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how to do nothing
This is a version of a keynote I gave at EYEO 2017.
In the most basic sense, thats because I largely wrote this talk in the
rose garden. But its also because as I wrote it, I realized that the gar-
den encompassed everything that Im going to talk to you about, which
is the practice of doing nothing, but also the architecture of nothing,
the importance of public space, and an ethics of care and maintenance.
And also, birds:
this guy
Why did I write this talk in the rose garden? I live five minutes away,
and ever since Ive lived in Oakland the garden has been my default
place to go to get away from my computer, where I make much of my
art and also do most of my work related to teaching. But after the 2016
election, I started going to the rose garden almost every day. This
wasnt exactly a conscious decision; I needed to golike a deer going
to a salt lick or a goat going to the top of a hill. It was innate.
What I would do there is nothing. Id just sit there. And although I felt
a bit guilty about how incongruous it seemedbeautiful garden versus
terrifying worldit really did feel necessary, like a survival tactic. I
found this necessity of doing nothing so perfectly articulated in a pas-
sage from Gilles Deleuze in Negotiations:
were riddled with pointless talk, insane quantities of words and images.
Stupiditys never blind or mute. So its not a problem of getting people to
express themselves but of providing little gaps of solitude and silence in
which they might eventually find something to say. Repressive forces dont
stop people expressing themselves but rather force them to express them-
selves; what a relief to have nothing to say, the right to say nothing,
because only then is there a chance of framing the rare, and ever rar-
er, thing that might be worth saying. (emphasis mine)
He wrote that in 1985, but the sentiment is something I think we can all
identify with right now, almost to a degree thats painful. The function
of nothing here, of saying nothing, is that its a precursor to something,
to having something to say. Nothing is neither a luxury nor a waste of
time, but rather a necessary part of meaningful thought and speech.
making nothing
I want to backtrack a little here just to say that Ive long had an appre-
ciation of doing nothingor more properly, making nothing. Im not
lazy, but the most I have ever made or constructed is a new context for,
or perspective on, something that already existed.
One woman at the Recology opening was very confused and said,
Wait so did you actually make anything? Or did you just put things
on shelves? (Yes, I just put things on shelves.)
This project might remind some people of Richard Prince, who re-
moved the text from Marlboro ads in order to comment on the appro-
priation of the myth of the American cowboy, a myth which is itself an
endless chain of appropriations. Theres a long tradition of work like
this, appropriation that comments on an original act of appropriation
or that reinterprets, annotates, proposes new meanings for what we
already have.
When you collect marine animals there are certain flat worms so delicate
that they are almost impossible to capture whole, for they break and tatter
under the touch. You must let them ooze and crawl of their own will onto a
knife blade and then lift them gently into your bottle of sea water. And per-
haps that might be the way to write this bookto open the page and let
the stories crawl in by themselves.
It may not surprise you to know, then, that my favorite movies tend to
be documentaries, and that one of my favorite public art pieces was
done by the documentary filmmaker, Eleanor Coppola. In 1973, she car-
ried out a public art project called Windows, which materially speaking
consisted only of a map with a list of locations in San Francisco.
Coppola instead casts a subtle frame over the whole of the city itself as
a work of art, a light but meaningful touch that recognizes art that ex-
ists where it already is.
A more recent project that acts in a similar spirit is Scott Polachs Ap-
plause Encouraged, which happened at Cabrillo National Monument in
San Diego in 2015. Forty-five minutes before the sunset, a greeter
checked the guests in to this cordoned-o area. They were ushered to
their seats and reminded not to take photos. When the sunset finished,
they applauded, and refreshments were oered afterward.
Everyone moves very slowly, and yes, people do quite literally stop and
smell the roses. There are probably a hundred possible ways to make
your way through the space, and just as many places to sit. Architec-
turally, the rose garden wants you to stay a while.
Not far from the rose garden is the Chapel of the Chimes, a columbar-
ium designed by Julia Morgan, another labyrinthine space whose many,
many rooms contains hundreds of containers of ashes. Some of those
containers are also annotated with cards, letters, photographs, and per-
sonal belongings, allowing you to attempt to consider someones entire
life from beginning to end, and by extension your own life, from begin-
ning to end.
Its also wonderfully easy to get lost in this place. My favorite part of
the building is a map which contains no you are here marking, so all
it does is give you an appreciation of how complicated the maze is that
youre in.
you are \_()_/
labyrinths in Lindisfarne, Scotland (photo: Lesley Wilson) and Sibley Volcanic Reserve, Berkeley, CA (unknown photographer)
Pauline Oliveros (with the accordion) and the Ensemble performing Sonic Meditations, 1970, Rancho
Santa Fe, CA (scan: Bradford Bailey)
Oliveros defines Deep Listening as listening in every possible way to
every thing possible to hear no matter what you are doing. Such in-
tense listening includes the sounds of daily life, of nature, of ones own
thoughts as well as musical sounds. She distinguished between listen-
ing and hearing: To hear is the physical means that enables percep-
tion. To listen is to give attention to what is perceived both acoustically
and psychologically. The goal and the reward of Deep Listening was a
heightened sense of receptivity in a general sense, a reversal of the
norm:
birdnoticing tools
In any case, what this practice has in common with Deep Listening is
that observing birds requires you quite literally to do nothing. Its sort
of the opposite of looking something up online. You cant really look for
birds. You cant make a bird come out and identify itself to you. All you
can do is walk and wait until you hear something, and then stand mo-
tionless under a tree trying to use your animal senses to figure out
where and what it is. In my experience, time kind of stops. (You can
ask anyone who knows medoing this regularly makes me late to
things.)
What amazed me about birdwatching was the way it changed the gran-
ularity of my perception, which was pretty low res to begin with. At
first, I just noticed birdsong more. Of course it had been there all along,
but now that I was paying attention to it, I realized that it was almost
everywhere, all day, all the time. In particular I cant imagine how I
went most of my life so far without noticing scrub jays, which are in-
credibly loud and sound like this:
video by Seth 707
And then, one by one, I started learning other songs and being able to
associate each of them with a bird, so that now when I walk into the
the rose garden, I inadvertently acknowledge them in my head as
though they were people: hi raven, robin, song sparrow, chickadee,
goldfinch, towhee, hawk, nuthatch, and so on. The diversification (in
my attention) of what was previously bird sounds into discrete sounds
that carry meaning is something I can only compare to the moment
that I realized that my mom spoke three languages, not two.
My mom has only ever spoken English to me, and for a very long time,
I assumed that whenever my mom was speaking to another Filipino
person, that she was speaking Tagalog. I didnt really have a good rea-
son for thinking this other than that I knew she did speak Tagalog and
it sort of all sounded like Tagalog to me. But my mom was actually only
sometimes speaking Tagalog, and other times speaking Ilonggo, which
is a completely dierent language that is specific to where shes from in
the Philippines.
The languages are not the same, i.e. one is not simply a dialect of the
other; in fact, the Philippines is full of language groups that, according
to my mom, have so little in common that speakers would not be able
to understand each other, and Tagalog is only one.
This isnt a new idea, and it also applies over longer periods of time. I
think most of us have, or know someone who has, gone through some
period of removal that fundamentally changed their attitude to the
world they returned to. Sometimes thats occasioned by something ter-
rible, like illness or loss, and sometimes its voluntary, but regardless
that pause in time is sometimes the only thing that can precipitate
change on a certain scale.
One of our most famous observers, John Muir, had just such an experi-
ence. Before becoming the naturalist that we know him as, he worked
as a supervisor and sometimes-inventor in a wagon wheel factory. (One
of his weirder inventions was a study desk that was also an alarm clock
and timer, which would open up books for an allotted amount of time,
close them, and then open the next book.)
no thanks. (from The Atlantic, Old, Weird Tech: John Muir Mechanical GTD Desk Edition)
Muir had already developed a love of botany, but it was an eye accident
that temporarily blinded him that made him reevaluate his priorities.
The accident confined him to a darkened room for six weeks, and he
was unsure whether he would ever see again. The 1916 edition of The
Writings of John Muir is divided into two parts, one before the accident
and one after, each with its own introduction by William Fredric Bade.
In the second introduction, Bade writes that this period of reflection
convinced Muir that life was too brief and uncertain, and time too pre-
cious, to waste upon belts and saws; that while he was pottering in a
wagon factory, God was making a world; and he determined that, if his
eyesight was spared, he would devote the remainder of his life to a
study of the process. Muir himself said, This aiction has driven me
to the sweet fields.
After a while, he says, he realized that a lot of his anger about his job
and outside circumstances had more to do with him than he realized.
As he put it, its just you with yourself and your own crap, so you have
to deal with it. But that time also taught my dad about creativity, and
the state of openness, nothing, maybe even boredom, that it requires.
Im reminded of a 1991 lecture by John Cleese (of Monty Python) on
creativity, in which two of the five required factors he lists are time.
And so at the end of this stretch of open time, my dad shopped around
for jobs and realized that the one hed had was actually pretty good. He
describes it as a humbling experience. But also, because hed discov-
ered what was necessary for his own creativity, he wasnt the same the
second time around. He went from technician to engineer and started
racking up patents.
(And by the way, my dad shares the same penchant for close observa-
tion that I do. This is a typical text from him.)
This got me thinking that perhaps the granularity of attention we
achieve outward also extends inward, so that as the perceptual details
of our environment unfold in surprising ways, so too do our own intri-
cacies and contradictions.
My dad said that leaving the confined context of a job made him under-
stand himself not in relation to that world, but just to the world, and
forever after that, things that happened at work only seemed like one
small part of something much larger. It reminds me of how John Muir
described himself not as a naturalist but as a poetico-trampo-geologist-
botanist and ornithologist-naturalist etc. etc., or of how Pauline Oliv-
eros described herself in 1974: Pauline Oliveros is a two legged human
being, female, lesbian, musician, and composer among other things
which contribute to her identity. She is herself and lives with her part-
ner, along with assorted poultry, dogs, cats, rabbits and tropical hermit
crabs. Incidentally, this has encouraged me to maybe change my bio
to: Jenny Odell is an artist, professor, thinker, walker, sleeper, eater,
and amateur birdnoticer.
But here I come back to Deleuzes right to say nothing, and although
we can definitely say that this right is variously accessible or even inac-
cessible for some, I believe that it is indeed a right. For example, the
push for an 8-hour workday in 1886 called for 8 hours of work, 8 hours
of rest, and 8 hours of what we will. Im struck by the quality of things
that associated with the category What we Will: rest, thought, flow-
ers, sunshine.
graphic and song by Federation of Organized Trades and Labor Unions, 1886
These are bodily, human things, and this bodily-ness is something I will
come back to. When Samuel Gompers, who led the labor group that or-
ganized this particular iteration of the 8-hour movement, was asked,
What does labor want? he responded, It wants the earth and the
fullness thereof. And to me it seems significant that its not 8 hours of,
say, leisure or education, but 8 hours of what we will. Although
leisure or education might be involved, what seems most humane is the
refusal to define that period.
Because it interfaces between the theme park and the actual city, City-
Walk exists somewhere in between, almost like a movie set, where visi-
tors can consume the supposed diversity of an urban environment
while enjoying a feeling of safety that results from its actual homogene-
ity. In an essay about such spaces, Eric Chaplin and Sarah Holding call
City Walk a scripted space par excellence, that is, a space which ex-
cludes, directs, supervises, constructs, and orchestrates use. Anyone
who has ever tried any funny business in a faux public space knows
that such spaces do not just script actions, they police them. As Mike
Davis has noted, scripted spaces can be boiled down to a form of crowd
control:
Still, it wasnt surprising to me to find out recently that the rose garden
is in an area that almost got turned into condos in the 70s. Im ap-
palled, but not surprised. Im also not surprised that it took a concerted
eort by local residents to have the area re-zoned to prevent that from
happening. Thats because this kind of thing is always seems to be hap-
pening: those spaces which are not seen as commercially productive are
always under threat, since what they produce cant be measured or
exploited or even easily identifieddespite the fact that anyone in the
neighborhood can tell you what an immense value the garden provides.
Currently, I see a similar battle playing out for our time, a colonization
of the self by capitalist ideas of productivity and eciency. One might
say the parks and libraries of the self are always about to be turned into
condos.
Franco Berardi, in his book After the Future, ties the defeat of labor
movements in the 1980s to rise of the idea that we should all be entre-
preneurs. In the past, he notes, economic risk was the business of the
capitalist, the investor. Today though, we are all capitalist and
therefore, we all have to take risks. The essential idea is that we
should all consider life as an economic venture, as a race where there
are winners and losers.
The way that Berardi describes labor will sound as familiar to anyone
concerned with their personal brand as it will to any Uber driver, con-
tent moderator, hard-up freelancer, aspiring YouTube star, or adjunct
professor who drives to three campuses in one week:
Privately Owned Public Space (POPOS) in San Francisco (photo: Staeiou) / social media consultant in Nosedive (Black Mirror, Season 3, Episode 1)
While I was going through those old BYTE magazines, looking for speci-
mens, I came across a lot of ads about computers whose main point
was that they were going to save you time working. This one, the
power lunch, is one of my favorites.
he is drinking milk
Part of whats so painful about this image is that we know how this
story ends; yes, it did get easier to work. From anywhere. All the time.
Compare the power lunch with this ad, one of a series by Fiverr that I
saw in an Oakland BART station.
For anyone unfamiliar with Fiverr: Its a microtasking site where indi-
vidual entrepreneurs sell various tasksbasically, units of their time
for $5, whether thats copy editing, filming a video of themselves do-
ing something of your choice, or pretending to be your girlfriend on
Facebook. Fiverr is the ultimate expression of Franco Berardis fractals
of time and pulsating cells of labor. And here, the idea that you would
even withhold some of that time to sustain yourself with food is essen-
tially ridiculed. Yes, these people work from home, but unlike the man
with the sandwich, they must work from home. Home is work; work is
home.
emotional labor that can be done at any time from any place
This isnt constrained to the gig economy. For a few years after grad
school, I worked in the marketing department of a large corporation
(where I would amuse myself by taking Photobooth photos with a card-
board cutout I found in the oce).
The oce had instituted something called the Results Only Work Envi-
ronment, or ROWE. The idea of ROWE was to abolish the 8-hour work-
day, and that you could work whenever from wherever as long as you
got your work done. It sounded nice, but there was something in the
name that bothered me. After all, what is the E in ROWE? If you could
be getting results at the oce, in your car, at the store, at homearent
those all then work environments? At the time, in 2011, I surprisingly
didnt have a phone with email yet, and when this happened I saw the
writing on the wall and put o getting one even longer. I knew exactly
what would happen the minute I did, that every minute of every day I
would in fact be answerable to someone, even if my leash was a lot
longer.
Our required reading, Why Work Sucks and How to Fix it, by the cre-
ators of ROWE, intended to describe a merciful slackening of the be in
your chair from 9 to 5 model, but I was nonetheless troubled by how
the work and non-work selves are completely conflated throughout the
text. And so they write:
If you can have your time and work and live and be a person, then the
question youre faced with every day isnt, Do I really have to go to work
today? but, How do I contribute to this thing called life? What can I do to-
day to benefit my family, my company, myself?
Those same means by which we give over our hours and days are the
same with which we assault ourselves with information and misinfor-
mation, at a rate that is frankly inhumane. I am not saying dont read
the news, or what other people have to say about that news, but there
is clearly a problemnot only of quality, but also of speed and atten-
tion span, which seem to be inversely related and driving each other.
the colonels
They have long necks like other herons, but they keep it secret and al-
ways stay in this sort of football shape. I remember specifically feeling
comforted by the presence of these birds, like I could look up from
whatever trash fire was happening on Twitter and theyd probably be
there, unmoving with their pointy beaks and their judgy eyes.
In fact I even found them on 2011 Street View, and I have no doubt they
were there earlier, but Street View doesnt go back any further.
vintage heron
One started coming every day around the time that I eat breakfast, and
sometimes it would caw to make me come out on the balcony with a
peanut. Then one day it brought its kid, which I knew was its kid be-
cause the big one would groom the smaller one and because the
smaller one had an undeveloped, chicken-like squawk. I named them
Crow and Crowson.
the distinguished crow and crowson
Sometimes they dont want any more peanuts and they just sit there
and stare at me. One time Crowson followed me halfway down the
street. And frankly, I spent a lot of time staring back at them, which I
imagine looks very weird to my neighbors. But again, like the night
herons, I found their company comforting, somehow extremely so
given the circumstances. I found it comforting that these essentially
wild animals recognize me, that I have some place in their universe,
and that even though I have no idea what they do the rest of the day,
that they stop by my place every day, that sometimes I can even wave
them over from a faraway tree.
This scrub jay lives in a particular corner of the rose garden. Scrub jays
can also identify humans, and they also enjoy peanuts. Every time I go
to the garden, I listen for that inimitable shriek, and if I hear it, I sit at
a particular bench and wait for him to come out. Scrub jays are smart
in part because they can remember up to 200 locations where they
buried food for later. (And in fact, if they notice another bird watching
them hide something, theyll come back later and re-bury it, which sug-
gests to ethologists that they possess theory of mind.) One of my fa-
vorite things to watch is a scrub jay taking a peanut, searching for a
good spot to cache it, hammering it into the ground with its beak, and
then artfully placing dirt and leaves on top of it to camouflage the spot.
There are ravens that I noticed live half in and half out of the rose gar-
den, until I realized that there is no rose garden to them. These alien
animal perspectives on me and our shared world have provided me not
only with an escape hatch from contemporary anxiety but also a re-
minder of my own animality and the animateness of the world I live in.
raven territory
When I realized this, I grabbed onto it like a life raft, and I havent let
go. This is real. The living, breathing bodies in this room are real. I am
not an avatar, a set of preferences, or some smooth cognitive force. Im
lumpy, Im an animal, I hurt sometimes, and Im dierent one day to
the next. I hear, I see, and I smell things that hear, see, and smell me.
And it can take a break to remember that, a break to do nothing, to lis-
ten, to remember what we are and where we are.
But beyond strategic / activist self care, I think theres something else
to be gained here: Doing nothing teaches us how to listen. Ive already
mentioned literal listening, or Deep Listening, but this time I mean it in
a broader sense. To do nothing is to hold yourself still so that you can
perceive what is actually there. As Gordon Hempton, an acoustic ecolo-
gist who records natural soundscapes, Silence is not the absence of
something but the presence of everything.
There are a lot of us, and Im certainly not immune to this, who could
stand to learn how to listen better, and I mean listen to other people. As
a lover of weird internet things, I definitely do not want to write o the
amazing culture and also activism that happens online. But even with
the problem of the filter bubble aside, the platforms that we use to
communicate with each other about very important things do not en-
courage listening. They encourage shouting, or having a take after
having read a single headline.
I alluded earlier to the problem of speed, but this is also a problem of
listening, and of bodies. There is in fact a connection between listening
in the Deep Listening, bodily sense, and listening, as in me understand-
ing your perspective. Writing about the circulation of information, Be-
rardi makes a helpful distinction between connectivity and sensitivity.
Connectivity is the rapid circulation of information among compatible
unitsan example is something getting a bunch of shares very quickly
and unthinkingly by likeminded people on Facebook. With connectivity,
you either are or are not compatible. Red or blue; check the box. In this
transmission of information, the units dont change, nor does the
information.
This is the place to mention a few regulars of the rose garden; theres a
turkey that sometimes makes the rounds, and Grayson the cat, who will
sit on your book if youre trying to read.
you will stop reading and pet me now
But the most constant regulars of the garden are volunteers doing
maintenance. Their presence is a reminder that the rose garden is beau-
tiful in part because it is cared for, that eort must be put in, whether
thats saving it from becoming condos or just making sure the roses
come back next year. The volunteers do such a good job that I very of-
ten will see park visitors walk up to them and thank them for what
theyre doing.
(left photo: Morcom Rose Garden blog)
When I see the volunteers pulling weeds and arranging hoses, I often
think of the Maintenance Manifesto, by the artist Mierle Laderman Uke-
les. Her well known pieces include Washing/Tracks/Maintenance: Out-
side, a performance in which she washed the steps of the Wadsworth
Atheneum, and Touch Sanitation, in which she spent 11 months shaking
hands with and thanking New York Citys 8,500 sanitation men, in ad-
dition to interviewing and shadowing them. She has in fact been a per-
manent artist in residence with the New York sanitation department
since 1977.
The manifesto opens with a distinction between what she calls the
death force and the life force:
The life force is concerned with cyclicality, care, and regeneration; the
death force sounds a whole lot like disrupt. Of course some amount
of both are necessary, but one is routinely valorized, not to mention
masculinized, while the other goes unrecognized because it has no part
in progress.
That brings me to one last surprising aspect of the rose garden. I first
noticed this as a series of numbers in the tens. Each number signifies a
decade, and within each decade you will find 10 plaques, one for each
year, with the names of various women.
As it turns out, the names are of women who were voted Mother of the
Year by Oakland residents. The feature was added to the garden in
1954.
To be Mother of the Year, you must have contributed to improving the
quality of life for the people of Oaklandthrough home, work, com-
munity service, volunteer eorts or combination thereof. In an old in-
dustry film about Oakland, I found footage of a Mother of the Year
ceremony from sometime in the 1950s:
And for a few days this last May, I noticed an unusual number of volun-
teers in the garden, sprucing everything up, repainting things. It took
me a while to realize they were preparing for Mother of the Year 2017.
Malia Luisa Latu Saulala accepts 2017 award (photo: Sarah Tan)
(Presumably, there are many Mothers of the Year to come; the prome-
nade goes all the way up to 2050. I also want to give a shout out here
to my own mom, who has volunteered on top of working for much of
her adult life, and who currently supports parents with foster children.
Hi Mom!)
When all the ordinary divides and patterns are shattered, people step up
not all, but the great preponderanceto become their brothers keepers.
And that purposefulness and connectedness bring joy even amid death,
chaos, fear, and loss. Horrible in itself, disaster is sometimes a door
back into paradise, the paradise at least in which we are who we hope to
be, do the work we desire, and are each our sisters and brothers keeper.
She suggests that the real disaster is everyday life, which alienates us
from each other but also from the protective impulse that we harbor. In
a similar vein, what Im suggesting here is that we adopt a protective
stance toward ourselves, each other, and whatever is left of what makes
us human.
Im suggesting that we protect our spaces and our time for non-instru-
mental, non-commercial activity and thought, for maintenance, for
care, for conviviality. And Im suggesting that we fiercely protect our
human animality against all technologies that ignore and actively dis-
dain the body, the bodies of others, and the body of the landscape that
we inhabit.
escaping the need to eat / escaping the planet (photos: Soylent / Jae C. Hong)
Abram writes that all our technological utopias and dreams of ma-
chine-mediated immortality may fire our minds but they cannot feed
our bodies. Indeed, most of this eras transcendent technological visions
remain motivated by a fright of the body and its myriad susceptibilities,
by a fear of our carnal embedment in a world ultimately beyond our
controlby our terror of the very wildness that nourishes and sustains
us.
Peter Thiel (photo: Heisenberg Media) and Ray Kurzweil (photo: Ed Schipul)
There are certain people who would like to use technology to live
longer, or forever. Ironically, this desire is a perfect illustration of the
death drive from the Maintenance Manifesto (separation, individuali-
ty, Avant-Garde par excellence; to follow ones own pathdo your own
thing; dynamic change). To such men I propose that a far more parsi-
monious way to live forever is to exit the trajectory of productive time,
so that a single moment might open almost to infinity. As John Muir
once said, Longest is the life that contains the largest amount of time-
eacing enjoyment.
Of course, such a solution isnt good for business, nor can it be consid-
ered particularly innovative. In the meantime, as I sit in the deep bowl
of the rose garden, surrounded by various human and non-human bod-
ies, inhabiting a reality woven together by myriad bodily sensitivities
that are not my ownindeed, the very boundaries of my own body
overcome by the smell of jasmine and just-ripening blackberryI look
down at my phone and wonder if it isnt its own kind of sensory depri-
vation chamber.
epilogue: nothing planned
You may be wondering what this means for me as an artista digital
artist. Im right about at that point that my dad was when he started to
wonder about what he was doing. From this perspective, I look back
and notice that my most extensive work has used Google Earth, a way
for me to spend hours and hours looking at a representation of the
earth, albeit from a digital remove.
Athabasca Oil SandsSyncrude Mine, 2014
I think of the hours and hours that I have now spent in the rose garden,
putting o returning to my work on a glowing two-dimensional screen
an arms length from my face; or the days on which Ill leave just to get
coee and wind up almost involuntarily on top of a hill four hours lat-
er, regardless of the shoes Im wearing; or the fact that the last five or
six books Ive read have had to do with animal intelligence and the im-
portance of landscape in memory and cognition. I dont know where
any of this, where I, will end up.
So, as a thank you gift for listening to everything I have to say about
nothing, only to have me essentially tell you that I dont know what Im
doing, I want to give you a little bit of nothing:
Several years ago, before I had begun to think about any of this in any
conscious way, I was riding Caltrain home from Stanford in the
evening. Anyone who has taken Caltrain knows that a typical train car
is filled with people doing work on their computers or tablets, since
many of them are going to and coming from tech companies in the
Peninsula. As I remember it, I myself was characteristically stressed out,
thinking about a million things that I needed to do, and in general just
feeling very rigid and confined by own specific concerns.
In the midst of everything that was going on, hearing this thunder gave
me a feeling that is honestly impossible to verbalizeand so I wont.
Instead, I will leave you with this recording of thunder by Gordon
Hempton.
https://open.spotify.com/album/5TlrKFP8wm1ED6pSiudm16
An almost better example from the same era is Sherrie Levines After
Walker Evans. Frequently misunderstood as a postmodernist stunt,
Levines photographs of Walker Evans iconic works were not meant to
be pictures, but rather pictures of pictures (or of picturing). As Craig
Owens puts it in Beyond Recognition: Representation, Power, and Culture:
In representing these canonical images of the rural poorthe expropriat-
edLevine was calling attention to the original act of appropriation
whereby Evans first took these photographs [FSA project], as if to illustrate
Walter Benjamins observation, in The Author as Producer, on the eco-
nomic function of photography: [Photography] has succeeded in making
even abject poverty, by recording it in a fashionable perfected manner, into
an object of enjoyment, i.e., a commodity.
One might wonder why I didnt choose to talk about John Cage in-
stead. Indeed, Oliveros was a colleague of Cages as well as a performer
of his music. In her study of the two composers, Tracy McMullen argues
that Oliveros practices diered from Cages because they included a
focus on embodiment, improvisation, and the dismantling of the
mind/body dualism troubles the primacy of the individual and the uni-
versal over the contingent, whereas Cages music did not include im-
provisation and sought to keep the self (his self) intact. Oliveros group
performances of Sonic Meditation are particularly good examples of Mc-
Mullens formulation:
Improvisation privileges listening and responding and therefore highlights
intersubjectivitythe ways our actions and sense of self are constantly
constructed through interaction with our environment.
In her book Deep Listening: A Composers Sound Practice, Oliveros
notes that animals are by definition Deep Listeners:
When you enter an environment where there are birds, insects or animals,
they are listening to you completely. You are received. Your presence may
be the dierence between life and death for the creatures of the environ-
ment. Listening is survival!
Final note: photos and videos here without credits are mine.