Discourse: what is it?

In an interview with Claude Bonnefoy, Michel Foucault gives us a view of what discourse is and what it is not. First step is to note the plural.

Les discours ne sont [pas] seulement une sorte de pellicule transparente à travers laquelle on voit les choses, ne sont pas simplement le miroir de ce qui est et de ce qu’on pense. Le discours a sa consistance propre, son épaisseur, sa densité, son fonctionnement. Les lois du discours existent comme les lois économiques. Un discours, ça existe comme un monument, ça existe comme une technique, ça existe comme un système de rapports sociaux, etc.

In English, we have kept the plural but displaced it a little onto the final iteration.

Discourse is [not] just a kind of transparent film through which one sees things, not merely the mirror of what is and what one thinks. A discourse has its own consistency, its thickness, its density, its functioning. The laws of discourse exist as economic laws. Discourses exist like monuments, exist as technics, exist as systems of social relations, etc.

Michel Foucault. Le beau danger.

And so for day 1813
30.11.2011

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Flavour Syntagms

Nelson Handel. “Frontiers of Flavour” in The Walrus June 2005

Though a science, flavour creation is to some degree a literary conceit. To understand it, you must learn to speak it trippingly on your tongue. Every act of tasting has syntax, a succession of distinct flavour sensations that unfold through time. For flavourists, each expresses itself like a well-constructed line of poetry, a series of metaphoric descriptors that attempt to limn the playful dance of experience happening in their mouths. When you eat a strawberry, you don’t apprehend strawberry, you experience a series of stimulations from sweet to sour to lemony to green to hay to sweet, green, sweet, sour, and so on. These are called flavour notes.

Slow-down appreciation releases the complexity of the succession. Interesting way in which the flavour syntagm launches memory in an almost Proustian gestation.

And so for day 1812
29.11.2011

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Strident Limpet 1998 Style

Doug Guildford

Doug Guilford - limpet

… between natural and cultural preoccupations …

Doug Guildford splits his time between his studios in downtown Toronto and on the South Shore of Nova Scotia. His practice is rooted in drawing, entrenched in print making and allows for obsessive crochet projects. “My drawing and print work wash back and forth between natural and cultural preoccupations and relate directly to my ongoing body of crocheted sculptural pieces that I refer to as Nets.” His work comes directly from time spent between the tides of the North Atlantic Ocean. Guildford believes in the essential value and the ultimate futility of work.

Open Studio (Contemporary Printmaking Centre) statement

It’s the symmetry and the heavenly phallic connotations that led me to clip and save this image from Xtra! No. 362 (September 10, 1998).

And so for day 1811
28.11.2011

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Defrosting Frosty

“Thaw” by Brian Jones opens with a memorable image that is eye-popping.

Suddenly the air is careless, generous,
caressing where it gripped. On lawns
the snowmen shrink to tiny pyramids
their eyes frizzled coke roll out like tears

Stuck with an impression of cartoonish strangulation. Must be that caress that turns dangerous. Reminiscent of Browning’s Porphyria’s Lover.

And so for day 1810
27.11.201

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Attracted by a Cover; Entranced by Images

I love the format of this London Magazine edition of poems by Brian Jones. The book feels mid way between a pamphlet and a chapbook but at 56 pages plus end matter it’s a book in a neat compact space.

cover - London Magazine editions 6/6 Brian Jones Poems

It’s more than a pretty package. Take for instance these lines from “Death of a Cat”

Insisted to the last on standing
And walking with frail dignity to its water
In its usual place in the kitchen, disdaining
The saucer we had thoughtfully set near it.

Rings true for any one who has had to witness the slow decline of a pet cat. Also rings true for any one attuned to the many stories of felines and their independent nature.

Jones’s line breaks recall the unsteady cat — the verses almost topple over. An impression aided in part by the long vertical format.

And so for day 1809
26.11.2011

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Mourning Impossibility

Sean Gaston. The Impossible Mourning of Jacques Derrida

That is what “literature” and the study of literature (which is so often working with the dead) does: as soon as I repeat a story or a narrative, as soon as I cite and recite, as soon as I encounter the elusive resistance of the idiom, the part becomes greater than the whole and the future of the past becomes ungovernable, unbridgeable, unfillable, inventive and the boundaries of the so-called “work of mourning” — the idealization and interiorization of the dead by the living — become untenable, unworkable and mourning becomes impossible, interminable, without rest.

Key for me here are the words “I” and “inventive”. What happens in the after of the “as soon as”? I may have repeated but who listens? And then what?

Invention negates the unbridgeable. It creates a place to ford. Invention defeats monumentality. The obstacles are circumvented. This is the work of mourning that never ends. It is not a disaster. It is work. Simply work. Ongoing.

Encountering impossibility is not itself impossible. It bears repeating.

And so for day 1808
25.11.2011

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First Garden

Found a picture from the early 1980s of myself in my “first” garden. Not the first garden I have ever visited or weeded. But “my” first. I was living at 199 King Street in Kingston, Ontario, and under the shade of the trees what flourished was the zucchini patch as evidenced in the photograph. The beans fell prey to the squirrels.

Francois in first garden at King Street, Kingston ON in the early 1980s

That early success may explain my love of vines and climbing plants: akebia, clematis, aristolochia. Though I must admit in the small confines of the current garden on a small Toronto lot the emphasis is on the upward thrust. The lavish horizontal extension of the summer squash belongs to the past. And so we adapt.

And so for day 1807
24.11.2011

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Disappearing Act

Got you covered.

All day long
wearing a hat
that wasn’t on my head.

Jack Kerouac American Haikus

And so for day 1806
23.11.2011

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Of Books and Dimensions

Spotted this on our street.

free little library in shape of a tardis

Rather fanciful to think that this particular TARDIS is indeed bigger on the inside thanks to the imaginative realms opened up by the books it houses and circulates.

I have almost begun a collection of these sites of exchange: charmed by the mighty Little Free Library and its incarnations.

And so for day 1805
22.11.2011

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Routes to Artistic Perfection: To Question, To Philosophize

In the essay on Winckelmann, he writes

Again, it is easy to indulge the commonplace metaphysical instinct. But a taste for metaphysics may be one of those things which we must renounce, if we mean to mould our lives to artistic perfection. Philosophy serves culture, not by the fancied gift of absolute or transcendental knowledge, but by suggesting questions which help one to detect the passion, and strangeness, and dramatic contrasts of life.

Walter Pater. The Renaissance.

And so for day 1804
21.11.2011

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