GeekinthePink

The postmodern tour of downtown was interesting. And in a way, I thought it was fascinating how architecture had a lot of similarities with literature; namely, that there is more than meets the eye. If you read a Hemingway book you encounter pieces of his iceberg theory and you have to be vigilant for meaning—same thing for these buildings, although I don't agree with the consensus that the spike on top of the Bank of America building seemed like that of a church. To me, it was a little phallic and sadistic. But maybe that’s just me and maybe I’m just a little sick and then again, maybe I just have issues with money. Hm.

Anthropomorphism has interesting implications. By personifying a building, in theory, anamnesis is supposed to effect the obsever. Because giving an inanimate object humanistic qualities should incur feeling of some sort. But this is my dilemma—do we really see it if it is not pointed out to us? I probably would not have noticed it had Dr. Rog not mentioned it. So if we don’t notice it, is there really a point in putting it into the building? Does it do its job if we don’t notice it? Or maybe it’s like literature—not everyone notices metaphors and similes and allegory, but people who study it do. But really. In a postmodern society, does anyone even notice things are broken down into meaning for them? Or do they just accept the spoon-fed feelings with a hungry stomach and empty eyes and greedy palms?

Usually when I hear people mention downtown, it is the clubs. The dancing. The drinking. The hedonistic aspect of life. I don’t hear much about the important buildings or the libraries or the courthouse. I hear about what a great time they had or how they got wasted or who they met. This, in itself, makes me ponder what it means to live in post modernity. To pay to be in crowded buildings and to pour mind-numbing liquid down our throats and to have lights pulsating and making us feel things we normally wouldn’t feel if all these qualities were not combined. Everything is supposed to be easy, but I think it makes it harder. Harder to gauge meaning from something already deconstructed for us. Do we need a building to make us feel things or should we feel them for ourselves? I think some aptitude to derive meaning for oneself would be nice.

GeekinthePink

Walter Benjamin’s “The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction” describes an art slowly losing its artistic value. “To pry an object from its shell, to destroy its aura, is the mark of a perception whose ‘sense of the universal equality of things’ has increased to such a degree that it extracts it even from a unique object by means of reproduction.” I was thinking of all art in general—paintings, sculpting, music, etc. I used to really love Van Gogh paintings—really, any of them. Considered one of the founders of expressionism—his incorporation of neo-impressionism and recognizable style was something that for me, set him apart. But, after I repainted my room and looked around for Van Gogh paintings, I realized that everyone had them. A replication of Van Gogh’s “The Starry Night” was on sale at Wal-Mart for $2.99 (small version however). The consequence of this? I decided against the whole idea. Even now, although I know it is not the fault of Van Gogh, I don’t really appreciate his work like I used to. Can we really appreciate a work if it is reproduced for the masses? Or should we simply be able to view it from afar? I think it is not made for everyone to put in their little pocket and look at whenever they feel the urge. Instead, as Benjamin says, it exists on the plane of the “exhibition value of the work.” Furthermore, that the importance of art lies in the fact that it simply exists, therefore, the value remains intact and not watered down for mass society. That such great art exists is a credit to that art work, and the mass reproduction is a disservice of technology (alas, I both hate and love you technology).
I was just thinking about Britney Spears, queen of pop (a gruesome title to hold, sure). Everybody was abuzz about her “comeback” performance on the VMA’s Sunday night. So what were people expecting her to do? Come out, with a rock-hard body and dance around in a skimpy outfit, offering some type of come-and-get-it lyrics. But apparently, she disappointed. Why? Because there was a cookie-cutter form into which music is supposed to fit. This type of music, made to please the popular crowd, has been watered down in the same way Van Gogh has—it has been put into a form that is easier for everyone to handle. The musical quality of popular music is not the same—its lyrics are sparse and are mostly in the form of trying to get someone’s attention sexually (wow…I’ve just described the top 20 of the week in one sentence…scary). I think with the invention of technology in music and the fact that we can turn on MTV and see music videos (can’t we imagine music for ourselves instead of having some director program a mood for us with images? Another product of technology interacting with fine art) greatly diminish art. “In all the arts there is a physical component which can no longer be considered or treated as it used to be, which cannot remain unaffected by our modern knowledge and power.”
Whether in music or painting, the age of mechanical reproduction has greatly hindered art. Oh yeah. And Britney. Please. Go home.

GeekinthePink

I feel somewhat relieved to have an answer to that age-old adage: If a tree falls in the forest, and there is no one around to hear it, does it make a noise? I think, by comparing it to our text alone, I can say no, it does not have a sound. Although we are not speaking language here, I was comparing the question to the idea of the signified and the signifier in particular; specifically, if something we try to speak is not juxtaposed against the signifier, it does not fulfill its true characterization, and therefore does not mean what is intended. The postmodern deconstruction of language makes perfect sense— that missing counterparts destroy language.
This definition of our linguistics system is highly related to our postmodern world. Indeed, our thoughts, “shapeless and indistinct mass,” are considered primitive; hence, we must deconstruct them and define the separation between both parts to put them toward usable matter to communicate. Upon initially reading this, I was really annoyed because, if we spend all this time deconstructing language, doesn’t real literature suffer? But I thought harder about it, and if there is even a small problem with our language and it could be fixed through deconstruction and possibly reconstruction, then it should be addressed. It’s kind of like a car. If there’s something wrong in one part of the engine and you are not sure what it is, you have to take apart that whole part. And in the meantime, it is more of a mess than before, and it temporary doesn’t work at all, but once you fix that piece and put it back, the car runs much better than before.
Comparing this idea to James Stirling’s addition to the Tate Gallery, he utilizes the new postmodern idea of ‘disharmonious harmony’, although he also includes purpose for the building. Defining his style as pluralism, he creates his addition with specific functionality—designed for classrooms and other uses. So in essence, he utilizes postmodern ideas of deconstruction yet moves toward a purpose and definite efficiency, which is the opposite of what I first thought when I read about postmodernism. I thought the whole purpose was to deconstruct—and then leave it open to criticism and ridicule. But I am glad to see there is a positive trend in postmodernism (or at least, for me to see the light through the darkness sometimes associated with it).

GeekinthePink

I saw a television commercial that sparked exactly what I wanted to blog about. Have you guys ever seen the new Visa Checkcard commercials? They advertise how much faster using a checkcard is then using cash. In fact, the two people shown using the “outdated” monetary system—those green bills floating around with dead Presidents, in case anyone has forgotten—are always shown fumbling in their purses or pockets to pay. Obviously, the moral of the story is to always use your card and your service will be faster, happier, and more enjoyable (the cashiers are smiling with the card users, and frowning with the old-schoolers).
Now I think this is a great example of our postmodern society—the commercial is deconstructing the primary way we used to pay, and telling us it works, but it is not the best or fastest. On one hand, I can clearly see I would rather swipe a card than fumble with money, but on the other, we have to consider the drawbacks of this postmodern idea—account overdraw. If I have five dollars in my purse and I want to purchase a drink and a bag of chips priced at $5.50 (I know, expensive food, but hey in this imaginary scene I am in Winter Park), I know that I cannot. But, if I have a card and I have five dollars in my account, I may not realize I don’t have that extra fifty-cent. Consequence? That bag of chips and drink will cost about forty dollars (at least with my bank fees). And unless these chips were boiled directly with holy water blessed by the Pope, I do not think any chips or drink should cost that much. All I’m saying is that with the faster way of doing things, we sometimes do not consider the cost of them: people overdrawing accounts, misjudging how many times they’ve swiped, because let’s face it, it’s hard to remember when you are just swiping, and also if you lose them, someone has access to all of your money, instead of just the cash you have on you. As outdated as our society makes paying with cash—it is absolutely foolproof. It cannot fail. Machines cannot go down. Your money cannot be declined. Maybe slower is not necessarily worse?
I’m starting a campaign to bring back the paper dollar. Is anybody with me?
Sarah