criticism, which claims its legitimacy from the realm of theory." [1] 

Leaving aside the question as to whether one can separate different ways of speaking about art in such a clean and clear cut fashion - I don't think you can - I suppose I would be regarded as someone whose thinking has been shaped by the realm of theory, although I'm not an academic and nor do I seek legitimacy for the views expressed here. 

 

What's more, I'm not the kind of writer who is "concerned with the big picture" [1]. 

 

That is to say, I'm not one who likes to erect some form of grand narrative (or what Salle refers to as macronarratives). The theorists and philosophers that I enjoy reading display, at the very least, a certain incredulity toward such things and subscribe to what I think of (after Lawrence) as a gargoyle aesthetic [c].

 

Artists, according to Salle, are more concerned with determining what does and doesn't work; are more practical and focused on the details than theorists. But again, that's highly contestable; there's no one offering a more philosophical reading of art than Gilles Deleuze, but his philosophy incorporates an important pragmatic component. 

 

Deleuze constantly emphasises the practical and creatively productive aspects of a work - be it an artwork or a work of philosophy - and speaks of the interconnectedness of experience at a rhizomatic level (or what Salle calls a micro level and which, interestingly, he relates to Manny Farber's notion of termite art [d]). 

 

 

II.

I might be mistaken, but I get the distinct impression that Salle doesn't much care for theorists of any description. Nor for critical writing which, according to him, regards the artist as a kind of failed philosopher (philosophe manqué) and which "for the last forty years or so has been concerned primarily with the artist's intention, and how that illuminates the cultural concerns of the moment" [2]. 

 

Really, David? That's not been my experience of such writing ...

 

In fact, I would've thought artistic intentionality was the last thing that interested any critic worth their salt in the last sixty years; it's the viewer's role in constructing meaning that, if anything, is emphasised and the work is discussed as a discrete object with its own formal qualities existing within a historical and cultural context that is quite separate from the individual who is said to have authored it. 

 

I agree with Salle that "intentionality is overrated" [2] and that what matters more is how an artist actually holds their paintbrush and the delicate movements of the hand. But, to repeat, none of the (mostly French) philosophers and theorists that I know of would disagree with that. 

 

 

III.

 

Ultimately, I suspect that what really irritates Salle (ironically) is that philosopher-theorists are not interested in the intentions of the artist and are, in fact, sceptical even about the existence of a doer behind every deed; an actor behind every action; an artist behind every canvas. Salle sees an artwork as something made by someone (often one of his friends); philosopher-theorists regard this someone as a metaphysical fiction constructed after the fact.     

 

For Salle, it seems to be vital that we get to know the artist at some sort of essential level. 

 

Thus, he refers us to Gertrude Stein's idea that individuals (as individuals) possess some kind of bottom nature; "a quality that exists underneath other attributes and is of importance [...] because it will, to a large extent, determine how a person acts in the world" [6] and presumably, if artists, the kind of art they make. 

 

Well, I'm not sure I want to buy back into this idea which, let's be honest, is an attempt to smuggle the Romantic notion of genius into the conversation once more. 

 

Nor do I think it the duty of the critic to provide access to "a work's core of feeling and meaning" [8] and relate such to wider human experience in a language that is free from what Salle calls jargon, so that each viewer can develop a personal (and intuitive) relationship to an artwork. 

 

At the risk of being said to lack visual fluency [e], let's just say that I see things a little differently from Salle on the points raised here ...         

 

 

Notes

 

[a] All page numbers that follow in this post are references to the 2018 paperback edition. 

 

[b] I understand why publishers like to quote from positive reviews on both the back cover and at the front of their books, but it's a brazen sales ploy which I find more than a little troubling; such unanimity of opinion, devoid of all critical negativity, reminds one of life in a totalitarian regime where all dissent has been crushed and all information is strictly controlled. 

      If words of praise must be assembled about an author and their book, then at least allow a few insults to be mixed in; as the publishers of Sebastian Horsley's Dandy in the Underworld (Sceptre, 2008) wisely (and amusingly) allowed.

 

[c] See the post published on 16 April 2019 in which I discuss this gargoyle aesthetic, adapted from D. H. Lawrence's novel The Rainbow (1915): click here. 

 

[d] Manny Farber (1917-2008) was an American painter, film critic, and writer. One of his most influential essays is 'White Elephant Art vs. Termite Art' (1962), in which he contrasts the bloated excesses of the former with the virtues of the latter (termite art is said to be spontaneous, subversive, and experimental; always eating its own boundaries; elephant art, on the other hand, is weighed down by convention and its own desire for grandeur). 

      The essay originally appeared in Film Culture, number 27 (Winter 1962–63). It can be downloaded as a pdf from the Museum of Contemporary Art (LA): click here. 

 

[e] According to Salle: "Many people who who write and talk about art have no particular visual fluency ..." [7] 

 

 

Readers who are interested in my take on a current exhibition of Salle's work here in London might like to see the post of 25 April 2025: click here. 

The first part of a three-part post on looking, talking, and thinking about art with David Salle, can be accessed by clicking here.

 

 

Jean Baudrillard: the Marmite Philosopher

Love Him or Loathe Him ... Here's Jean Baudrillard - 

the Marmite Philosopher 

(SA/2024)

 

 

I. 

 

In response to my Boxing Day post - click here - an anonymous correspondent writes:

 

Even a plate of cold turkey leftovers is more digestible than the turgid (if for a time fashionable) nonsense that Baudrillard passed off as philosophy and which only pretentious idiots - such as yourself - continue to take seriously. 

      Sokal and Bricmont were spot-on to describe Baudrillard and those figures often associated with him - I won't designate them as thinkers - as intellectual imposters whose confusions, fantasies, and postmodern jargon for a time brought philosophy into disrepute and damaged the minds of generations of students. 

      As the above rightly conclude: 'When all is said and done, one wonders what would be left of Baudrillard's thought if the verbal veneer covering it were stripped away.' [1]  

 

If this email is anything to go by, it would seem that the Christmas spirit doesn't last long; one wonders what would remain of my correspondent's argument if the vitriolic veneer were stripped away. 

 

 

II.

 

Of course, the above - aligning himself with the unfunny double act of Sokal & Bricmont - is not the first and won't be the last person to be triggered by Baudrillard, who is, we might concede, something of a Marmite philosopher; i.e., a divisive and polarising figure and thus something of an acquired taste.

 

Indeed, even those thinkers who emerged out of the same philosophical background - and with whom he is often categorised - often found his vision of contemporary culture as cynical and overly pessimistic; i.e., one that offered no critical solutions and seemed to render direct (political) action impossible.

 

He was, they said, merely a bleak fatalist trapped inside his own ideas and, according to Sylvère Lotringer, during the mid-late 1970s Deleuze quietly let it be known around Paris that he considered Baudrillard to be the shame of French intellectual life [2].  

 

Despite this, here we are at the fag end of 2024 and I find that just as I prefer cool memories to cold turkey, so I'd sooner spend time reading Baudrillard than M. Deleuze; a philosopher whom everyone seems to love and have acquired a taste for these days (apart from my Sokal & Bricmont quoting correspondent of course).     

 

Notes

 

[1] My correspondent is referring to the book by Alan Sokal and Jean Bricmont, Intellectual Impostures (Profile Books, 1998). The line quoted is the closing sentence of the chapter specifically written on Baudrillard (chapter 8). The book was first published in French as Impostures Intellectuelles (Editions Odile Jacob, 1997). 

 

[2] See Sylvère Lotringer, 'On Jean Baudrillard', in the International Journal of Baudrillard Studies, Volume 6, Number 2 (July, 2009): click here. 

      Lotringer explains how the publication of Baudrillard's Forget Foucault (1977) not only anatgonised the subject of the essay, but Foucault's close friend Gilles Deleuze and that whilst the work made Baudrillard (in)famous on the one hand, it got him excommunicated from French intellectual circles on the other.

 

On Subcultural Barbarism

Photo of Soo Catwoman by Ray Stevenson (1976)

The slogan is a paraphrase of a sentence written by Walter Benjamin [1] 

 

"Why do we fear and hate a possible reversion to barbarism? 

Because it would make people unhappier than they are? 

Oh no! The barbarians of every age were happier: let us not deceive ourselves!" - Nietzsche [2]

 

 

I. 

 

What constitutes a subculture?

 

I suppose, sociologically speaking, a subculture might be defined as a group of people who identify in terms of their shared tastes, values, interests, and practices whilst, at the same time, differentiating themselves to a greater or lesser degree from the dominant culture and its norms [3].

 

In other words, individuals form or join subcultures because they wish to develop an alternative lifestyle, but not necessarily one that calls for revolution or involves dropping out of society altogether. Such individuals may like to deviate from the straight and narrow, but they acknowledge the existence of a path and in as much as they offer resistance to cultural hegemony it's mostly of a symbolic nature.

 

 

II. 

 

In 1985, the French sociologist Michel Maffesoli transformed much of the thinking on subcultures by introducing the idea of neotribalism; a term that gained widespread currency after the publication of his book Le Temps des tribus three years later [4].

 

According to Maffesoli, the conventional approaches to understanding solidarity and society are no longer tenable. He contends that as modern mass culture and its institutions disintegrates, social existence is increasingly conducted through fragmented tribal groupings, informally organised around ideas, sounds, looks, and patterns of consumption.

 

He refers to punk rockers as an example of such a postmodern tribe and, interestingly, suggests that through generating chaos within wider culture they help revitalise the latter in a Dionysian manner [5]. 

 

Maffesoli, of course, is not without his critics and his work is often branded as controversial. However, I think we might relate his thinking on culture, modernity, and tribalism to Nietzsche's philosophy; in particular Nietzsche's longing for new barbarians who might prevent the ossification of culture ...    

 

III. 

 

Anyone who knows anything about Nietzsche knows that he loves Kultur - understood by him as the supreme way of stylising chaos in such a manner that man's highest form of agency (individual sovereignty) is made possible. 

 

In other words, culture is not that which simply allows us to be and does more than merely preserve old identities. Rather, it allows us to become singular, like stars, via a dynamic process of self-overcoming. 

 

Unfortunately, the powers which drive civilisation outweigh the forces of culture to such an extent that history appears to Nietzsche as the process via which the former take possession of the latter or divert them in its favour. 

 

Thus, there's not merely an abysmal antagonism between culture and civilisation [6]; the latter, in Nietzsche's view, co-opts and exploits the more spiritual qualities possessed by a people which have developed organically from within the conditions of their existence. 

 

This becoming-reactive of culture is, as Deleuze reminds us, the source of Nietzsche's greatest disappointment; things begin Greek and end up German as human vitality and creativity becomes overcoded by the coordinating power of the modern state. 

 

So ... what can be done to prevent this or to release the forces of culture once more? How do we free life wherever it is encased within a fixed form? In The Birth of Tragedy (1872), Nietzsche famously calls for a cultural revolution, only to quickly realise that this ain't gonna happen. 

 

And so Nietzsche changes tack and instead of pinning his hopes on an alliance between artists and philosophers to save the day, he invokes a breed of new barbarians who, via subcultural activity, cast off the horny covering of civilisation so that new growth becomes possible and who, when confronted with the ways in which the dominant social order breaks down, "make no attempt at recodification" [7]. 

 

Of course, the question that arises is where will these new barbarians come from. This was a question that troubled D. H. Lawrence as well as Nietzsche, for both recogised that despite the modern world being very full of people there were no longer "any great reservoirs of energetic barbaric life" [8] existing outside the gate.

 

And so, we will need our barbarians to come from within - although not from the depths, so much as from the heights. For Nietzsche's new barbarians are not merely iconoclasts driven by a will to destruction, rather, they're cynics and experimenters; "a species of conquering and ruling natures in search of material to mold" [9] who embody a "union of spiritual superiority with well-being and excess of strength" [10]. 

 

The question of culture and subcultural barbarism is badly conceived if considered only in terms of 'Anarchy in the UK' (and I say that as a sex pistol): what's required is what Adam Ant would term a wild nobility.

 

 

IV.

 

To believe in the ruins, doesn't mean that one wishes to stay forever among the ruins; a permanently established barbarism would simply be another oppressive system of philistine stupidity. Eventually, we have to start to build up new little habitats; cultivating new forms and new ideas upon discord and difference (i.e., stylising chaos).

One of the key roles of the Subcultures Interest Group [11] is to both document and inspire such activity by rediscovering something of the creative energy or potential that lies dormant in the past and projecting such into the future so that we might live yesterday tomorrow (as Malcolm would say) [12].

 

That's not easy: and it's not simply a question of revivalism; it's neither possible nor desirable to go back to an earlier time and mode of existence (despite what the writers of Life on Mars might encourage us to believe) [13]. 

 

It involves, rather, a few brave souls working with knowing mystery for "the resurrection of a new body, a new spirit, a new culture" [14] and accepting back into their lives "all that has hitherto been forbidden, despised, accursed" [15] ... (i.e., becoming-barbarian).    

 

 

Notes

 

[1] This famous sentence from Benjamin's 'Thesis on the Philosophy of History' (1940) actually reads: "There is no document of culture which is not at the same time a document of barbarism." 

      This essay, composed of twenty numbered paragraphs, was first translated into English by Harry Zohn and included in the collection of essays by Benjamin entitled Illuminations, ed. Hanah Arendt (Harcourt, Brace & World, 1968). 

      Alternatively, it can be found under the title 'On the Concept of History' in Vol. 4 of Benjamin's Selected Writings, ed. Howard Eiland and Michael W. Jennings (Harvard University Press, 2003), pp. 389-400. See paragraph VII on p. 392. 

 

[2] Nietzsche, Daybreak, trans. R. J. Hollingdale (Cambridge University Press, 1982), V. 429, p. 184.

 

[3] Those whose opposition to or rejection of the mainstream is actually their defining characteristic are probably best described as countercultural militants rather than simply members of a subculture.

 

[4] Le Temps des tribus: le déclin de l'individualisme dans les sociétés de masse was translated into English by Don Smith as The Time of the Tribes: The Decline of Individualism in Mass Society, (SAGE Publications Ltd., 1995). 

[5] In other words, as a polemologist, Maffesoli is attracted to the idea of foundational violence and the vital need for conflict within society. See his 1982 work L’ombre de Dionysos: contribution à une sociologie de l'orgie, trans. into English by Cindy Linse and Mary Kristina Palmquist as The Shadow of Dionysus: A Contribution to the Sociology of the Orgy (State University of New York Press, 1993). 

      Readers might find a post published in February of this year on Sid Vicious of interest, as it explores the Dionysian aspects of the young Sex Pistols' tragic death: click here.  

 

[6] Nietzsche maintained a common opposition within German letters between Kultur and Zivilization, defining the latter in terms of scientific and material progress, whilst insisting the former was invested with a more spiritual quality (Geist). See, for example, note 121 in The Will to Power, trans. Walter Kaufmann and R. J. Hollingdale (Vintage Books, 1968), p. 75.

 

[7] Gilles Deleuze, 'Nomad Thought', in The New Nietzsche, ed. David B. Allison (The MIT Press, 1992), p. 143. 

 

[8] D. H. Lawrence, Fantasia of the Unconscious, ed. Bruce Steele (Cambridge University Press, 2004), p. 189.

 

[9] Nietzsche, The Will to Power ... IV 900, p. 479. 

 

[10] Ibid., IV 899, p. 478. 

      Nietzsche makes several remarks on barbarians and barbarism in his published work, not just in his Nachlass. See, for example, Beyond Good and Evil where he identifies barbarians as culture-founders; "their superiority lay, not in their physical strength, but primarily in their psychical - they were more complete human beings" (9. 257). Translation by R. J. Hollingdale (Penguin Books, 1990), p. 192. 

[11] The Subcultures Interest Group (SIG) is a diverse and informal collective of academics and artists operating out of the University of the Arts London. Established in 2019, they regularly publish a paper - SIG News - which aims to open a window on to the work being undertaken by members of the Group. Click here for further information. For a review of  SIG News 3 on Torpedo the Ark (28 July 2024), click here for part one of the post and/or here for part two  

 

[12] See the post published on Torpedo the Ark dated 10 June 2024: click here.

 

[13] Life on Mars is a British TV series, first broadcast on BBC One (2006-07), devised and written by Matthew Graham, Tony Jordan and Ashley Pharoah, and starring John Simm as Detective Inspector Sam Tyler, who, following a car accident, wakes up to find himself in 1973. See the post published on 2 October 2024 in which I discuss this seductive (but ultimately fatal) fantasy: click here.   

 

[14] Henry Miller, The World of Lawrence: A Passionate Appreciation, ed. Evelyn J. Hinz and John J. Teunissen (John Calder (Publishers) Ltd., 1985), p. 217.  

 

[15] Nietzsche, Ecce Homo, trans. R. J. Hollingdale (Penguin Books, 1988), p. 96.

 

 

With continued gratitude to Keith Ansell-Pearson whose work on Nietzsche helped shaped my own thinking 30 years ago.

 

 

Can a Writer Ever Overshare? On Maggie Nelson's Self-Exposure

Author Maggie Nelson: skilled in the art of making 

the personal and the private public and political

 

 

I. 

 

Someone recently asked me the following question: Can a writer ever overshare?   

 

Well, having graduated from the Deleuzian school of literary theory, I'm certainly uncomfortable with the idea that the writer's main (or only) task is to give expression to the feelings, or impose a coherent and conventional model of language on lived experience.

In other words, literature should not become merely a form of personal overcoding and writing a novel, a poem, or a play is more than an opportunity for an author to confess and tell all. 

 

Like Deleuze, I'm of the view that any genre of writing reliant upon the recounting of childhood memories, foreign holidays, lost loves, or sexual fantasies, is not only frequently bad writing, but dead writing; for literature dies from an excess of emotion, imagination, and autobiography, just as it does from an overdose of reality [1].

 

I don't think it makes me a philosophical prude to say that just as it's advisable to exercise a degree of caution [2] as an artist, so too do terms such as modesty, reservation, and self-restraint have crucial importance. Oversharing and trauma dumping is not the only way - or even the best way - to produce genuinely transgressive work.     

 

 

II.

 

Although she sometimes refers to Deleuze's work - particularly the books written in collaboration with Félix Guattari - Maggie Nelson doesn't seem to be overly concerned with the danger of giving herself away via the giving of a little too much personal information. 

 

In fact, she's a little defensive and prickly on the subject having, I suspect, been accused of oversharing by numerous critics on multiple occasions. So it is that when in conversation with the Canadian artist Moyra Davey in 2017, Nelson responds thusly to the idea that tell-all memoirs can sometimes be a bit much and leave the reader uncomfortable:

 

"Besides mainstream celebrity memoirs or other genres in which artistry need not apply, I don't know where all these narcissistic tell-alls are, not to mention the fact that there can literally be no such thing as a 'tell-all'." [3]

She continues: 

 

"Personally, I never think to myself while reading, 'Why would you want to tell me this?' That question seems to me to speak volumes about the reader/critic more than about the writer. What I hear in that question is the baseline assumption that the writer should not be telling you all this [...] that there's shame in the telling, and the critic's job is to wake the artist or writer up to the shame she/he may have missed." [4]

Nelson concludes:

"At the far end of this logic lies the virulent idea that we're better off with less speech, less telling, less expression; nearly every nasty review of a work of autobiography I've read contains this latent or manifest wish that the writer/artist would just shut up [...] it bugs the hell out of me." [5]

 

 

III. 

 

Whilst one can certainly sense Nelson's irritation - and whilst I don't doubt the genuineness of such for a moment - I don't share her conclusion. 

 

For one thing, I'm of the view that confronting (and achieving) silence is the ultimate aim of literature; that it should push language to its own external limits (which are not outside language but are the outside of language). 

 

In other words, the writer does have to learn how to shut the fuck up due to the fact that, once spoken, speech immediately and directly "enters the service of power" [6] - even if that speech is born of the writer's ultimate nakedness, wherein we like to believe ourselves to be essentially free and shameless.

 

In sum: there's nothing radical, liberating, or progressive about self-exposure and articulating one's seceret desires. On the other hand, there's a good deal to be said for those who know how to remain the soul of discretion and have the ability to withhold certain details [7].

 

 

Notes

 

[1] See Gilles Deleuze, 'Literature and Life', in Essays Critical and Clinical, trans. Daniel W. Smith and Michael E. Greco (Verso, 1998), pp. 1-6.   

      Of course, all writers can be guilty of self-obsessed dead writing (necro-narcissism) at times; of being a little too personal. But this is something to try and keep to a minimum and an author should always aim to become-imperceptible as far as possible. Or, as Wilde says in the Preface to Dorian Gray: "To reveal art and conceal the artist is art's aim."

 

[2] See Gilles Deleuze and Félix Guattari, A Thousand Plateaus, trans. Brian Massumi (The Athlone Press, 1988), pp. 160-61, where they advocate caution and the Nietzschean art of small doses, since overdosing - like oversharing - is a very real danger when it comes to dismantling the organism, following a line of flight, or effecting a strange becoming via literature. 

 

[3] Maggie Nelson, 'A Life, A Face, A Gaze', in Like Love: Essays and Conversations (Fern Press, 2024), p. 137.

[4] Ibid.

[5] Ibid.

[6] See Roland Barthes's 'Inaugural Lecture, Collège de France', in Selected Writings, ed. with an introduction by Susan Sontag (Fontana Press, 1989), p. 461. 

[7] For an alternative view, see Lucretia Rose McCarthy's essay 'Radical Exposures: Crip and Queer in Maggie Nelson's Autotheory', in C21 Literature: Journal of 21st-Century Writings, Vol. 1, Issue 1 (Spring 2023): click here. In a nut-shell, McCarthy argues that through her autotheoretical writings: 

      "Nelson familiarizes crip and queer experience, embracing difference through detail whilst challenging stigma and otherness common to the categories. She rejects the mundane and pathological associations of 'oversharing' and shows the way self-exposure can deepen understanding of marginalized lives." 

 

Advice to a Young Blogger (2): On Establishing Your Blog as a Plane of Immanence

Gilles Deleuze attempting to keep things simple

 

 

I. 

 

In a recent post I offered some advice about blogging; stressing the need to be consistent, insistent, and persistent if one wishes to establish a plane of immanence [click here].

 

But Franz, from Austria, has written to ask what is meant by this complex concept, borrowed from Deleuzian philosophy [1], in relation to a humble theory of blogging.

 

So, let me try and answer ...

 

 

II. 

 

By establishing a plane of immanence - in relation to a theory of blogging - I mean that one must do more than merely create a space of writing in which to publish one's ideas, memories, observations, and holiday snaps [2].

 

On a blog conceived as a plane of immanence, we find an intricate network of forces, particles, connections, affects, and becomings and the writer becomes a subject-without-identity - a difference engineer - not an author who personally vouches for the truth content of the posts or guarantees the logical organisation and development of the blog. 

 

On a blog conceived as a plane of immanence, posts shouldn't be considered as empty forms awaiting for an author to fill them with content in order to give them their significance. Posts should be thought, rather, as active productions (or events) in themselves that require concrete methods of immanent evaluation rather than texts awaiting judgement with reference to a transcendent model of the True, the Beautiful, and the Good.     

 

The key thing is: on a blog conceived as a plane of immanence, one can ensure the eternal return of difference; not repetition of the same. In that way, blogging is about becoming, not securing identity. 

 

And remember: Becoming is a verb with a consistency all its own ... [3]  

 

Notes

 

[1] Deleuze can be a difficult philosopher to read at times, but I think it's fair to say that when he writes of a plane of immanence, he's putting forward an epistemological notion; but when he writes of the plane of immanence, he posits an ontological idea (developing Spinoza's monism). It's the former that has always most interested me; that is to say, the fact that there can be multiple planes of immanence each corresponding to an image of thought. 

 

[2] Like Deleuze, I do not think writing is an attempt to impose a coherent and conventional linguistic form on lived experience; blogging should not become a form of personal overcoding. Any writing that is reliant upon the recounting of childhood memories, foreign holidays, lost loves, or sexual fantasies, is not only frequently bad writing, but dead writing; for literature dies from an excess of emotion, imagination, and autobiography, just as it does from an overdose of reality. See the post entitled 'A Deluezean Approach to Literature' (30 August 2013): click here. 

[3] Deleuze and Guattari, A Thousand Plateaus, trans. Brian Massumi (University of Minnesota Press, 1987), p. 239. 

 

 

Whatever It Is, I'm Against It!

 Groucho was a punk rocker

 

I.

 

I have given several attempts to explain what the polysemic phrase torpedo the ark - borrowed from Norwegian playwright Henrik Ibsen - means to me, including:

 

(a) to have done with the judgement of God ... [click here]

 

(b) to hate everything ... [click here]

 

(c) to find everything funny ... [click here]

 

But, every now and then, I get emails from readers asking me to further elucidate. And so, I thought I'd offer a new definition - this time one inspired by Groucho Marx, rather than (a) Gilles Deleuze, (b) the Sex Pistols, or (c) Larry David: 

 

Torpedo the ark means ... Whatever it is, I'm against it!    

 

 

II.

 

This amusing line is sung by Groucho playing the role of Prof. Quincy Adams Wagstaff (Head of Huxley College) in the 1932 Mark Brothers film Horse Feathers (dir. Norman Z. McLeod).

 

The original song - 'I'm Against It' - was one of several musical numbers in the movie written by Bert Kalmar and Harry Ruby. 

 

Verses include:

  

I don't know what they have to say 

It makes no difference anyway 

Whatever it is, I'm against it!

No matter what it is 

Or who commenced it 

I'm against it!

 

Your proposition may be good 

But let's have one thing understood: 

Whatever it is, I'm against it!

And even when you've changed it 

Or condensed it 

I'm against it! [1]

Such wonderful comic nihilism nicely supplements the earlier interpretations of the phrase torpedo the ark and builds upon my own natural impulse to say no, nein, and non merci to everything - including those kind offers and opportunities that it might make more sense to accept and take advantage of [2].    

 

This obviously shows a perverse streak in my character, but there you go; if someone opens a door for me, I turn and walk away. Similary, if someone invites me to join their literary society, political party, social network, or private members club, I again remember the famous words of Groucho Marx [3].

 

 

Notes

 

[1] To watch Groucho perform this song - the opening number of Horse Feathers (1932) - click here. 

 

[2] See the post 'Just Say No' (1 Aug 2014): click here. 

 

[3] Groucho Marx is believed to have said: "I don't want to belong to any club that would accept me as one of it's members." Or something very similar to this; no one knows the exact wording or the precise circumstances of its employment. This amusing line was first reported by the Hollywood gossip columnist Erskine Johnson in October 1949 and it has been repeated ever since.

 

 

Thanks to Thomas Bonneville for suggesting this post and reminding me also that the Ramones have a track entitled 'I'm Against It' which can be found on their album Road to Ruin (Sire Records, 1978): click here to play a 2018 remastered version on YouTube.  

 

Three French Suicides: In Memory of Olga Georges-Picot, Christine Pascal, and Gilles Deleuze

Christine Pascal, Gilles Deleuze & Olga Georges-Picot

 

 

I.

 

Last night, on TV, they were showing one of my favourite films: the British psychological thriller written and directed by Basil Dearden and starring Roger Moore; The Man Who Haunted Himself (1970) [1]. 

 

There are many reasons to love this film, not least of all because it allows one to get a glimpse of the French actress Olga-Georges Picot in a very fetching black bra. She's luscious. She's ravishing. And there are some men who would happily give up red meat to be afforded an opportunity to perv [2] on this Franco-Russian beauty [3] - including Woody Allen, who cast her as Countess Alexandrovna in his 1975 film Love and Death.  

   

Whilst biographical information on her life and career seems to be limited and incomplete, we do know that she commited suicide in June 1997 by jumping from her 5th floor apartment overlooking the river Seine.

 

 

II. 

 

Olga Georges-Picot's death came less than a year after the death - also by suicide and also by jumping out of a window - of the brilliant French actress, writer and director Christine Pascal ... 

 

Interestingly, this multi-talented woman had often reflected philosophically on the question of suicide, and the first film she directed - Félicité (1979) [4] - opens with a suicide scene. Several years later, when asked by an interviewer how she would like to die, she replied: En me suicidant, le moment venu.

 

Well, that time came in August 1996, whilst receiving treatment at a psychiatric hospital in the Paris suburb of Garches [5]. Whether her suicide is best interpreted as a mad act by a mentally ill woman or a voluntary death by an unconventional woman with a penchant for transgressive behaviour is something I'll allow readers to decide [6].    

 

III.

Finally, let us remember Gilles Deleuze ... 

 

Deleuze was a philosopher very much admired by Pascal and one who, like her - and like Georges-Picot - also topped himself by jumping out of a window, when the respiratory conditions that he had long suffered from became increasingly severe [7].     

I remember the excitement news of this event generated in the Philosophy Dept. at Warwick, where I was doing my Ph.D at the time and had just started to read Deleuze's work seriously. Everyone wanted to know if his death came from within or without and pondered the question of whether it marked a loss of desire on his part, or whether the decision to terminate one's own individual existence as a way of affirming life indicates a final resurgence of vitality.  

 

In other words, was his suicide a logical way for Deleuze to show fidelity to his own philosophy, rather than merely a wish to end his suffering?

 

It remains an interesting question, I think ...       

 

 

Notes

 

[1] I have written about this in relation to Daphne du Maurier's 1957 novel The Scapegoat in a post entitled 'Never Give a Doppelgänger the Keys to Your Car ...' (17 June 2020): click here. 

[2] I'm paraphrasing George Costanza interviewing for a secretary in the season six episode of Seinfeld entitled 'The Secretary', (dir. D. Owen Trainor, 1998): click here.  

[3] Olga was was the daughter of Guillaume Georges-Picot, the French Ambassador to China, and a Russian mother, Anastasia Mironovich. She was born in Shanghai, in Japanese-occupied China, in January 1940. 

 

[4] Christine Pascal was born in Lyon in November 1953. She was given a starring role, aged twenty-one, in Michel Mitrani's Les Guichets du Louvre (1974). 

      The film portrays the infamous Vel' d'Hiv' Roundup in 1942, when French police assisted Nazi soldiers in the arrest of over 13,000 Jewish inhabitants of Paris and held them under inhumane conditions prior to their deportation to Auschwitz, where virtually all were murdered. Pascal played a young Jewish woman named Jeanne.

 

[5] Félicité was not only written and directed by Pascal, but she played the lead role too. It was a film that shocked many (even in France) with its explicit sexual content and provocative indecency and cemented her reputation as the mauvaise fille of French cinema.   

 

[6] Somewhat unfairly, I think, the psychiatrist who was caring for Pascal was sentenced in 2003 to twelve months in prison for failing to take appropriate action to prevent her suicide. 

 

[7] Deleuze, who had problems with his breathing even as a youngster, developed tuberculosis in 1968 and underwent surgery to remove a lung. In the final years of his life even writing became increasingly difficult and so, on 4 November 1995, aged seventy, he jumped to his death from the window of his Paris apartment.