pattycakes_
Can turn naughty
Which leads to a different experience for the viewer. Both experiences are valid
I'm not saying he wasn't open, I'm just distinguishing it from the original point about the Sun Ra, Joni, Jimi types. It's a different type of open. One can't help it, the other is more in control
I suppose an exception would be a true 'outsider artist' whose house is found to be full of crazy sculptures or paintings after they die, which nobody else even knew about. But they're obviously very few and far between.Yeah, I know. I'm not saying there's one type of artist or one style of being open, I'm saying a closed off artist is something of a paradox because it's a fundamentally open activity. You have to put something out there in order to do it.
I suppose an exception would be a true 'outsider artist' whose house is found to be full of crazy sculptures or paintings after they die, which nobody else even knew about. But they're obviously very few and far between.
No, but I think it's interesting when people are pulled in different directions like that. He was constantly reducing things, withdrawing, but kept putting the stuff out there.
Right and you could easily imagine the ultimate act of withdrawal would be to not put anything out there. Well shit, looks like I've out Becketted Becket. Eat my dust, Sam!
You must have put some tunes on SoundCloud or similar at some point though, right?Right and you could easily imagine the ultimate act of withdrawal would be to not put anything out there. Well shit, looks like I've out Becketted Becket. Eat my dust, Sam!
Clarice Lispector seemed quite similar to Beckett, similar suspicion of language and inclination for reduction:
Lispector was phobic about the dilution of language through overuse: “Writing too much and too often can contaminate the word.” Indeed, the obligation of having to write—together with the pervasive sense of the inadequacy of words—is an idée fixe in the crônicas, and Lispector repeatedly harangued herself for it: “If I could, I would leave my place on this page blank: replete with a resounding silence,” marks a May 1971 entry. The distrust of the merely documentary function of writing also reflects a wider anxiety about language’s sense-making abilities. “I don’t know how to ‘clothe an idea in words,’” she wrote in a piece a year earlier. “When I am writing, I feel again what is apparently the only paradoxical certainty: that what gets in the way of writing is having to use words.”
Like a gash.I'm open like a wound