On Faciality and Becoming-Imperceptible with Reference to the Work of Heide Hatry

Scarlett Johansson as Lucy (2014)

I've been told that my post on Heide Hatry's Icons in Ash was unkind and unfair. And, further, that my refusal or inability to recognise their philosophical interest and aesthetic power either perverse or shameful:

"Do you not see how the very materials from which they are composed deconstruct the life and death binary? If only you'd drop your anti-humanistic posturing for a moment, you might learn to appreciate their uncanny, bitter-sweet beauty and significance."

Let me, then, offer a few further remarks on Hatry's ash portraits, attempting to make clear the basis for my criticisms and concerns ...


I: On Faciality

I have written elsewhere on this blog about my Deleuzean dislike of the face: click here and here, for example.

In sum: the face has long held a privileged and determining place within Western metaphysics that I think we need to challenge. For whilst we might fool ourselves that each face is individual and unique, it isn’t. Rather, it’s a type of social machine that overcodes not just the head, but the entire body, ensuring that any asignifying or non-subjective forces and flows arising from the libidinal chaos of the latter are neutralized in advance. The smile and all our other familiar facial expressions are thus merely types of conformity with the dominant reality.

And so, when Heide Hatry insists on the primacy of the face and reconstructs it in all its complexity and vulgarity from ash, I have a problem. Asked if it was necessary to create facial images rather than do something else with the cremains, she replies:

"It's absolutely necessary; and it's necessary that the portrait is as realistic as possible because ... the face is where we understand communication is happening ... for capturing all the subtleties that make us human."

Hatry thus openly subscribes to the ideal moral function of the face; as that which reveals the soul and allows us to comprehend the individual: "Other ways of reading a person are incidental or filtered through this", she says - not incorrectly, but in a manner that suggests she's entirely untroubled by this. 


II: Becoming-Imperceptible

For me - again as someone who writes in the shadow of Deleuze - it's crucial to (i) rethink the subject outside of the moral-rational framework provided by classical humanism and (ii) escape the face and find a way of becoming-imperceptible. Thus, rather than drawing faces in the dust and displaying a sentimental attachment to personal identity, artists should be helping us experiment with different modes of constituting the self and new ways of inhabiting the body.   

Further, they should be helping us form an understanding of death that is entirely inhuman and faceless and which opens up a radically impersonal way of being linked to cosmic forces: a return to material actuality, as Nietzsche says; i.e. merging with a universe that is supremely indifferent to life. To think death in terms of becoming-imperceptible is ultimately to privilege ashes over the epiphenomenal phoenix that arises from them (despite the beauty of its feathers).

It doesn't mean "returning indistinguishable ashes to the particular" and vainly attempting to keep alive what was "in danger of being lost or forgotten". The idea that art exists in order to secure "the sense of a person, of her or his individuality, to lovingly preserve that quality even in death, in memory, and with it the integrity of the human lineage through generations", is anathema to me.

I think, at heart, most of us - like Sade - desire to be completely forgotten when we die, leaving no visible traces behind of our existence. As Rosi Braidotti puts it, central to posthumanist ethics lies evanescence (not transcendence) and the following paradox: "that while at the conscious level all of us struggle for survival, at some deeper level of our unconscious structures, all we long for is to lie silently and let time wash over us in the perfect stillness of not-life".

To be everywhere and nowhere; everything and nothing; to vanish like Lucy or the Incredible Shrinking Man into the eternal flux of becoming  - that's better than ending up ashen-faced, is it not?       

Notes

Rosi Braidotti, 'The Ethics of Becoming Imperceptible', in Deleuze and Philosophy, ed. Constantin Boundas, (Edinburgh University Press, 2006), pp. 133-59. To read this essay online click here.

Gilles Deleuze and Félix Guattari, A Thousand Plateaus, trans. Brian Massumi, (The University of Minnesota Press, 1987); see chapters 7: 'Year Zero: Faciality' and 10: 1730: Becoming-Intense, Becoming-Animal, Becoming-Imperceptible ...'

Mark Pachter, 'A Conversation with Heide Hatry', in Heide Hatry, Icons in Ash, ed. Gavin Keeney, (Station Hill in association with Ubu Gallery, New York, 2017), pp. 76-91. 

Re: Luc Bresson's film, Lucy (2014), of course it's shot through with crackpot science, Hollywood hokum and idealism of the worst kind - what Nietzsche would think of as Platonism for the people. But it at least hints at the form of becoming towards which all other becomings aim - the becoming-imperceptible. It's just unfortunate it ends with an idiotic text message - I am everywhere - which implies omnipresence in terms of personal consciousness, rather than impersonal materiality.    

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In Memory of Roger Moore and Adam West

    

Roger Moore as 007 and Adam West as Batman

In the same way that many of us subscribe to the view that Roger Moore is the best Bond, so too is it unarguably the case that Adam West is by far the greatest Batman - the camp coolness of his Caped Crusader in the sixties TV show, superior to the brooding menace of more recent cinematic versions: Dark Knight, my arse!  

So it was sad to learn that Adam West has died, aged 88, from leukaemia - just as it was sad to hear the news last month of Moore's passing, aged 89, also from cancer. Both actors were very much part of my childhood and are fully deserving of the place that each has secured within the cultural imagination, as well as the hearts of millions of fans around the world.  

Heide Hatry: Icons in Ash

Two portraits by Heide Hatry (2009): Paul Schmid and Stefan Huber from the Icons in Ash series

(Loose ash particles, pulverized birch coal and white marble dust on beeswax)

New York based artist Heide Hatry is, despite her thanatological obsessions, all too human at heart. It's not surprising, therefore, that she aims to transform objects into subjects and to provide the impersonal dead with new, posthumous identities that are literally fixed in ash.

Regarding death as a terrible abdication of self or a humiliating loss of face, Hatry has determined that the dead be memorialised by providing a smiling likeness one more time: a sort of selfie from beyond the grave that she describes in iconic and shamanic terms; potent images that allow communion with the ethereal presence of lost loved ones.

She summarizes her project of facial reconstruction in the following vitalist terms:

"I want to reintegrate life and death: to touch death, work with death, to be an artist of and for death, to let it speak in its mundanity, its grandeur, its familiarity and its mystery, its uniqueness and its universality, to redeem it from oblivion, to give it its own life again."

Clearly, she has absolutely no intention of letting the dead bury the dead or even letting the poor cunts rest in peace; rather, she's going to insist that they look her in the face and fulfil their personal obligations. And so she resurrected her father, to whom she felt connected at the very core, followed by close friend Stefan Huber, who, without any consideration of how it might make her feel, topped himself.

And, having raised them from the dead, she then proceeded to give 'em what for - crying and screaming at them, in a vain attempt to ensure they understood the unresolved pain, anger and grief that their mortal departures had caused her. 

 

Since then, having calmed down and apparently found some degree of solace, Hatry has produced several portraits out of cremains for others suffering in the same manner (and for the same reasons) she had suffered; people in need, not of closure, but of a chance to have the last word.

Ultimately, despite what the many admirers of her work believe, Hatry's portraits are not profound meditations upon death; they are, rather, one final opportunity for recrimination: How could you leave me, you bastard!

See: Heide Hatry, Icons in Ash, ed. Gavin Keeney, (Station Hill in association with Ubu Gallery, New York). Lines quoted and phrases echoed are from the artist's preface: 'Icons in Ash: From Art Object to Art Subject'. 

Readers interested in Heide Hatry's work should visit her website: heidehatry.com

See also the follow-up post to this one in which I outline my philosophical concerns with Hatry's ash portraits in greater detail: On Faciality and Becoming-Imperceptible ...

PC Plod Wants You to Think Nice Thoughts

It seems that in the wake of the recent Islamist terror attacks in Manchester and London, several police forces up and down the UK - at the bidding of their political puppet-masters - are issuing warnings to users of social media to think carefully about what they're posting. 

The force in Cheshire, for example, have a notice (dated June 6th) on their Facebook page that reads: 

"Although you may believe your message is acceptable, other people may take offence, and you could face a large fine or up to two years in prison if your message is deemed to have broken the law."

This, I must say, is pretty outrageous and has rightly attracted the scornful attention of those who know how the often spurious charge of hate crime is frequently used to justify the closing down of free speech and serious debate.

One person responded, for example, by pointing out the ludicrous nature of a situation in which there are insufficient resources to fully monitor the thousands of suspected extremists residing in the UK - including the 650 jihadis known to have returned after fighting for IS - but money and manpower is made available to keep an eye on Facebook, just in case someone somewhere says something that might possibly hurt someone else's feelings.

As several other people angrily informed Cheshire police, it's this abject pandering to political correctness whilst victims of recent atrocities are still being mourned, which causes the greatest offence.

However, as Breitbart journalist Jack Montgomery reminds us, the Cheshire Constabulary are by no means the first British force to be criticised for an apparent obsession with policing social media: Greater Glasgow Police, for example, was roundly mocked after warning Twitter users to think carefully before posting and to always use the internet safely following the Brussels bombings in March 2016.

In this case, the police even provided members of the public with a convenient list of questions (see above) that should always be asked before venturing an opinion - a list which must have George Orwell spinning in his grave ...

On the Charging Bull-Fearless Girl-Pissing Pug Controversy 3: The Pissing Pug

Alex Gardega, Fearless Girl and Pissing Pug

Photo: Gabriella Bass / New York Post 

Added text by Perez Hilton

It's not often that one finds oneself in agreement with Perez Hilton, but, with reference to the case of Alex Gardega and his Pissing Pug (aka Sketchy Dog), I pretty much share his view that being an artist doesn't always prevent one from behaving like an ass.

For if Arturo Di Modica has some right to irritation with the Fearless Girl deflecting attention from his Charging Bull and playfully seducing its potency, he's nevertheless an old man who subscribes to a long-dead tradition of aesthetic idealism and doesn't understand how times have changed, art moved on, and determining public narrative and perception no longer the preserve of a few privileged males. 

Gardega, however, has no excuse for his asinine, misogynistic and self-publicising stunt. In the end, Pissing Dog doesn't degrade or bring shame upon the Fearless Girl, but upon its owner. He didn't even have the courage or decency to leave the dog in place - worried, apparently, that some passer-by might walk off with it, or that it would be impounded by the authorities. So, after just a few hours and a few photos - and after some people gave it a kick up the arse - he removed the pooch and took it home with its tail between its legs.

The whole thing stinks of male entitlement and resentment, as Perez says: "And to have a dog pissing on a little girl that has become such a symbol of strength and poise is especially heinous. It's like Alex Gardega is essentially taking a piss on women. Stay classy, guy!"

See: Perez Hilton, 'Fragile Man-Baby Places Pissing Dog Sculpture Next To The Empowering Fearless Girl Statue in Manhattan', posted on perezhilton.com (May 30, 2017) - click here.

Click here to read part one of this post: The Charging Bull. 

Click here to read part two of this post: The Fearless Girl.

On the Charging Bull-Fearless Girl-Pissing Pug Controversy 2: The Fearless Girl

If you imagine a 50-inch, 250-pound bronze statue of a pretty young girl in a dress couldn't possibly cause offence or controversy within the art world and amongst feminist critics, then think again ... For Fearless Girl (2017), by Kristen Visbal, has done both. And it has particularly irritated the artist Alex Gardega, as we will discuss in the third part of this post.

Commissioned by the New York investment firm State Street Global Advisors, it was installed on March 7, 2017, at Bowling Green in the Financial District of Manhattan, directly facing Arturo Di Modica's famous Charging Bull. If it was intended primarily to promote an index fund made up of companies that have a higher percentage of women in senior leadership roles than is the norm, it was also meant to mark International Women's Day.

Instructed to ensure the statue depicted a girl looking courageous and proud - with her chin up and hands on hips - Visbal nevertheless carefully avoided any hint of wilful belligerence by keeping the facial features full of the soft-loveliness of a Latina child.

Originally given just a one-week City Hall permit, the sculpture is now due to remain in place until the end of February 2018. A petition asking for the work to be granted a permanent spot gathered over 2,500 signatures in its first 48 hours. However, despite capturing many hearts, the work is by no means universally loved ...   

Some, for example, have criticized it as an example of corporate feminism that violates the very principles of the latter as movement concerned with social justice and radical political change. Others have said that the work reinforces the idea that empowerment requires women to remain cute and girly; they can act strong, but mustn't have real muscles.  

As for Signore Di Modica, he has demanded that the Fearless Girl be removed, arguing that it exploits his work for purely commercial purposes whilst also changing public perceptions of his Charging Bull. Dismissing Visbal's piece as an advertising gimmick lacking artistic integrity, Di Modica has apparently instructed his lawyers to take action against the city officials who allowed it to be installed.

This, I have to say, is a bit rich: it's worth recalling that Di Modica himself placed his work in a public space, uninvited and without permission, thereby altering the environment in which it stood. So he can hardly complain when someone else does the same.

More, are we really expected to swallow all his bullshit about the purity and integrity of his work - the product of individual male genius - in contrast to the compromised corporate commercialism of Fearless Girl that resulted from the collaborative effort of women working in different professional areas? I think not ...

To his credit, the Mayor of New York, Bill de Blasio, has tweeted his support for Visbal's statue, saying: "Men who don't like women taking up space are exactly why we need the Fearless Girl." Such men, it seems, include Alex Gardega, who provided an unpleasant twist to this tale of two sculptures by placing a small work of his own entitled Pissing Pug besides the leg of the Fearless Girl ...

Click here to read part one of this post: The Charging Bull.

Click here to read part three of this post: The Pissing Pug.

On the Charging Bull-Fearless Girl-Pissing Pug Controversy 1: The Charging Bull

Arturo Di Modica's Charging Bull (1989) - also known as the Wall Street Bull - is a three-and-a-half ton bronze sculpture located in the Financial District of Manhattan. Originally a piece of guerrilla art (i.e., one installed without official permission), its huge popularity with New Yorkers and tourists alike led to it becoming a permanent feature. 

The larger-than-life piece - standing 11 ft in height and 16 ft in length - is said by the artist to affirm the optimism and can-do spirit of America. But I think it fair to say that its muscular dynamism has roots in a fascist aesthetic; the hard, dark-looking metal from which the sculpture is made only reinforcing its aggressive character. As do the prominently displayed testicles, that have been shined to gleaming perfection by visitors who rub them for luck.        

Unsurprisingly, the Charging Bull has often been subject to criticism from anti-capitalist protesters and various women's groups; the former see it as a symbol of corporate greed, the latter argue that it publicly endorses a threatening model of hypermasculinity. The work has also been condemned by interfaith religious leaders who regard it as a piece of neo-pagan idolatry (comparing it to the golden calf worshipped by the Israelites during their exodus from Egypt).  

Despite such criticisms, the Wall St. Bull has stood its ground and secured its place in the popular cultural imagination, successfully seeing off all challenges to its presence and its power. But then along came a Fearless Girl ...

Click here to read part two of this post: The Fearless Girl.
 

Click here to read part three of this post: The Pissing Pug.

In Memory of My Father

John S. Hall (1912-2000) 

On June 6th my thoughts turn to my father, who died on this date seventeen years ago.

Here he is looking quite dapper at the end of the War, in October 1945, still a relatively young man in his early-thirties, though doubtless this was regarded as mature middle-age back then.

Fuck knows what he's thinking about - if anything.

Perhaps my mother, who would have been nineteen when this picture was taken; a picture he signed on the back and gave to her, so he must have been relatively pleased with the likeness. Possibly it was taken on his birthday, though I don't know that any more than I know where the photo was taken or by whom.       

One presumes it was taken in Newcastle, his hometown. For he and my mother only moved south, to London, after they were married in 1948. But, again, I can't say for sure. As far as I'm aware, my family history isn't full of dark secrets. But it lacks transparency and documentation and my father hardly ever spoke about his past - which is a shame, as, by the time I was born, that was the greater part of his life.

Having said that, I've always been grateful not to be overburdened with memories and free from extended family ties; to feel neither love nor loyalty to any relatives or ancestors. I think never having met any of my grandparents, for example, helped me as a philosopher to feel untimely and experience something of the joy of orphans who gain through loss.

But still, it's nice to recall my father at least once a year and thereby allow a little sentimentality to creep into this blog as a counter-theoretical form of discourse which, as Barthes says, is a necessary transgression that serves to prevent writing from becoming too puritanical (i.e. lacking in the warmth and softness of feeling that is often responsible for the pleasure of the text).  

Notes on Vaginal Vespatherapy

I think even Gwyneth Paltrow - a passionate advocate of apitherapy and steam-cleaned sex organs - might possibly raise an eyebrow at the idea of inserting ground wasp nest into her cunt. Indeed, even my friend Hotaru, who has a real fascination with formicophilia, said she found the practice troubling (and this is a girl who literally likes to have ants in her pants).

But this is the latest all-natural treatment being marketed at women looking to rejuvenate (i.e. tighten and freshen up) their vaginas. Of course, there's no scientfic evidence to back up the claims for the miraculous properties of manjankani. But, even as I write, some poor woman somewhere is doubtless applying crushed oak apple to her intimate regions in the mistaken belief it will pep up her sex life and eliminate embarrassing odours, when, in fact, it's more likely to have serious health implications. 

Thus it is that Canadian gynaecologist and blogger, Dr Jen Gunter, has raised concerns - warning women that it can result in a dry - not merely tight - vagina which can make penetration painful and increase the risk of tissue damage. This supposedly ancient and traditional method of pussy enhancement can also destroy the natural bacteria that help keep the vagina healthy.

She concludes her piece with a professional tip that is surely worth passing on: if it hurts, burns, or irritates when you apply something to the lining of your vagina, then it's probably best not to do it. Care for your mucosa girls! Don't insert random objects or astringent pastes into your body without at least checking with your local pharmacist or GP first.

And if anyone tries to persuade you otherwise, send 'em away with a flea in their ear ...


Notes

Oak apples (or oak galls) are abnormal growths commonly found on many species of oak tree that form when gall wasps lay single eggs in leaf buds. Reacting to chemicals released by the developing wasp larva, the trees produce hard, protective balls of bark, 2-4 cm in size, which the larva then feeds off until ready to emerge as a fully-formed insect.  

Dr Jen Gunter's post - 'Don't put ground up wasp nest in your vagina' (May 16, 2017) - can be found on her blog by clicking here.

Necro-Ornithology (Study of a Dead Baby Bird)

Dead Baby Bird 
(on chrome yellow background with daisy) 
Stephen Alexander 2017

You know what it is to die alone,
Baby bird!

To have fallen from the nest, unfledged,
Dragon-faced and flipper-winged.

Once your tiny beak-mouth chirruped
With bold reptile defiance, indomitable.

Now maggots rend your unfeathered flesh.