Reading for Pain and Pleasure

The reading Poetry and Pleasure by Mac Low interested me the most because it really made me think about the literature, poems, and articles that I read and why I read them.  There are many different types of genres I like to read.  Poetry interests me when I can just read it to enjoy it, however when I have to analyze it that’s when I start to hate it.  Reading books for fun is more of what I enjoy doing with my free time.  I enjoy mystery, and fiction the most.  The point that Mac Low points out is that “artworks do make things happen, at the very least, pleasure and pain, and the kinds of pleasures and pains they may cause are hardly ever predictable” (Mac Low). 

            This made me think about the texts that I read and my reactions to things that happen.  Did I like the book because of the way it was written and the plot line so much that if it was written differently, or events altered then I would not like the book?  Or did I like the book because it was predicable and if I were the author I would have written it the same way?  These are the questions that come to mind when faced with the aspect of predictability of the reader, and the reaction to the text. 

            Usually when I start reading a book or any text for that matter I find myself forming my own thoughts or predictions of what I think will happen or what I think about the book almost immediately.  This is not always the best thing to do because then if the book doesn’t turn out the way I wanted it to I am left feeling left down and betrayed by the author resulting in disliking the book.  The way the book is written in the aspect of pain and pleasure also has a large effect on liking the book or not.  For example the book My Sisters Keeper is a perfect example of a book filled almost entirely with sorrow and pain, although it’s a touching story that doesn’t leave the reader depressed the whole time.  On the other hand poetry that I read for fun because its heart warming and silly is Shell Silverstein’s book Where The Sidewalk Ends.  As readers we read for pleasure, not that everything we read will make us feel that way but as long as the book is something we enjoy then its worth the pain and pleasure to read it.   

Fluxus Movement

Fluxus takes on a do-it-yourself type role that used simplicity over complexity. Like Dada before it, Fluxus included anti-commercialism and an anti art sensibility, disparaging the conventional market-driven art world in favor of an artist-centered creative practice. Fluxus differed from Dada in its richer set of aspirations, and the positive social and communitarian aspirations. 

In terms of an artistic approach, Fluxus artists preferred to work with whatever materials were at hand, and either created their own work or collaborated in the creation process with their colleagues.  For example in the Film about Ray Johnson we see that some of his art pieces have a three dimensional element by using cut out blocks or wood pieces and applying them in with the painting.    

Fluxus uses media in its pieces.  Creators like to see what happens when different media intersect. They use found and everyday objects, sounds, images, and texts to create new combinations of objects, sounds, images, and texts.  This is an example of the tactile box that was used by Fluxus contributors where there is a box filled with games, cards and other ideas and whoever has the box can use it in him or her own way.  This leads to the different interpretations that each person will have when using the box. 

Fluxus works are simple. The art is small, the texts are short, and the performances are brief which leads to much more open interpretation from the viewer.  Some of the films we watched in class were short and just showed short clips or flashes of certain things on the screen.  When I was watching some of the clips I had to think about what I was watching because there doesn’t seem to be a direct theme to relate about what’s going on, or what is the point, if there even is a point?    


http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fluxus

Surrealism versus Oulipo

            After reading many of the works done by surrealist artists and Oulipo artists I am torn between which one I like the most because I have never read any of these works and so this is a new form of writing that I am still getting used to and working on interpreting.  When reading the book If On A Winter’s Night A Traveler I saw parts of it that were similar to the story Locus Solus because of the fact that there were story upon story upon story that made up one big story.  For me they both were hard to follow because I am used to reading more direct texts that have a major plot line and tell one main story, and with these I just couldn’t keep my focus on everything that was going on within the stories.     

            One aspect of the Oulipo that I really think is neat is the idea about limitations and writing the same story multiple times using different perspectives or settings, but all in all it is the same story.  I have never thought to write like this before, and I really enjoyed reading the stories by Queaneu.  This is one main difference between surrealism writing and the Oulipo writing.  This may sound like an oxymoron but using limitations makes me expand my creativity because I am limited in what I can use to write and therefore have to push myself as a writer. 

            The last difference between the two is that Oulipo incorporates the use of metafiction by directly addressing the reader.  The use of second person narration has an exceptional way of drawing in the reader (me or you), so that the reader begins to feel apart of the story, like the story was happening to me.  This is one aspect that greatly differs from surrealism.  I guess for me its easier for me to identify what the surrealist artwork/picture forms that we have looked at because then I the viewer can visually see the paintings and drawings and take in the ideas of surrealism.  On the other hand when reading the Oulipo works I have to spend some more time really reading the stories so I am aware of all the characters that are connected and how the stories relate to one another.        

Exercises in style

Bus Ride Home

Every Thursday evening I stand at the bus stop waiting for the 62 to 124^th Street to come pick me up and take me back home.  Its raining outside and my new jacket is getting wet because I forgot to being my umbrella today.  Boy is it windy out too; not only is my hair completely a mess, but it’s starting to get all frizzy and curly, which happens every time it rains.  5:28 and the bus arrives, on time today, thank goodness!  Door opens and I step inside, show the bus driver my ID and proceed to the back left side of the bus to find an open seat.  Due to the time of evening no open seats are left so I choose a seat next to this older women with grey, clearly permed hair, large glasses and a peacock broach on her sweater.  The next twenty minutes I spend reading my current read, which is Ninteen Minutes by Jody Piccoult.  The climax of the book is really pulling me in that I hardly notice the older lady getting up to leave mumbling “excuse me ma’am I am getting off here.”  I move aside and watch her walk off the bus and down the sidewalk.  I wonder where she is going, but wherever it is she it may take her a while, especially with that limp she has.  I wonder what happened to cause her limp, was she born that way, or did she fall?  I have an Aunt who fell and broke her hip so maybe that is what happened to her.  I glance down to the current page number and notice I am on page 422, which means only 33 more pages to go so I climb back into the text and finish the rest of my bus ride home.    

Older Women’s Ride Next to Me

 

Today was a very long day.  I awoke at 5:45 am to my face being licked by my cat Pearl.  She is a sweet little thing, and I enjoy her company, though not at 5:20 in the morning per say.  When I was a young girl I used to love sleeping in till ten or eleven in the morning but those days are over and for the past 10 years or so its rise and shine around five, six if I am lucky.  I blame my age and restlessness, at 75 years old I am pretty mobile, except for my darn limp.  I was eighteen years old when I broke my leg, well shattered it actually.  They had to put in a metal rod with all these pins in order to put my leg back together.  With eight kids and bills to pay my parents couldn’t afford to put me through physical therapy.  So I did the therapy the doctors told me to do, but needless to say it didn’t pay off and so here I am limping around.  Don’t get me wrong, I am not the kind of women to feel bad for myself.  I actually look at my limp as a unique attribute to who I am.  Besides, I get special treatment with handicap parking spots.  Things need to be done around the house today, baking, dishes, some grocery stopping, which reminds me I need to also stop at the bank on my way to the store.  I walk into the kitchen and look at the bus schedule.  The bank closes at six, and the bus ride there, plus my walking to the bank takes about 20 minutes and if the bus comes at 5:20pm then I will need to be at the bus stop around 5:15. Perfect I have my day all planned out, now its time to bake some of my homemade oatmeal cookies. 

…… 5:15pm

Walking out to the bus stop I notice how windy it is.  I didn’t plan for the wind with neither a scarf or gloves with me.  Winter is coming and I am not looking forward to it this year.  At the bus stop I notice a few others waiting, Sandra my neighbor, Bill her husband, and Chuck the war veteran.  We wave to each other and mention how windy it is.  The bus arrives at 5:20 and we enter one at a time.  I notice two seats open on the left and immediately take one, since I cannot stand for very long with my leg.  Once everyone is on the bus takes off.  I enjoy riding the bus because I get to see all the different people going to and from, some happy, some rude, and some just plain loud blasting that ipod music.  The next stop picks up a bunch of young students from school.  A young girl sits down beside me and I immediately smell her fresh perfume, or maybe it’s the scent of her hair from the products she puts in it to make it look nice.  I wish my hair still had the same brown color I used to have, but now its turning very grey.  I want to ask her what year in school she is and what she is studying, but she takes out a book right away and begins to read.  I try to see the title of the book, but cannot see that either.  My stop is coming up soon.  I pull the stop requested chord.  The girl doesn’t seem to notice I have to leave, which must mean she is really into her book. I wonder what the book I about?  I start to get up to leave and the girl doesn’t move.  “Excuse me ma’am I am getting off here.” I say to her, and she politely moves aside.  I wonder if she or anyone else on the bus noticed my limp, but I am sure they did because it’s not very easy to hide.  I begin my walk to the bank which is only two blocks away and then I will go to the grocery store to get milk, fruit, and some pasta.