Muses

One of the reasons the Athenians poisoned Socrates was because he claimed to hear an inner voice, which he dubbed his daimonion, which told him what to do. Socrates believed that his daimonion was the true voice of God, and that everyone has access to these sorts of messages, if they only choose to listen.

In ancient Greece the dominant poetic form, epic, always begins with an invocation to the Muses, the nine daughters of Zeus and Mnemosyne, patronesses of the arts and literature. The poet would call upon these divinities to sing through them, to ignite their creative flames.

Ancient Greek statue of Eros (I presume), North Carolina Museum of Art

Today the word muse (ancient Greek: Μοῦσαι) has become somewhat problematic, as the millenia have enriched its meaning. You can still invoke the muses at the beginning of your long poem if you want to. But many also take muse to mean any person or object that “inspires” a work, be it a song, picture, or story. Additionally, it has acquired the connotation of the Socratic daimonion, an inner voice that leads the artist or poet down the paths of creation.

For my part, I find that all three are essential, for when present, the three divisions of human nature are present: the invocation is spiritual, the daimonion is of the mind, and the inspirational personage is or was incarnate, be they living or dead. This concept guides me in making decisions about who and what to photograph or write poems to or about.

Where identifying the human subject of a painting, drawing, photograph, poem, or song become problematic is when the humanity of the person goes unrecognized or is overlooked or forgotten. In this case, the muse ceases to be a complete person, and instead becomes an object or canvas onto which the artist may project their ideas.

Typically this objectification results in an imbalanced focus on the body, whereas superior work takes into account the entire person, even if one of the divisions is more heavily emphasized. Superior work is emblematic of something essential to humanity, and will always be something to strive for, something that will continue to inspire me until the day comes when I can work no more, (which will hopefully be the day I die).

I guess you might call that striving my muse.

Emma at the Greenville County Museum of Art. Ancient Greek: Μουσεῖον, a place or temple dedicated to the muses.

Paris Mountain January 20, 2019

Today is my Dad’s birthday! Here are some pictures I took on a recent outing to Paris Mountain State Park with him and Danny.

Nonmusic, Pt. 1

Non-musical components have always been included in musical compositions. To go beyond the boundaries of normal or acceptable parameters in an art form is to explore, it is akin to scientific experiment, takes courage and commitment, and when most successful, the attempt can shed light into the dark corners of the soul. Whereas philosophy also often takes as its subject the intricacies of human nature, it seeks to evaluate its findings, in contrast to art, which is revelatory.

In a series of theoretical essays which I will post here on my blog, I will attempt to set down a theoretical basis for the inclusion of such components, including definitions of relevant terms, structural functions, procedures, a conceptual framework, along with some examples and quasi-philosophical method of evaluating preëxisting work.

When complete, the essays will form a larger whole, which will be a unit within a larger music theory manuscript. The sections within the unit consist of the following:

Section 1:

Linguistic: Prefix considerations - naming conventions (a-, anti-, non-)

Definitions: music, rhythm, melody, harmony; nonmusic, nonmelody, nonharmony

Purpose - why nonmusic: outside of normal or acceptable parameters, derangement

Structural Functions

Section 2:

Methodologies:

As a conceptual framework

As a set of procedures

Section 3:

Evaluating nonmusic in music criticism

Relation to common practice and examples

Aleatory music

Noise music

Field recordings

Unreliable Narrator

Each of us is the unreliable narrator of our own lives. After all, it’s easier to see and judge the actions of others than it is to do so for ourselves. Some of us are our own best friends, some of us are our own worst enemies, none of us are to be trusted.

Especially don’t trust me when you read my prose ramblings. Like you, I am the unreliable narrator of my own life. I’m just better at writing it down than you are. That you can believe, but when I talk about plans for the future, pass unwarranted critique on things, philosophize, or generally essay anything in writing, you as the reader may never know if what I’m writing is sincere.

Sincerity in writing has its uses. It’s a device. But writing that is unfailingly sincere is tedious beyond measure. That’s why I hate so many of the songs that I hear, poems I read, and other poorly conceived work. It’s not the sincerity per se, it’s the inability to cope with the lasagna model (remember, the universe is nothing but a lasagna composed of infinite layers of meaning).

All of my work is noise. Like many children born each day on this planet, nobody wants it, but it insists on existing anyway. It has a will of its own, and you must learn to treat it as you would that gossiping cousin you can’t wait to catch up with every holiday.

Antonio Milian

Antonio Milian is an artist and photographer living in Greenville, SC.

Kymberly Day - Opening Reception, Warehouse Theatre January 31, 2019

I stopped by Kymberly Day’s opening reception last night, where she was showing paintings and sculpture. Ms. Day is a 2017 graduate of the MFA program at Clemson, and her figural work depicts people and animals in dreamlike way.

See her paintings and sculptures at kymberlyday.com.

Noise

For years as a teenager I focused on teaching myself music theory with as much energy, enthusiasm, and attention to detail as a trekkie would expend learning the ins and outs of warp drives. I tried to take theory classes when I got to college, but was told that my knowledge would place me out of them. I took them anyway and reënforced what I’d already learned.

As a songwriter, of primary interest to me has always been a hook, or a distinctive and memorable piece constructed of words and music together. These are a dime a dozen, easily made, and it always shocks me that more songwriters in my local music scene do not incorporate such a basic, entry-level method of making their music listenable. The majority of bands around here seem to have no concept of what a hook is, how to construct one, or how to incorporate it into a song’s design, and most of the ones who do write asinine, saccharine hooks that only the most unsophisticated listeners would find moving or compelling.

Even worse are the high-school journal keeper types who insist upon emoting their humdrum lives in song in a way that would better serve the world in the privacy of therapy. Greenville, South Carolina abounds with these types of musical dross.

If you’re reading this, then of course you’re excluded from all of the above blanket statements. You wouldn’t stoop to crafting such trite, forgettable, and meretricious nonsense, now would you?

In spite of a theoretical background (or perhaps because of it, who can say for sure?) the concept of noise, specifically when defined as unwanted sound, has always appealed to me. There is a perverse, transgressive pleasure in defining all of my sonic output as noise. It frees my guitar to howl like Allen Ginsberg on crack. (I don’t know if Ginsberg was ever a crackhead, but in my Mirror Universe, “crack” is the hypothetical fuel of all the wild and wonderful poetic crazies of history, the bards, the shamans, the heretics, the martyrs, the visionaries.)

It also frees me to make whatever I damn well please, as what I make is allowed to come into the world without regard for whether it suits the taste of anyone, living or dead. All of it comes through, be it angelic or demonic, and all of it is noise, foisted upon an unwelcoming world.

Sylvie Bucher

Sylvie Bucher is a Greenville, SC-based visual artist originally from Mulhouse, France. See her work at https://sylviebucher.wixsite.com/studio

Playtime

I am 200,000 years old and I will never age

Passing Side

In yesterday morning’s traffic my eye caught this truck, with its distinctive signage. It occurred to me that I should capture this in a photograph, and I fortunately had a camera with me in the front seat of my car. But by the time I had the camera switched on, the truck had pulled far ahead in traffic, and innumerable cars were between it and me.

So I did what any sensible photographer would do and wove in and out of traffic, speeding and slowing down until I was finally close enough to take a picture.

The Hawk

I don’t believe in spirit animals.

But that doesn’t keep me from having one. Several, in fact. They include the snake, the wolf, and the phoenix, that glorious bird of ancient Greek myth that burned itself to death and came back to life over and over again.

And then there’s the hawk, like the wolf, an outlaw. A true bird of prey, unlike the carrion-feasting eagle, the hawk often has negative symbolic connotations. Ironic, huh? That’s why it’s my favorite bird.

And also because it will just shred a squirrel or other small prey animal, as seen in these pictures I took when a hawk decided to have its lunch right outside our office today.

Unity Paradigm

The Unity Paradigm (UP) is a framework in which all my work - past, present, future - may be placed so that it may exist within a common context. It is a function of Harmonic Theory, and attempts to reconcile various structures, some of which are apparently at odds, through juxtaposition and hybridization.

UP is an attempt to define, demonstrate boundaries, and on occasion dissolve them. It is essentially Buddhist and poetic because it seeks to identify analogous forces, parallels, parities, comparisons, metaphors, and so on, and show the relative oneness or sameness of disparate, often seemingly contradictory, contrasting, or paradoxical things. It is also a Daoist thought structure, or even Manicheanist, as it is sometimes a bringing together of opposites, and shows essentiality of all things, and the impossibility of polarities to eliminate each other or achieve some final victory over one another.

To approach work through the UP is to have a skeleton on which to hang all the organs, the muscles, and the skin of said work so that it forms an organic whole in terms of form and content in poetry, fiction, music, photography, philosophy, video, assemblage, sound art, graphic design, and so on.

It should be noted that successful unity between forms is neither universally sought or desired. At times, the unity displayed may be the contrast itself, or often a deliberately incoherent, dissonant effect.

In a fundamental way, the UP is an application of the musical Drone Principle, meaning that a single things is presented for a duration. In music, that means a recurring or sustained tone, as in the music of the Indian sitar, or Western Drone music, which begins with LaMonte Young. The monotone is also applied to ostinato figures and vamps.

The Drone has within it the implication of the mathematical and spiritual infinite. Under UP, I permit myself sustained monomanias. In this way it is also a framework for creative behavior patterns - indulgences and deprivations, and the attempt at balance between them.

I have sustained a monomania for poetry for half a year, leading to rapid development and learning. I believe I have reached a true breakthrough via this method of sustained attention, having increased my comprehension, close-reading technique, and facility with a few technical methodologies. I have read more poetry as well as criticism, which has deepened my hermeneutic practice. I feel as though I am now on the cusp of producing actual poetry.

All that being said, the most natural course to pursue at this, the beginning of a new year, is to leave the intensive and extensive practice of poetry momentarily.

To clarify, I won’t quit writing poems, but I will pause my study of poetry. Instead I will produce poems to the best of my current ability and focus my learning elsewhere, specifically on image-making, treating it as an aspect of the core pursuit of writing poetry.

Now the real poetic practice may begin. I will study again in the future, but for now I must apply all that I have learned and direct my curiosity to vision, a fundamental aspect of poetic experience.